Sunday Poem


This morning snow capped mountains

brought me joy.

In afternoon I

strolled through gardens,

lunched with daughter near gurgling streams.

Flowers smiled at me,

A bamboo forest beckoned.

Nature’s beauty overcame negativity, despair.

We will

Endure

Overcome.

Book Four for 2025: “The Shell Collector”, Anthony Doerr


After reading his other collection of short stories, I ordered this one which is an earlier collection. Once again, he does not disappoint. One of the stories, “The Hunter’s Wife” won the O’Henry Award and has to be one of those most touching and unusual stories I have ever read. One main character, the man who makes his living guiding hunting parties in Montana, becomes obsessed with a young woman he sees in a magic show and follows her everywhere. When he first meets her, she is underage and he does nothing. Later when she is older he relentlessly pursues and marries her. After years of enduring the hardships of living in a remote cabin in the mountains, she leaves. She has always possessed the ability to feel the emotions of both other humans and animals and begins to make her living using this ability to help people. After never seeing her for twenty years, the hunter comes to one of her events. The story details the years between their first meeting and what happens when the hunter attends this event.

The title story, “The Shell Collector”, details the life of a blind expert on certain kinds of sea shells and the marine life that inhabit them, some of which are poisonous. He moves to a remote Pacific island, becomes familiar to those who live there. After a local child becomes ill and her father thinks the shell collector saves her, his peaceful life as he has known it becomes totally upended.


All the stories are notable but another one I found fascinating is “Mkondo”. The main character, Ward Beach, works for a natural history museum and goes to Tanzania to study and collect specimens. While there, he becomes fascinated with a young woman he sees rapidly running through the forest. The rest of the story details his pursuit, their life together, their separate lives, and questions the meaning of what is considered success in life.

I generally am not a short story reader but Doerr’s stories are unique, insightful, touching, and carry a sort of magic not found in many novels or stories.

Tis The Season


Tis the season to…

Feel joy when the morning

sun caresses your face;

Laugh when you hear

children playing in the

street;

Give thanks for being alive,

having friends and family;

Walk down your street or

take a hike, touch a flower,

a tree and appreciate nature’s

simple bounties;

Remember the time your

loved one took your face

in gentle hands and smiled;

Give the gift of kindness,

peace, and compassion to everyone,

strangers, friends, family,

the unknown;

Promise yourself to live your

best self in the year to come,

to never forget that life

is a gift.

A Tribute to My Mother


Barbie Doll

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 no one

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

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

cornfields, hay rides, books, 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 poem about my mother has been published in at least one anthology and my book of poetry. My mother loved roses, had a rose garden. I now grow roses too.

Poems


I started out thinking I would write a poem per day for National Poetry Month. Well, I’m a bit behind on that, but here are two of several I have written so far.

Spring

The mockingbird awakens me with his song.

A hummingbird, dressed in green with an iridescent

orange collar, flits by my head then sips nectar

from a scarlet bougainvillea blossom.

The neighborhood barn owl hoots at dawn and dusk.

A black and red/orange bird I’ve never seen before

lights on a palo verde limb.

A Western Bluebird dips its beak repeatedly in

the talavera birdbath.

Remember

In this world steeped in senseless violence remember

each day to find a piece of beauty:

-rosebuds opening

-the scent of jasmine

-a friend’s smile

-a bit of birdsong

In this world ravaged by wars remember

each day to find the jewels of joy:

-listen to a child’s laughter

-dance to a favorite song

-walk in the morning sunshine

-tell someone you love them

Eye Drama


Kohl

Kajal

Sormeh

Mebari

Ancient names for eyeliner

still in use today.

Kohl-Arabic

Kajal-South Asian

Ithmid-the purest kohl

made from galena

Surma-powered kohl in Urdu, Bengali

Sormeh-loose power preferred by Persians

Tiro-Nigerian

Mebari-red eyeliner, Japanese

Nefertiti used it.

Today the Worso and Wodaabe

African men use it.

Where women must veil themselves

the eyes are everything.

Bedouins use it for protection

from the desert sun.

In defiance find Cat Eyes

in Chola culture.

In Kerala Kathakali

dancers use it.

Geishas in Kyoto use red.

Find influencers on TikTok

Instragram, they will

teach you how.

Note: The above poem was inspired by my most recent read:

“Eyeliner A Cultural History”, Zahra Hankir. Hankir is a Lebanese journalist whose history of eyeliner throughout the world informs the reader about places and people and customs many never heard of or know about.

Mother’s Roses


roses, lush

pink, red, coral

roses floating in crystal bowls

remind me of my mother

her rose garden by the barn

summer roses on her kitchen table