Category: Poetry

When

When you wonder what happened to the ideals your friends once aspired to, and you 

question their reasoning and morals. When Donald Trump gets a pass for self reporting 

His sexual assaults because his celebrity status entitled him. When some women shrug and 

Claim that it’s only locker room talk, and all men do it, but you know that’s untrue. When

You can remember being groped by a boy, but you didn’t tell because he made you feel

Ashamed. When you know that the future of your granddaughters depends on your vote.

Never Trump. 

Garden

Tend your garden
Weed the rows
Deadhead the roses
Scare off the crows
Rake the leaves
And employ the hoe
Mistress Mary
Your garden grows.

A trellis tall,
Vines wound ’round
Holds court o’er all
These fertile grounds
Beans and corn
Iris and mums
My pleasure found
In nature’s crumbs.

Under Water Blues

Submerged in despair
an ocean’s weight above me
blue green light suffused.


Lungs filled to bursting
an ache of throbbing restraint
once exhaled, peace found.


Do not cry for me
I longed for this deep silence
the heart’s true stillness.

I Know What It’s Like

I know what it’s like to be
unfriended
boycotted
disenfranchised

I know how it feels to be
on the outside
looking in
separate, not equal

I know what they mean when they say
I’m a bleeding heart
liberal
hippie

I understand they don’t mean that
as a compliment
in a pleasant way
with respect.

It hurts when old friends pile on
hurling epithets
hurting feelings
disregarding my rights

But I won’t back down because
my voice counts
I’m not stupid
I won’t be silenced.

Weavings

Drag me down to your level
Hold my face under water
Until I gasp for relief
A mockery of sin’s daughter.

Slow the drum’s beating
Thump, thump, and roll.
Shame hangs on the shingle
Silence fills the hole.

Ride on into a bad dream
Fail me not in the gloom
A nightmare’s path undecided
Woven into the loom.


Pre-Sixties Inventory

‘Twas the night before sixty
And while tossing in bed
I considered my body
From my toes to my head.

My arches have fallen
My calves ache with fatigue
Poor ankles are swollen
Oh, where’s the Aleve?

My thighs nicknamed thunder,
Hips ache all the time.
Stomach pooches with abandon,
Breasts droop, it’s a crime!

My neck’s crepey like a chicken’s
My face wrinkled like a Sharpei’s
But brown eyes still a’twinkle
While brown hair’s turning gray.


The changes have been gradual,
And not overnight
Thank goodness I’ve had time
To deal with the fright.

Today’s the day I kiss my fifties goodbye. I’m really looking forward to this decade. If it weren’t the middle of the week I’d go out dancing until 2 a.m., drink my companions under the table, and run naked through the streets singing “Born to be Wild” at the top of my lungs. Good thing it’s Wednesday. 

http://youtu.be/xm5DPlNCmtk
Peace, people!

Slotted Spoons

I have a spoon for every need:
slotted,
bouillon,
curved and
Chinese,
cutty,
demitasse, and
dessert,
egg spoon,
grapefruit,
even a spork,
And yet all I require
Is a proper tool
with which to eat
my ice cream.

Gathering

Gather up your skirts young ladies
Then gather near the hearth,
Step in neatly, close the distance
Take your stand and do your part.

Bring your woolen projects with you,
knitted sweaters and worsted socks
Sidle up to fire’s hot embers
Careful of your flowing locks.

Take a sip of ruby brandy
deep and rich as baron’s blood
Maintain a rhythm slow and steady
Heady as a fragrant bud.

Knit one quickly and then pearl two
Change the pattern with a twist,
Catch a wayward thread untethered
Gathering wool with a fervent wish.

Land of Giants

I was tiny. A speck on a ladybug’s spot. While all about the giants clomped and stomped

Trampling every blade of tender grass in their wide flung paths. Hey oh! They sing as they

Go, trundling hither and yon. And this speck hunkered down behind an oak leaf blown to

Ground by a fierce passing storm. Any port in a tempest, any leaf in a wind. Hide ye sweet

Speckled bairns. And live to breathe yet another sweet day outside of the giants’ bold gaze.

artwork by Fabian Rensch

Lady in Green

Lady in Green
By Leslie Noyes

sitting all alone in a bistro at noon, she was beautifully wrinkled, a smile for the ages.

Similarly alone, yet slightly less wrinkled, I claimed a seat in a nearby booth.

Waving my fingertips to catch her attention, I complimented her vibrant style,

Told her that particular shade of green suited her well, that she looked lovely.

She blushed an innocent shade of rose, saying, “Then I will wear it every day.”

We ordered, then discussed the importance of kindness as we munched our separate

Salads. I asked if she’d let me take her picture. There was that blush again.

After wiping a smudge of ranch dressing from the corner of her mouth she nodded permission.

It didn’t occur to me until I’d left the cafe that I should have asked her name.

I shared the picture of my anonymous lunch companion in a snapshot post a few days ago. The more I thought about her, the more I knew she needed her own poem. 

My suggestion to my readers–find someone and tell them they’re lovely. Watching them blossom will make you feel lovely, too.

Peace, people.