My Poetry

Independent eyes would not share a color. One holds an ocean of blues colder and deeper than the Mississippi Delta at dusk she drowns in insecurity. The other stares gray as the Alaskan tundra at dawn furious as a newborn blizzard. Mismatched as her gaze are her moods  at times quiet and cloudy with self-doubt. Other times volcanic with resentment.  She feels bleached-out by the sun. (She longs to see the sun rise in the west.) She envies the moon. (She pretends it’s a pearl around her neck.) She walks the cusp of daybreak and twilight, with their long, tangles of shadows. Spinning in her contrary orbit, she can’t see  that she is the brightest point on the horizon. __________________________________________ Venus is both the morning and the evening star, so I felt that it was a fitting metaphor for heterochromia. It  is also the only planet that spins counterclockwise in its orbit. Sorry to hear that you contracted Covid while you were in Europe. I am very happy tha...

 Changing Colors I've always hated fall it was death dressed in pretty colors. I lived for summer travel swimming, fireflies and blackberry pie. Lately though the summer heat is just burning me out. Like a needy toddler the heat clings to me weighs me down like the ring I used to wear. When you walked away I buried my face in my hands embarrassed that I couldn't make it work in denial of my failure. I was stuck there like the groove left on my finger but it's finally faded. Now that I've reached the autumn of my life the fall breeze feels like a mother's caress  and carries memories of song and innocence. Geese fly in vees trees do their slow strip tease leaves line streets fragile as a lover's vow. Amid the black opal sky Libra Moon calls out to me to embrace my changing colors to sweep regrets into the wind to cherish family and friends.  To be grateful for little things the sunset, a kitten's purr pumpkin pie and my granddaughter's smile. But there...