Tentative chirping
Followed by full throated song
Forest symphony
Faint wood smoke curling
From a neighboring chimney
Pairs with strong coffee
Scant breeze stirs the lake
Fish send out rippling signals
While frogs sun on logs
Category: Poetry
Forest Storm
Skies darken, winds howl
Acorns fall before raindrops
Squirrels take cover
Deep blue framed window
Mute witness across the lake
Watch the storm with me
Thunder fills the gap
After expectant silence
Lightning left behind
I sat on the screened in porch yesterday afternoon as a storm moved in over the lake. The blue window in the middle picture took on the appearance of a face when I looked at it closely. Then, the bottom photo has a somewhat sinister appearance. See if you can find what I’m talking about. It freaked me out a bit.
Oh, and as I finished typing that last bit we had a very close lightning strike followed by an instant house-rattling clap of thunder. Scout (our cat) and I made a hasty retreat into the house. Whew!
Peace, people!
Silken Promise
Sitting slyly perched within
The silver strands stretched tightly
I’ve woven this silk for you, my love
Come lounge here with me nightly
Your gossamer threads cannot hold
Your liquid words won’t bind
I’ll sit with you for just a spell
Then leave your web behind
Of course, she whispered soothingly
Here, rest in my embrace
Through half closed eyes he watched
As she moored him to her place.
On Being Nana
I wasn’t always Nana. Once upon a time I was plain old Leslie, occasionally “honey” or whatever endearment
Came immediately to Studly’s tongue. But by far, Nana is the best name I’ve ever been given. Fifteen years ago this week,
Nana was born when a beautiful, round faced baby girl was placed in my arms. Her wide blue eyes connected with my own
Amazed brown ones, and I have been forever changed. I might have once been ordinary, but now I am Nana.
Happy 15th birthday to our eldest grandchild, Dominique Grace. I meant to post this on Wednesday, but never changed the post from “draft” to “scheduled.”
Preprayered
Sheltered here
We feel the prayers,
Waves of heavenly love
In an earthly storm
Winds rage and wane
We feel the prayers
Frissons of faith
To comfort and calm
In our worried hearts
We feel your prayers
Buoying our spirits
Carrying us through
Recognition
We know she’s out there
Churning on the horizon
Her name on our lips
Feverish dervish
Frantic dance for the ages
Spinning tirelessly
Irma, we feel you
Whatever slights you’ve suffered
We will bear your pain
I’m Never Wrong, Unless I’m Wrong
Yesterday I posted in regard to my angst about this being the final season for the HBO series, Game of Thrones. On my Facebook feed I was soon chastised, politely, for my error. Indeed, this is not the final season. There will be one more after this.
On one hand I’m aggrieved that I made such an egregious error on an easily verifiable issue. I mean, it’s not like I was speculating on the exact date the world will end or the moment the polar ice caps will crumble into the sea. But on the other hand I’m so genuinely glad that I won’t have to contemplate living in a world without Game of Thrones once this season has come to an end.
And the way things are going, with North Korea threatening nuclear war on the international stage and white supremacists threatening on the domestic front, we might not make it to next year anyway. Now there’s a cheerful thought.
Maybe this little poem will ease our troubled minds:
Will Jon Snow find a Walker
And bring him home to Cersei fair?
Will Arya kill Littlefinger
By luring him into her lair?
Is Cersei carrying Jamie’s child?
Only time will tell.
Has Samwell made a prudent choice
In leaving the Citadel?
Has Sansa succumbed to power?
Has it gone straight to her head?
Will Daenerys lead her dragons
In a fight against the dead?
We won’t know at season’s end
There’ll be more shows to come
But I’ll be sitting front and center
Watching every one.
Peace, people!
Surrendering to Love
Surrendering to Love
By Leslie Noyes
Hate is thick out there
Marching through the city streets
Tearing us apart
Love is present, too
Quieter, yet pervasive
Calling for action
Now we have the choice
To which do we surrender?
I'll always choose love
The Long Way
The Long Way
By Leslie Noyes
She likes to take the odd way home and longs for unpaved pathways. A crowding of trees on either side pleases her
More than she can explain. He, though, searches for direct routes, interstates and expressways. No time for
meandering hither and yon. No desire to stroll the byways; a clear cut destination with the horizon firmly in view.
Always ahead of schedule, critical of those who linger over the simple pleasure of traipsing off the beaten trail.
She loves him anyway.
Falling Awake
Darkness falls away
Tentative fingers grasping
Holding on to sleep
Fleet flashes of dreams
Images shift unbidden
Sifting in corners
Sunlit glimpses tug
Luring unwary sleepers
Lapsing reverie 
Praying for Eyebrowz 