Garden of Delights


A garden of delights

my my new goal.

Why do I/we need

such a garden?

Sanity, yours and mine.

Genocide in Gaza, Sudan,

eastern Congo, probably

even in other places where

there’s no news.

Poverty here in the richest

nation on Earth.

Poverty my neighbor seems

shocked when I tell her.

People living in condemned

trailers, no heat, no water–

It’s freezing inside.

People surviving, barely.

Malnourished children, big

hungry eyes, staring.

A garden of delights

my new goal.

Why do I/we need

such a garden?

Masked men and some women

attacking people in the streets,

in their homes,

knocking down doors.

smashing windows.

You’d think I’m describing

Russia, Nazi Germany

but no, I’m describing

happenings in my own

county and

across the US.

A garden of delights

my new goal.

Sanity = Delights

I look out my window

purple mountains loom

in crystalline air.

Recent rains create

emerald hills,

blooming freeway daisies,

roses in my garden,

pink, sunset colors, snow.

Bougainvillea the color of blood

climbs my garden wall.

The turquoise fountain gurgles.

Photo of daughter and grandson

make me smile.

Symbols, sacred corn grace

walls and make me

remember cornfields in summer

when on a hot day

I could hear corn grow.

Three different pine trees whisper,

the Soleri bell rings in wind.

Ah, yes, I live in a garden,

a garden of delights.

And I remain sane

for at least one

more day.


			

New Year’s Wishes


In a hurting, damaged world

where greed and hatred often reign

I wish for

the beauty of flowers to flow into hearts

kindness toward those different from self

to permeate hearts and mines

the light of joy create compassion

toward each other

the knowledge that we are all one race,

one people flow through humanity

Hold friends and family close

Smile, greet strangers

Release hatred, anger into air

Promise yourself to love more,

let others be themselves,

be grateful, find joy

Essence Objects


While reading the novel “Landscapes” this afternoon, this passage struck me: a man, recently blind, explains, “I rely on my other senses. I get by. But in another way I’m not sure I ever knew where I was headed, not even when I had eyesight, you know what I mean? I doubt anyone really knows where they’re going. But you walk ahead anyways, no?”

This caused me to reflect on a video I saw earlier in the day at Mendez High School where I work for College Match LA. The purpose of the video was to help students address what they will write about in their college essays, how they will write about themselves. It’s called “Essence Objects”. The task is to think about various objects you would put in a box, objects that represent how you see certain things or people, how you think. Here are some examples:

  • What object reminds you of your mother?
  • What object represents your favorite piece of music?
  • What object reminds you of a fear you have?
  • What object would you choose to illustrate your favorite book?
  • What object would a friend associate with you?

The list goes on and on, thought provoking questions. I don’t have to write a college essay but I’m going to go over the whole list and think and think and think.

Note: I picked this photo because the objects that make me think of my mother are roses. She had a rose garden in front of the barn on our Missouri farm. All summer when the roses were blooming, she floated roses in a glass bowl on the kitchen table where we ate.

“Barbie Doll”–in honor of my mother


Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed and blond, my

mother, one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s

death, Dad said, “Barbara was afraid of absolutely on one

and nothing.” They married late, 34 & 38. He adored her

unconditionally. She filled my life with horses, music, love,

cornfields, hay rides, books, and ambition. Whatever she felt she

had missed, my sister and I were going to possess: books,

piano lessons, a college education. Her father, who died long

before I was born, loved fancy, fast horses. So did she. During

my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my hysterical night

coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her in a wagon.

With less than one hundred pounds and lots of determination,

she stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri

River Bottom, strong, willful, free.

Note: This was first published in an anthology and later in my poetry memoir, “On the Rim of Wonder.” My mom loved the color pink and roses, had a rose garden. In the summer there were always crystal bowls on the dining table with roses floating. Today I have roses floating in two stemmed crystal bowls in my kitchen.

Book 13 for 2025: “Honey Hunger”, Zahran Alqasmi


This Omani author has won prizes for his fiction. Only a few of his books have been translated into English. This one takes the reader into the remote villages and mountain regions of the interior of Oman. Azzan, the main character, had received highest honors as a child and teen for his academic excellence but fails to win a coveted scholarship to travel abroad for college. His father, who is mainly absent during his growing up, berates him, and Azzan turns to alcohol and addiction. Eventually, he saves himself by becoming a beekeeper. He finds solace in the more remote, wild regions rather than the narrow confines of village life which is controlled by gossip and tradition.

In these wild areas he meets two other men. Although they do not keep domestic bees, they go camping together in the far mountain areas hunting for the prized honey from wild bees. One of these men is a Bedouin who trains prized racing camels. Through him and his wife and friends, he learns how much freer Bedouin culture is compared to that of the settled villages. He learns to dance and talk more freely with women. While in one remote area, he meets a woman, Thamna, who too has escaped the traditional village life and roams the wadis and mountains with her herd of goats always looking for better pasture. He becomes obsessed with her, always on the outlook as he keeps his bees and roams the interior of Oman hunting bees.

This story is not only about Azzan, but also his friends, traditional Omani village life, bee culture, and Bedouin life. For those interested in bee keeping, the author provides detailed descriptions of bee keeping. The language is poetic and infinitely descriptive. I could feel the wind, smell the different wild flowers and the taste of the honey created from them, see the Bedouin dancing, and feel Azzan’s heartbreak when disaster hits.

Although this novel describes a culture far different from that of the US and Europe, I found some things not all that dissimilar: the strict rules of small town life, the greater freedom found in nature, how people develop and lose interpersonal relationships. The language used makes the reader feel there in the moment being described. Plus I learned that bee keeping is very labor intensive and wrought with many things that can go wrong. I eat honey daily and now will have a greater appreciation of what goes into its production and harvesting.

Simple Pleasures


Taste the honey on your tongue

avocado, dark brown

clover, golden

so many shades, textures

sweetness

pleasure

Feel the breeze caress your cheeks

bringing scents

honeysuckle

lilacs

peach blossoms

pleasure

Touch the silken fabric of your scarf

wind softness around you

midnight and snow

rainbows

desert sunsets

pleasure

Listen to the birds outside your window

mockingbird love songs

a rapture’s scream

the whir of hummingbird wings

emerald, indigo, grey

pleasure

Look at flowers blooming everywhere

crimson bougainvillea

roses, sunshine colors

pale pink, vermillion

beauty

pleasure

Sing a song of Gratitude