August Moon, you shine on us all
a little less, somewhat bleakly.
A rugged globe with scars and rents
weighed down by truth, rather meekly
baring your naked, lonely soul
once veiled, in radiant silk stole.

Now, you seem just to coldly glance
at cracked, dry earth and withered grass.
Was it not but a while ago,
that you were fierce, an Irish lass
born to inspire, formed by fire;
silvern creature of desire?

Perhaps, mortals must be as gods
to bear the weight of such a load,
to weather three seasons, in hopes
and dreams of summers down the road:
echoing with laughter sublime -
for your sake, frozen fruit of Time.

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Attached to a house, up a hill
is a porch time has weathered well.
Yellow roses, in bounty spill
through a latticework’s weaving spell.

Paint has peeled all over the place;
some rusted nails have come undone;
still it exudes, a warmth and grace
that to me, comes second to none.

Creaky steps add an odd beauty
to this porch I hold in my heart.
For it speaks of its own duty -
when I come and when I depart.

How I treasure the times of old
impressed, engraved on every post;
the never-ending stories told,
by this quaint space, I cherish most.

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Getting up before the sun rises
before shadows, flit past in front
of my screen. Fingers, pounding on
keys, forming thoughts into verses.

Sipping on a cup of hot brew
thinking, then working on newfound
angles, to portray, paint in words
while the rest of the household sleeps.

Listening to one’s heart beating
rhythmic like cadence, so telling
of a reason to persevere,
to keep writing, while time, is mine.

Pressing on with an idea
or two – to raise the bar, trusting
moments and lines, to carve a place
before breakfast needs to be fixed.

Making time to write every day:
a mission, all, too possible.

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Author’s Comments:

Here’s a poem that rightly speaks of making time to write, be it poetry or whatever is your passion.

I fully understand, how impossible it all seem at first when faced with the multitude of tasks, chores and must do’s daily. But, I have to say that in such a case the old adage “if there’s a will, there’s a way” applies.

Of course, it does not all fall into place in a day (sometimes, it takes months of practice) to be able to fall into the pattern of making and grabbing that niche of a time to do your writing.

It may just be fifteen minutes of pure imagination and data organization, still it gets you closer to the next time around when you are finally ready to sit and write down those ideas waiting to get out of your head.

Before you know it, you will be doing it, like its second nature (pardon the flippant turn of words).

Remember, every opportunity to write is precious and always worth it!

Ah, to be a child once again and see the beauty and endless possibilities from what adults deem ordinary and dull.

To be able to hear music in its simplest form; to be able to listen with one’s heart out of pure enjoyment; to be able to feel the wind caress one’s face in awe; to be able to trust without fear; to be able to create a world inside a world and still be able to see the truth and accept it—such are the wonders of being a child.

So, why not take the time to remember?  Be a child again, wherever you may be at in your life.  Begin from within your heart then take a look outside, through your window; maybe begin in meadows, and….

Picture Yourself an Adventure

Tall blades of grass,
perfect cover.
Enemy spies:
grasshoppers, dragonflies.

Neverland? Yes!
In handfuls of
blue wildflowers
are pixie dust powers.

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Fear grips, shackles tightly
chaining this mind; trapping
this soul in angry scars
of bullet-riddled walls.

In forced silence, mourning
another death – loved one
or stranger, it seems not
to matter anymore.

Mine, is but one more face
mingling with starvation;
empty hands, hardened heart,
shrouded in pained darkness.

Nowhere else to run to
and hide. In woeful plight
stranded. In misery
perhaps, destined to be.

Still, am waiting, longing
for peace, to come about.

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Fish paradise. An angler’s delight.
Bald cypress trees, in a ritual dance
With lily pads and lotus blooms, invite
White bass and crappie to take a chance.

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Author’s Notes!

A quatrain that depicts both beauty and irony in the circle of life. Here, one brings together: man, fish, trees and other vegetation – in one spot, co-existing as they should.

