The Spark

A tiny spark ignites

the forest floor ablaze.

Red-hot flames surge high

Starlight eclipsed by haze.

Fire consumes the thicket

exposing blackened earth

A perfect bed prepared

expecting the new birth.

 

Old sequoia smolders

Its pulse begins to pound.

Dozens of roasted cones

Shed their seeds to the ground.

Nurtured by rain and sun

Unseen by human eyes,

Pushing up from the ashes

Tender seedlings rise.

 

 

 

Souvenir Picture

The click of seatbelts

secured our bodies for transport.

As the Malibu’s engine accelerated…

we stared at the road ahead.

Not talking.

Not ready to accept

the expiration date stamped on our vacation package.

Both of us knew that Grand Junction

marked the intersection

of Adventure Avenue and Mundane Road.

In the rear view mirror,

the snow-capped San Juan Mountains

taunted us all the way to Montrose.

A vast panorama,

impossible to box up,

mail home,

or stuff in a suitcase,

jumped into ur Chevy

and hitched a ride.

 

 

My poem, Souvenir Picture, first appeared in Time of Singing, A Journal of Christian Poetry, Vol. 43, 2016

 

 

The Dream

You and I

step into the boat.

It teeters

until we find our center.

Within the crystal current

minnows dart below.

Emerald leaves of aspen trees

wave a warm hello.

Soon canyon walls close in

narrowing the flow,

we have no oars, the rapids roar

nowhere else to go.

Yet, laughter bubbles from within

as the wet jets play.

The current carries the two of us

in our little boat…

forever.

A Cruel Joke of Nature

First of all fellow Floridians, do not fear. The sun is shining today and no hurricane warnings are upon us. But it’s August, and we all know the next two months can be dicey at times. Dangerous weather damages Florida communities every year. As an Orlando resident, I’m fortunate to live in an area that hasn’t experienced the wrath of very many  hurricanes. The worst storm I can remember happened in 2004 when Charley came through.

Still, I’m aware of the tough times communities encounter when their power is out for days. This poem, entitled A Cruel Joke of Nature is dedicated to you.

When Charley came to town

the city lost all power.

The stagnant, stifling air

Weighs heavy every hour.

Mornings with no coffee

No bacon, no warm toast.

Yet, inside the kitchen…

the smell of rotten roast.

The radio is silent.

My phone is out of juice.

The TV screen is blank

and Google sheds no truth.

I snuff the candles out

to rest upon my bed,

Swatting at mosquitos

Which whine around my head.

A Cruel Joke of Nature

this taunting serenade.

Escaping to the shower,

I think I’ve got it made.

My triumph is short-lived

Icy water hits my side

The bugs attack my legs

There’s nowhere left to hide.

Illuminated world

Advanced technology

Unequal to the storm

which brought me to my knees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vernal Falls

Trudging up the mountainside

following the trail

Climbing high with every step

hope my feet don’t fail

Although the way is difficult,

the cool breeze is my coach.

The towering trees above me

applaud my slow approach.

 

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Now I’m getting closer

I hear the rushing roar

I smell the fragrance of the pines

My heart begins to soar.

The water is before me

It sprays against my face

A rainbow rises in the mist

to speak of heaven’s grace.

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Abundant life is here

Fresh green moss abounds

My weary spirit is revived

Ready to go back down.

 

Are You Focused on Achievement?

I’ve always been a goal driven person. I set expectations for myself and work hard even though I’m retired. Give me a block of time and I’ll fill it up. Yet, if you ask me what I’ve been doing often I can’t remember. I do know this; I haven’t cleaned house very much.

As you are probably already aware, I love to write. Even if I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing. Building a following for this blog has been my passion. I believe it’s important to try  post something each week and I appreciate everyone who takes the time to read my stories. Many of my posts involve research, interviews, and digging through  personal photos. Now it’s July and the calendar is telling me its time to breathe in. Breathing in means taking time to seek inspiration.

Today I’m sharing a poem I wrote awhile back entitled Achievement.

Slick rock beneath my feet,

hands fixed on sympathetic boulders,

I fight to gain traction and climb.

My heart rate elevates with the altitude.

Gasping for breath,

I reach the summit and revel in my achievement.

The vista reveals a sandstone canyon.

A painter’s palette

of deep reds, tawny yellows, and burnt oranges fill the horizon.

Each layer of rock illustrates a chapter in “Earth’s Biography.”

Far below, the author continues to write.

the mighty Colorado River

snakes back and forth in a quest for sea level.

It too, pushes against obstacles,

but creates a masterpiece.

And I am silent.

 

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Dead Horse Point, Utah

I’m sure you agree that nothing man creates compares to the beauty of God’s creativity. Until next time…

 

 

 

Always Be Celebrating

Last week I received a beautiful card in the mail for my birthday. The sender recognized my affinity for nature and knew my favorite colors. The card meant a lot to me. Each year, as my birthday draws nearer, I tend to reminisce a little about past birthdays.

When I was a child I didn’t like the fact that I was born in June. Usually school was out for the summer.  My school friends were often away on vacation. Sometimes my family would be on vacation as well. Even so, one birthday memory stands out from all the rest.

My tenth birthday was celebrated at a campground in the Smoky Mountains. As a family, we  were busy living the camp life and I thought my birthday would be ignored. Boy was I surprised when out of nowhere my mom presented me with a cake. We were miles from a store or a bakery, and she had no oven in our little trailer.

Children always look forward to their birthdays with excitement. They feel as they grow older, each year brings new freedoms. Their parents might consider them old enough to care for a pet, date, drive, or eventually move out.

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All of us keep birthday traditions. Our celebrations include a cake with candles, the song, “Happy Birthday,” and making a secret wish before blowing out the candles. If we don’t blow out all the candles with one breath, our wish will not come true.

But how many of us remember all the wishes we’ve made? I guess if we did, we wouldn’t tell anyone about it. After all they were all secret wishes.

As the years roll on.. birthdays are no longer a rite of passage. And by the time we enter our retirement years we would rather slow life down instead of speeding it up.

Women especially, go through a lot of inner turmoil about growing older. We experience a season of not wanting anyone to know our age. When I hit sixty I didn’t care anymore. On good days I feel proud that I can still do many of the things I’ve always done. At other times I use my age as a reason to excuse myself from activities I’d rather not do. I no longer feel a burning desire to spend a whole day at a theme park.

Last year I wrote a poem about turning 64, entitled…

“Wishful Thinking”

hot pink candles

drip wax on swirls of chocolate frosting

everyone smiles as

the usual off key voices

sing the last note of the classic melody

panic stricken

what to wish?

For an encore allowing more time to think?

Or perhaps more years to live?

I inhale until the pressure forces me

to let go

 

 

What do birthdays mean to you? Do you have a special birthday memory? Leave a comment. You might be interested in two other age related posts: Now I’m Sixty-Four and Redefining Age With Valerie Ramsey.