April 30, 2020

A common blue violet blooms in the crack of a boulder.



A seed lands, crack expands

Roots making life from hard rock

Water feeds new plant needs

In the shade of a great hemlock

Boulder becomes mineral crumbs

Roots, rock, rain in wedlock

Through sun and storms new soil forms

The tale of a forest epoch.


A Naturette Poem. A poetry form I invented to write about a tiny detail of nature.

The 8-line poem has the following rhyme scheme and syllable count:









December 5

The Nation that Destroys its Soil Destroys Itself


The root of life is beneath our feet

Nation building from pebbles and rocks

That form humanity’s foundation

Destroys illusion that we’re complete

Its bits of dust are the building blocks

Soil equalizes expectations

Destroys notions of superiority

Itself leveling all authority


(A Bumper Sticker Poem)

Bumper Sticker Poems – a form I created, inspired by cento and golden shovel poetry, with the following guidelines:

  • Using a bumper sticker as inspiration use the words in the bumper sticker as the first word in each line of the poem
  • The theme of the poem may or may not have anything to do with the message of the sticker
  • Title should be the words of the bumper sticker
  • Should be rhymed
  • 9 syllable lines
  • Number of lines depends on number of words on the bumper sticker

November 19



Two roads diverged in a wintery wood

They will converge again with different tales

One trail to the creek, one between hardwoods

One should keep your feet dry, boulders to scale

Other entails wet rocks hops and strong deadwood

Each would be a challenge, now to pick a trail


(A Wreathed Sestet with a nod to Robert Frost)

October 24

Where water meets rock


Resting beside rocks and water thought digesting

Digesting today’s news, aching muscles resting

Peace comes to me where the cold creek waters release

Release all stresses into the burbling peace

Seeking calm but getting a perspective tweaking

Tweaking expectations, transformation seeking


(A Mirrored Sestet)

June 20

The View at the Top


I hike the rain slicked trail, gazing from ground to wood

Afraid to trip on rocks, afraid to miss the good

Torn between what I want to do and what I should

Looking ahead and looking back to where I stood.


I don’t do this enough, so I need frequent breaks

To pee behind a tree, to ease my lungs from ache

Slowly I ascend the steep, resting when calves quake

Reaching the summit, I know this was no mistake.


(An Awit Poem)