I entered this piece of poetry in a poetry writing competition.  The results are in and praise and thank God, it was good enough to be accepted for publication.  Such a blessing, and another one to add to the list of things I should always be thankful for.

My family and I, had this treat ready for Santa last Christmas eve. I know some of you are thinking – it is way past Christmas… (or, is it?) In any case, Valentine’s day is just around the corner and these make nice heart-shaped treats for your loved ones!

My own three elves/cupids helped with the rolling, cutting, making a mess, baking and eating the not so perfect ones part because “you have to give not only of yourself but only the best”- according to the same 3 wee people. Plus, you have to taste test them first, you know…

Here’s the recipe that has a seal of approval from Santa and the three wee elves, and just might help sweeten things up for your Valentine(s):

Vanilla Glazed Sugar Cookies

8 tablespoons (1 stick) salted butter, melted
1/4 cup vegetable shortening
1/4 cup honey
3/4 cup granulated (white) sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 1/2 cups brown rice flour
1 cup white rice flour
6 tablespoons arrowroot starch flour
2 tablespoons tapioca starch flour
2 tablespoons garbanzo and fava bean flour mix
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
1/4 teaspoon sea salt (fine)
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 to 3/4 cup iced water

In a medium sized bowl, mix together butter, honey, sugar and vanilla

In a separate bowl or 4 pint measuring cup combine all the flours, xanthan gum, salt, and baking powder.

Mix the dry and liquid ingredients together. When thoroughly mixed, add 1/2 cup water. Using a fork, stir together adding more water as needed, until a soft dough ball is formed. Divide dough into 4 equal sized disks. Refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Roll out in batches until 1/8 inch thick then cut into desired shapes. Bake in pre-heated 325 degrees fahrenheit (160 degrees celsius) oven for 10-12 minutes or until edges are lightly browned. Let cool in pan for approximately 10 mins. per batch. Transfer to steel racks to finish cooling.

For the glaze, you will need the following:

1 cup powdered sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 tablespoon water

In a bowl, mix all 3 ingredients together until well incorporated. Using a pastry brush lightly dipped into the mixture, apply glaze on tops of cookies. Lay cookies on a parchment paper and let the glaze completely set. Do not lay cookies on top of one another until the glaze has truly hardened. The cookies will stick together if you do and it gets tricky pulling them apart. Store in moisture free container(s).

He is an Anglo Saxon man
Protestant by faith, a Texan
She is brown of skin, dark of hair
raised by tradition and prayer

He swears to never marry one
whose faith is like that of a nun
She holds no hope for foreign men
Faith and work kept her going then

He looks for something on the net
finds an agency without sweat
She gets asked why she’s not married
by a friend who has remarried

He gets on with his selection
can cook: a must in description
She receives many letters now
politely writing back somehow

He then writes to thirty in all
considers one or more, to call
She obtains her nineteenth letter
and answer it, she had better

He reads her note taken aback
not by what she had written back
She wrote again, after a week
his letter was a tad unique

Somehow it worked and came to pass
eight years of marriage, now surpass
He is her friend, husband you see
She is his match and mom to three

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Ask me not why I cry
my eyes no longer wishes to see;
they have seen enough sorrow, pain
and firmly refuse to listen to me.

Ask me not how I live
fate knows of my daily struggle;
I look only to what she brings
and accepts it without a grumble.

Ask me not my name
I long since pretty plainly forgot;
I have buried it beneath the rubble
of what once was my proud heart.

Instead, ask me who I am
and I will tell it to you quite simply;
I am my unique self and no one else’s
just as God Himself created me to be.

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Found this poem among the letters I wrote to my then fiance. Just thought I’d post it, as a reminder to myself and perhaps in a way, to others as well.

One: Wildflowers Or Not

Spring calls back the blooms
Carried off by autumn’s wind
A young bride walks by -
Tender blossoms in her hair

Two: In A Squall

Waves wait to be tossed
While a sailor reefs in,
His sail – weather worn
At the mercy of the seas

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