Sunday Sounds
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The game is on in the background
The woodstove clicks warming the home
Soft padding as the kitty roams
Dominoes clatter marking next round
Loved ones chatter, glasses clinking
A great Sunday to my thinking.
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Sunday Games
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Playing games on Sunday afternoon
No one will win anytime soon
Twelve more rounds of this game to play
Keeping our dots incognito
Until our turn at dominoes
Family chatter causing delay
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Decisions
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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
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(A Wreathed Sestet with a nod to Robert Frost)
Snowbirds
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Tracks in the snow let me know where you go
Gray squirrels run in circles throughout the woods
Near feeders the three-toed hops of junco
Woodpeckers pace up and down the ironwoods
Follow the heart-shaped tracks of buck and doe
We’re all leaving tracks through the neighborhood
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(A Sicilian Sestet)
Show Going
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Community theater entertains
Amateur actors simply not mundane
Amazing voices and endearing knack
The pay is only audience feedback
They act they sing they dance and move the sets
It’s as local and hands-on as it gets
*
Creaking folding chairs in an old stone church
Audrey II’s voice booming down from a perch
Snacks and cold sodas sold by volunteers
Enjoying the show’s opening premier
They act they sing they dance and move the sets
It’s as local and hands-on as it gets.
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Goldenrod
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Often blamed for causing sneezes
By hurling pollen on the breezes
Bees treasure these late fall flowers
Drink its tea for its healing powers
Considered a weed by so many
This humble plant’s benefits are plenty
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Samara
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Colossal samara sculpture spinning
The gentle breeze provoking giant seed
Around the garden at a ghostly speed
The bronze patinaed green and weathered well
Enormous silent, it has me grinning
The towering art, not aunaturel
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Purple Beans
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The purple beans are ready for harvest
From long vines upon the tired old fence
Of course there’s inspection with a taste test
Please believe the fresh-picked flavor is intense
Have to be sure not to eat the whole lot
Before I can get them into the pot.
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(An English Sestet Poem)
A Picture and a Poem 