This eye in the sky watching
Always cheering
Some beauty it never plans to catch
Smiles, therefore
Without any hesitancy and evidence
Of braces or trammels of old
You’ll see


Beauty me up, artist

Swim through my day, my life
Whirlwind ’round the kitchen
In and out each room, each window
Lingering, busying

Leave no ion, yard, or garden of me unchanged

Then when my heart smiles, long last!
Teach me artistry
That I may take the torch

Sunshine Peak

Once a mountain there was
And a woman most worthy
As any woman is

Taking aim, then falling away
With purposeful looking
Set sight on a different mountain

On being a different woman
And she is allowed
As any woman is

She Of The Field

Her stripes will never be white-washed
Her rudbeckia sun
Will never be tilled under
What cheapness have you done?

Your patch of earth, a briar field
Tall thistle lines your way
When beauty comes to ask you
What answer will you say?


How to select weeds

Telling certain ones, “it’s time to out you from this place.”

And whispering to others, “I’ll protect you from their scrutinizing eyes.”

For weeds, we know, live ‘long side the wanted, the beauty.

Yet also, left untended, may aspire to choke.


How to select weeds

“What is a weed?  A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.”

~Ralph Waldo Emerson


I wonder how I’d look with the Sun on my face. Not the fast and deep flowing sunlight, who I long ago named Hope. But the actual Sun. Surely the truth and green of my eyes would shine. Surely I’d see my chin lifted ever so slightly higher. Surely I’d feel beautiful. Then, “Hope,” I could say, “move along.”


It’s just my shoulder

There’s nothing inherently beautiful or strong, tempting or freeing

Cool or calm about it, is there?

It’s just an offer

There’re billions of others to stand square with, befriend or lean on

Swoon over or serve with, aren’t there?