looks like fragility,

petalled purity

daring to open.


smells like hope,

tenuous aroma

wafting on brittle breeze.


tastes like cherries,



and bitter-sweet,

fruit wrapped

around a stubborn pit.


feels like

sun and shadow

and windswept chaos,

grace and worms

and the promise

of a cherry pie.

Even Wilted Flowers Know

rudbeckia cold

Even wilted flowers know

to lift their gaze to Heaven;

even broken blossoms sense

that hope is heart’s best leaven.

Even drooping posies dream

of living ever after;

Even frozen florets feel

the warmth of angels’ laughter.

You Will Not Shut Me Down!

I stand alone in this crowd.

You play judge and jury here;

You resent the way I bloom,

My scent, in you, breeds fear.

You will attempt the shift,

Carve my beauty to mimic you –

But you will not shut me down,

To my blossoms, I am true…

Across the Miles

Two blossoms nod across the way,

In distance, far apart.

But friendship’s will can make a way

For heart to speak to heart;

Encouragement is made to stretch

And cannot ever break,

For blossoms are designed to catch

The sun, for friendship’s sake!

This poem about friendship is dedicated to my friend Petro!

The Seaman Mom

Petro writes about her life, thoughts, and parenting adventures, as well as some interesting background on her home in Romania, with humor and poignant flair at The Seaman Mom.  She and her husband have worked contracts on cruise ships for years and have been to some amazing and interesting places.  Petro has just started a brand-new blog exploring her cruise ship travels here.  She has supported my writing so tirelessly, and always has cyber-hugs and encouragement to spare!   She once jokingly commented that I should write a poem about her.  Well, here it is, Petro!  I wish you all of God’s blessings, this day and always…

Subtle Strength

No damsels in distress, these –

delicately fragranced with

the scent of spring rain,

their fragility is misleading.

Vulnerable yet graceful,

theirs is the strength of the centuries.

Soft and brimming with young,

bursting with life-wombs,

they laugh at the winds

and scoff at the thunder.

Theirs is a fleeting beauty, yes –

but theirs is raw Life,

sprinkled by waters of mercy,

cloaked in dignity and a suppleness

that bends in the gale

but cannot break.

Time has tossed them a test –

and they have passed with flying pink colours…