As the day comes to a close

and a poem, though bidden,

goes unwritten, I set pen

and paper aside, sip my tea,

listen  and wait. No words

come forth to greet me.

There’s just silence, me, and tea –

a wordless poem that is enough.

JDG

The trees nod “yes”to

the oncoming breeze

then change their course

and shake their leaves “no”.

JDG

Among the many

a few stand out, not because

they’re loud, but because they’re true.

JDG

The porch, swept clean,

is visited by puzzled birds

and squirrels who come

to dine. At least there’s seed

upon the rail so it won’t be long

before things get back

to their customary disorder.

JDG

Sometimes it’s like that:

dark clouds, chilly wind, gray day.

Then Knox bounds up

and drops a new stick,

inviting  me to toss the gray away.

JDG

Singing in the rain

is not my style, but I’m

learning to walk

and not complain.

JDG

The stories we construct

can expand horizons

or collapse possibilities.

JDG