Her Fall

autumn sundial


Her alibi is iron-clad –

Time is standing still;

Heart has fallen like the leaves,

Swallowing the will.

She didn’t mean to lose herself,

Get taken at the flood;

He swept her off her willing feet

When Love began to bud.



Grace is Like That


Grace is like that.

It buds, sporadic

train service,

and blooms

in fits and starts,

lurching into the station

at unexpected

intervals. Its

purity removes

air from lungs

and slackens

jaws and

slakes thirst,

just for

this one moment.


So unexpected, this beauty.

My eyes looked past and through you,

Seeking the spectacular vernacular,

The oohs and aaahs of those who wring out the spotlight

And demand observance.

But you in your chore clothes,

Springing from a sour work-horse womb,

Peel away the cataracts of preconceived notions

And leave me breathless…

The photo depicts rhubarb in bloom.  In all the years I have been gardening, I must say I have never really noticed, to my shame, the beauty in it.  The blossoms grow on stems which are useless and must be removed to ensure that the plant doesn’t think its job of propogating itself is done, thus slowing down the growth of the blood red  stems which are the real prize.  How much beauty have I missed with my blinkers on?  Ah, for eyes that are truly open…