For many Christmas means gifts.
What are gifts?
Material things–the new toy, new technology,
perfume, clothes.
People spend hours and money
many lack to give gifts.
Yet the most wonderful gifts remain:
joy
love
beauty
birdsong
touch
wonder
peace
Uncategorized
Sunday Poem–Rain
It’s raining! It’s raining!
It has not rained in more than a month.
I run out the door,
spreading my arms skyward.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
A smile smears joyfully across my face.
I run across the patio,
rain drops pelleting my face, my arms.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
My dog stands, rivulets of rain running off her.
Lightning explodes, thunder booms bass,
the steel roof plays staccato music.
I laugh out loud, dancing in the rain.
From my book “On the Rim of Wonder”. This poem holds true today. After a summer with lots of rain, it quit. It is very dry with a high danger of wildfires now that the summer vegetation has dried, perfect fuel.
Poetry Reading
A busy time of year, this holiday season. Here is what I will be doing this week on Thursday. Now I have to decide which poems to read, the Puma Poems, Hot Pink Toenails, Star–the sad one about the death of my grandson’s horse, poems about aging, death, what?
Sunday Poem–“Hair”
No females in my family had long hair.
Dad did not like it,
said it showed male domination
over women.
Once when grown and gone
from home, I began to grow mine
out, experiment.
When he saw it, he told me
he thought it unbecoming.
I cut it.
Mom said she had long hair
when she was young.
Her dad forbade her to cut it.
In her twenties she chopped her golden locks
off, flapper style, then hid her head
in a scarf, afraid.
Note: This poem is from the family section of my book, “On the Rim of Wonder”.
Final Flowers
Final flowers before frost
Brilliant intensity
A last hurrah of beauty
Night
listen to frogs
watch it rain
feel the breeze
answer the owl
sip red wine
read a book
sing favorite songs
dance alone
imagine
dream
Walking Among the Flowers
After feeding the horses, completing chores, a late afternoon walk to look for the last of the wild flowers took my fancy. Here in the canyon country of the Panhandle of Texas, the majority of wildflowers are three colors: yellow, white, purple.
Butterflies feeding in the gay feather.
At first I thought this might be bitterweed but now, not sure.
Although this one and the last one may resemble each other, they are different.
Looked up, the sun decided to shine–at my place four inches of rain in the last week and more than seven inches ahead of normal.
Black foot daisies and prairie zinnias bloom from early spring almost until frost.
Athena among the flowers.
Prickly pear can grow almost anywhere.
I almost missed this one hidden among the grass.
September 30–Morning
Silence sits
like a wet, grey rag
no bird song
no insects or frogs singing
junipers unmoving
yesterdays footprints
impressions in adobe mud
Silence sits
like a wet, grey rag
Own Everything
Checked my Facebook today and this quote showed up–posted by a fellow friend and author. It is from Ann Lamont:
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
Note: In spite of a few men having referred to me as a scandalous woman after reading my book, “On the Rim of Wonder”, I still have not been sued for slander. It has been a few years. I think I am safe. Always tell your truth. Be open to adventure. Live your life. Be the best you that you can be.
Visitor
he flew to my side
smiled
then scuttled behind
Frida Kahlo
writingontherim 