These poems really are in celebration of Singles’ Awareness Day rather than Valentine’s Day. They are poems from my early college days and each have a similar, sad theme; the last one being my favorite poem. Fortunately, my repetitive refrain did not last forever, and a couple years later I was singing another tune which I’ll save for later.

The Chrises In My Life
All the men I've met
Desire love in the form of a delicate unknown
Water the rose, searching
and water until they find
full vulnerable blossoms

Then undesirable becomes the rose
Too easy, too much

So I may choose to bloom for no one to see
Petals dropping
Or wither in tight, sophisticated form
Because the man has given up on the flower who will bloom for no one.
Which is worse?

Maybe I need to meet men with a less obvious name.
Maybe the men I meet are too like me.

Love Is The Grand Experiment
To decipher where it comes and belongs
Is this an inside force or outward folly?
Until the final metamorphosis is made
a claim cannot be staked
And conclusion or no
I do not wish to be stabbed unduly

Repetitive Refrain
Play for me another secret rhythm
for the poetry has run dry
and shed it's only cleansing tear

My sorrowing behind closed doors
its gentle rush of wind and flute
is replaced with stark reality, hollowed dreams, base expectations

For though I cannot allow this ghost
to haunt my room again
I reverence its old company, its gentle knocking

So sing for me
Beat of drums and earth
A repetitive refrain
that I may dance to it.

I was reminded of this poem I wrote at a friend’s funeral today. The way her young adult children spoke of her inspired me to be a better mother. I hope the way they spoke of their mother can be a way my children will be able to speak of me. She was always there for them and they knew she loved them and she knew they loved her. I wrote this poem when my oldest was a baby. It was and still is dedicated to my dear mother. Happy Mother’s Day!

The connection to a mother
Never is quite gone
Though dependence may subside
A chord pulses ever strong
I felt it beat today
I'd forgotten it was there
But looking to my daughter
Your memories nourished me with care
Being filled with promise 
Of what she'll say and do
This bond reminds me, Mother . . . daughter, love
are words I learned form you

March 21st and the beginning of spring is an interesting time for me because it is the the birth and death day of our stillborn son, Elijah. He would be 10 years old this year. This conglomeration of Spring, death, and life are reflected in Poems 11, 12, and 13; all of which were written during the turn from winter to spring and are illuminated by the celebration of Easter and Christ’s Resurrection.

After posting “The Last of Winter” we’ve continued to get some much needed snow, and I’ve been trying to capture some of the surreal wonder of the snow capped mountains if only to prove I’m not crazy for loving the March christened snow (thanks for the comment/poem Lona ;). Here are some of the pictures I took the past two weeks:

This next photo my husband took at my request. I was late for work. As I headed out, I told my daughter to run in and tell Dad to take some pictures of Provo Peak for me with my camera because, “Wow!” Then I drove off. He did take this photo for me on his phone. The message to use my camera and its telephoto lens did not get passed on. While I’m grateful for this photo, some things are worth being a few more minutes late to work for. Oh, well.

Poems No. 12 and 13 were written on a different March 21st that held valley temperatures near 70 degrees. I set out to hike a nearby peak as a personal journey in honor of my son. The valley floor and the climb upward provided me with two very different climates.

Poem No. 12

The silent softness of spring
Bed of green
Branches lean
Butterfly wings
whispering
I am coming
I am here

Poem No. 13

Circling the time of day 
Like a hawk 
Racing the drifting clouds
I turn in and out of view
Ascending into winter
With his sage advice to quiet the soul
Hiding for the brave to find
Descending into Spring
And her warm, broad, love

We had a snowstorm today with large, fluffy flakes. I’m excited for spring, and I enjoyed the near 70 degree temperatures we experienced a few days ago. We’ve had a mild winter though. Call me crazy, but I haven’t had my fill of snow yet. This is a haiku I wrote about the same time last year. Maybe it’s something about the sparseness they share, but all the haikus I have ever written are set in winter.

Last of Winter
Snow shrouds dead mountains
With cloth of surreal wonder
Until Spring comes again

My family, meaning my parents and many of my siblings, and my nephew and my aunt, and many of my cousins and I went on a lovely cruise to the Caribbean last February before cruises became nightmares. Here are 100 photos of the some of the superb sights from our travels to the Bahamas, St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Martin.

Here are my favorite 16

Winter Haiku Couplet

Bright, tiny diamonds
The sun sparkling in the snow
The light of winter

Ghost mountains crawling
Having drunk snow's elixir
Whisper with the moon

And now for my favorite 10 . . .

This also is a recently written poem for my husband on our anniversary.
I have the junior high teacher I work with to thank 
Because she had our students write preposition poems.

Two love poems in one year, 
When I don't think I've written Ben a love poem since before we were married.
Hmm. I  think we must be in a good place.
Here it is:


By The Hand of God
Beyond my tunnel vision
Into the light
Racing through the fields
Past summits and valleys
Under deep waters
Amidst the fog
Across the mud
On the rock
Resting amongst the sweet, soft grass
Beneath the aspens
A diamond is pressed in my heart
And radiates within my soul
That is lit by you
And shines for you.

#GiveThanks

Now, my favorite 11 . . .

This poem is dedicated: 

First, to God for giving us such a beautiful day. 

Second, to my husband as a gift for his birthday. 

Thirdly, to Sean and McKale, who introduced us to Chris Flats and in celebration of their new life together. 

Fourth, to my parents on their 60 wedding anniversary.

Lastly, to Betty Payzant and her joyful reunion with her eternal companion.

Some Days Are Perfectly Complete

Forever looks like meadows and mountain walls painted gold with shivering coins.

Eternity is like groves of ancestral trunks connected at the roots.

Always feels like my hand in yours as we cross the stream; lips touching in celebration the day.