Those musicians took
whatever life hurled their way
and with a deft sleight
of hand, composed magic from
misery, rhythm from rage.
JDG
Those musicians took
whatever life hurled their way
and with a deft sleight
of hand, composed magic from
misery, rhythm from rage.
JDG
Gold-glorious trees
extend their limbs even to
dark, complaining crows.
Is there a natural lesson
here or just a poem for Poe?
JDG
Today’s entry in
my Book of Days has not been
written yet. May I
choose to write this day’s pages
with a compassionate heart.
~
Outside the window
my friend Crow squawked, whether in
support or lively
skepticism, I don’t know,
but Owl doesn’t give a hoot.
JDG
With each storm the pond
rose higher, spilling onto
nearby land. The pond,
like us, can only hold so
much before it overflows.
JDG
Hurricane season –
time to lay in provisions,
time to batten down
hatches whether hurricanes
rage on the inside or out.
JDG
Before I knew it
I was off in Storyland,
caught in tales of my
own making. One deep breath helps
me see the trip I’m taking.
JDG
Blue Bachelor Buttons
pass Season’s megaphone to
waving Golden Girls
who colorfully announce
Autumn’s upcoming parade.
JDG
With harsh words spoken,
no reflective pause taken,
heart connection missed,
she took the time to circle
back around and try again.
JDG
Red Dogwood berries
signal season’s yearly shift
to much cooler days.
It won’t be long til other
trees slowly begin to turn.
JDG
That’s my story, but
why stick to it? Revision,
as the word implies,
lets me change my point of view,
points the way to something new.
JDG