Poem: Palm Springs

Palm Springs

They came here some time ago to

Get away from all their fame and

On every street left their names.

They built their homes in the sand,

Mid-Century Modern, the style

Covering up the purple of 

Verbena and bringing here the 

Crowds who now peep through their homes’ gates

Hoping to spy a small castle

And probably surprised at the 

Modesty of flat roofs by pools

In which they’d swim during summer’s

Great heat, yet nothing like the flames

From strangers projecting upon

Them things that could not be true.

I wandered here one spring seeing

Homes of pianists with swimming

Pools shaped like those instruments they’d

Played, or little mail boxes there

Looking like a baby grand and

Thought it somehow strange that they would

Choose to live near farms of date palms

And sand blowing into great dunes

Settling into the bottoms of

Their beautiful blue swimming pools.

But we all have our little quirks

And now those people with their names

On that city’s every lane

Are, I pray, resting in peace from

Things that haunt us all while living.

April 2023

About This Poem

I don't really think this one needs much explanation. The photo is of the house of someone famous (which one I now forget) in Palm Springs.
 

Poem: On Writing Poetry in the Morning

On Writing Poetry in the Morning

I read some poems every day

Hoping for inspiration on what to say,

But sometimes the words just don’t come;

Nothing I say makes sense to anyone.

Emotions may have boiled in the evening

Yet I had no time to write anything.

I read a book before going to bed

To help erase all thoughts within my head.

So here I am in the arms of Aurora

Seeking words hidden beneath my fedora.

But they were stolen by Mr. Sandman

And I’m left with only coffee in hand.

May 2023

About This Poem:

I write poetry every morning when I journal, but sometimes it's just hard. I often rely on what I have read in the morning, or photos on my phone. But sometimes those are little to no help. This poem was written at one of those times. The photograph is from an afternoon walk just west of Potlatch, so you can see bits of town, the trees, and Gold Hill in the background with the sun tinting the clouds. If you don't live here you might think it is a morning shot...

 

Poem: Rejoicing is Satisfaction

 

Rejoicing is Satisfaction

The morning hour now slips away

And I am left wondering what

It is that keeps going here

As my life’s work has found its close—

But was employment really work

Enough to give meaning to life?

Alas, no. What would retirement

Be if work were done? Is the glass

Half empty or half full? That is

The question of one’s satisfaction.

But my cup runs over and so

My abundant life must be shared

In belief, in joy, in living.

What a gift is here that we’ve been 

Given, so how is there despair?

Some days there is sunshine and joy

While others hold rain and its gray

But always remember that that

Is just the sign of the cups flowing

Over, for we have everything

We need. So learn to be content

In all things you have been given.

April 2023

About This Poem

Sometimes, in retirement, I have had to refind my purpose. After having taught for so many years, starting at such a young age, I really had to work to reset myself. Now I tend to fill my time with all the same sorts of things I did while working but from a political standpoint. I'm now more of a cheerleader for libraries, schools, and, to a lesser extent, writers and runners. But I also have my family and that gives purpose to anyone. So this is about being content and finding happiness in that, wherever you're at in life's many stages.

Poem: Red Winged Blackbird

Red Winged Blackbird

It is you, red winged blackbird, trilling

The return of spring as each day longer

Grows and slowly diminishes melting

Snow. You appear in the cattails in the

Marshy creeks or the hawthorn in the gulch.

Snow banks are piled everywhere and 

Yet you sing in the frost of the morning

Not even letting the rain hush your song.

Funny, how I should go plodding along

For all this time oblivious to your

Song that gives hope. So like many others 

I forget to even hear that you have

Returned. So engrossed we are in our dark

Moods of mud and slush and gray, frozen we

Are to the songs o spring and your return

As you blend subtly into all the gloom

Like the raven cawing daily for us

Missing all the bright red tipping the black

And those short trills as the snow melt now fills

The river. You bring the cooing soon of doves

That awaken me in the morning’s cool

And cause me more complaining. Oh fool

I am not to notice you, your friends

And the miracles of life that on us

Descends daily, even in the dull times.

Ravens’ caws, doves’ coos, redwing blackbirds’ trills,

Intricate snowflakes flooding streams, sun, moon,

My cup runs over every day, yet

I think it only half full. Sing on red

Winged blackbird! Life abundant is your song.

April 2023

About This Poem

This poem is about forgetting to be grateful for what we have. I love the sound of the Red Winged Blackbird, but sometimes it just gets forgotten in the shoveling of snow or drear of early spring. That's what happens with so much of our lives: we forget to be grateful for what we have. That Red Winged Blackbird is a subtle reminder to me to be grateful. Life is so much better when you have gratitude. I'm afraid I stole the picture from the internet because I couldn't find any in my own collection.