NOW it’s Spring

A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.  ~Doug Larson, American journalist

There once was a wee Dandelion
Who said, “‘Tis true, I’m not lyin’.
Don’t call me a weed,
I’m precious indeed.
Who else can thrive without tryin’?”

Jawbreaker Sky


Spend time looking up.
Nature changes clothes often.
If you say you’re too
Busy to see pinks, golds, greys,
You’re just too busy indeed!

Note: Jawbreakers, or Gobstoppers to my friends in the United Kingdom, are pieces of hard candy that dissolve into different colors the longer they’re sucked. Far too hard to bite into, they’ve been a children’s favorite for decades.

Form: This is my first Tanka. The photo is one I took near sunset recently.

On Blooming…and Planting


Every year you appear as if by magic.
No one planted you, no one tends you.
Still, there you are, your star-shaped petals
Of saffron outlined in purest of snow
Reflecting the radiance of the sun itself,
While an explosion of spiky, hairy leaves
Sprouts from earth lending its encouragement.

So, too, some humans who never stray
Far from womb or hearth while others brave
New environments and untried experiences.
Bloom where you’re planted, or stray afar?
Both have their appeal, so long as you bloom
Wholeheartedly, for as long as you can,
Wherever you find yourself planted.

Note: These dainty perennial wildflowers are known as Yellow Star Grass, part of the Lily family, and are native to nearly every county in Illinois.

Flower? Or Weed?

Look at us, said the violets blooming at her feet, all last winter we slept in the seeming death but at the right time God awakened us, and here we are to comfort you. ~Edward Payson Rod, American Congregational preacher


Some would call wild violets pretty
With their heart-shaped, waxy leaves
And their delicate purple-hued blossoms.
Others insist they’re nothing
But a weed, a nuisance, a pest
That screams for chemical intervention
Or a shovel for permanent removal.

But isn’t it really all in the viewpoint?

Those who see this plant’s beauty must be
Optimists, searching for the good in all
And seeking, often find exactly that.
Those proclaiming it a worthless annoyance
Just might have scales covering their eyes.
They view the world in opaque tones and expect
Perfection that’s never attainable on earth.

Isn’t it really all in the viewpoint?

Maybe at times we’re all like wild violets.
We portray ourselves in the best possible light
And hope, by persistence, to live long enough to matter.
When others point out our flaws and proclaim us a bother,
We wither and sink into shadowy oblivion.
Shouldn’t we, like the violets, thrive despite obstacles?
Rail against the naysayers and their name-calling?

Isn’t it really all in the viewpoint?

Note: Wild Violets, like those pictured above, can be a homeowner’s bane if allowed to grow and spread indiscriminately. Removal can be challenging, especially for those unwilling to apply chemicals. But for the determined, there are organic methods available. Do you consider wild violets to be beauty or beast?

Dazzling Golden Beauty


Resplendent in your dress of gold,
Lifting your arms to the birds of the air.
Tall and proud, stunning and bold,
Never a worry, never a care.

Oh maple tree touched by the sun,
Are you aware that one day soon
Your leaves will drop and you’ll be bare?
That snows and bitter winds will come
Bringing silence and quiet as winter’s tune.
Do you know, or do you care?


Note: This is written as a Horatian Ode, a poem with meter and rhyme, praising a person, animal, or object. The “object” is a Sugar Maple photographed in late afternoon sunlight.

The Queen


We call her The Queen
And rightfully so.
She sits atop her throne
Growling orders to her minions.
Barking demands,
Snarling commands.

The weak-spirited acquiesce
To her desires,
And they admire
Her confidence and purpose.
The strong-willed balk
And blatantly gawk

While, scepter in hand,
She rules the land
With an iron paw.
Getting her way
Through force and might
Or tears and spite.

She’s The Queen, you know.
She thinks she has a right to crow.

Ostentatious Display


Standing majestically apart,
Swaying to and fro in the breeze,
Adorned with regal robes and a stately face.
Demanding attention, if even a glance, from one and all.
Showy today, then too soon he departs
To return next year, if he pleases.
Some accuse him of being a flash in the pan.
I contend he really has no choice.


Note: I think this is a form of poetry called an Octave. It contains eight lines.

Swirling Clouds


Sometimes our thoughts
Whip around like wild things.
Innocently enough, they
Race across our brains.
Lately, mine have done just that.
In fact, perhaps that’s why I
Need to take a break of sorts to
Get back to my happy state.

Crazy, isn’t it, how we
Let ourselves run to and fro,
Or round and round.
Utter confusion reigns supreme
Despite our best intentions to
See our world in a calmer state!


Note: This is an attempt at an Acrostic Poem. I took the picture thinking I might find something to write about; instead of prose, this poem popped out! I don’t foresee a formal break any time soon, but I really do need to get back to my novel-writing. That means I’ll have to do a better job managing my time, ha!

You Should’ve Called

When the twins had colic and cut their first teeth,
When measles were making the rounds,
When storms and tornadoes cut a swath through our town,
When laundry buried us beneath.

You should’ve called.

When one took her first steps right into my arms,
When they learned to spell and to add.
When one covered the bedroom walls with plaid,
And the other ate only Lucky Charms.

You should’ve called.

When we stayed up late for yet another project at school,
When they were banned from the daddy-daughter ball.
When one took to singing, the other to basketball,
And both went to detention for breaking rules.

You should’ve called.

Term papers, braces, learning to drive,
First dates, heartbreaks, and prom.
Completing college applications with aplomb.
The pride of seeing them both thrive.

Moving away, new studies, and the oddest of roommates,
Learning how to manage their time.
Then living off campus and tackling their own grime,
And choosing a career they didn’t hate.

You should’ve called.

Together we handled every crisis, every joy.
It wasn’t always pretty or easy.
So don’t fault me for admitting I’m feeling uneasy
And questioning your intent to destroy.

You see, you didn’t call.

You sit in judgment and call me hard,
Turn up your little snub nose.
You’ll never understand the path I chose,
Nor know the love in our back yard.

Because you didn’t call.

At first I tried to make excuses for you,
But reasons sounded flimsy at best.
And eventually I came to give it a rest
When I realized the twins knew the truth.

It bears repeating, I think.
You should’ve called.