1. Being Late
The clock's ticking louder
and I’m behind,
with shoes half-tied, I'm
trying to find a reason
why time keeps slipping away;
for minutes turn sharp
and refuse to stay, useless
I chase the moments
that won’t rewind.
-------
2. Early
Early is the sky
stretching its bluish bones
while the day breaks, and
the world, unfinished and soft,
promises in whispers,
"Come, see,
what your today
might become."
------
3, April 3--You know what to do
Rain,
you, the soft traveler in the sky,
wandering far enough
don't you know
my garden is waiting,
with thirsty leaves ?
While, still the quiet rivers
remember your name,
please do knock on the rooftops,
whisper to the soil,
tap on every window
like a gentle reminder
Rain
my old friend
of seeds and streams,
you know what to do.
-----------
4. April 4...Loss
Loss arrived suddenly,
with your chair left empty at the table
though the room has stayed the same
and the air learned your name
and my every silence since...
as it is shaped like you.
---------
April 5---Found and found again
I found a dime beside the thyme,
half-buried by dirt and time
a tiny sun in a small place
I brushed clean its shiny face
but maybe I was a terrible host,
the next minute the dime was lost
then later, after a soft and silver rain,
as I wandered back again,
once more it lay there and it shone
as if the earth had found its own
--------------
April 6-Define or defend, support or reject a trend or fad really out there now or in the past.
Those WAWA Drinks
"Wawa Recalls 4 Popular Beverages Sold in 5 States due to an undeclared allergen."
Suddenly their world
filled with fear, when people said.
"allergens, here!"
those drinks, iced teas.
lemonade, and punch were
called back home, at lunch
for caution drew the line
just to prove a company
can shine and guard the sales
a mark of shame? Not!
so, what's in a name
when they meant no harm?
I'd say let those drinks return
when all is right, to pour, in turn,
charm and comfort they'd earned.
----------
April 7--Make up a new trend or fad that you'd be proud to have created
Dream Catching
A trend or fad? But just
maybe a box inside my bed,
glowing with light
beside my dreaming head
capturing visions, in
my mind's tread and
aptly said, such as
a road I'm on
that doesn't exist
or my dragons
made of mist,
flying trees, talking moon
a whale on land
humming a tune...
Then, I'll press play back
and watch them again
maybe with that
there'll be a trend
of such boxes, near and far
for all to recall their dreams
that fly away with the beams
of the morning sun.
----------
April 8--Use a favorite form to say whatever you want!
Ode to My Old Age
You, my patient friend
who was at the door
you've entered softly,
step by silver step,
carrying my years
like searchlights at dusk
their quiet beams revealing
what I missed
and when I went through days
without a glance
regret and joy ran
gently side by side as
you eased the sharp
impatience of my youth,
traded my thunder for
steadier rain, and
you showed me loss
can carve a deeper cup
for gratitude to fill it
with sweet wine
so, stay a while,
my friend with the weary eyes,
for in your shadow
has grown my clear truth.
--------
April 11, 2026--Elegy or lament
.To Noche
I call your name into the quiet
"Noche"
and the dark still answers like you used to,
a meow, soft and certain,
as if night itself had learned my voice.
Noche, you were
a slip of midnight with green-fire eyes,
watching the world as if it were a story
you already knew the ending to
and you moved,
not walking, but arriving,
from room to room like a thought
I hadn’t finished thinking yet.
Noche,
you were the gentlest night I’ve ever known
full of quiet light
only my eyes could see.
It has been a year and still...
the corners hold you, like my heart
a curve of darkness where no darkness falls,
a hush that hums with your absence.
I set my hand down beside me sometimes
and wait...
out of habit, out of hope...
for the feel of you
to complete my world again,
There has to be a place where
shadows rest with no fear,
and I know you're there
curled into the curve of eternity
with your eyes half-closed
still watching me
still knowing...
And if the dark brushed my ankles
when no one is near,
I'll say your name again,
Noche
and let the silence
love me back.
------
April 12 Poem about a book
In "The Library of Lost Love"
I got lost in "The Library of Lost Love"
while curled in
the quiet glow of night,
as my Kindle hummed to life,
with 'almost's and 'if-only's
on each page and soft fingerprints
of strange hearts on each line
pressed into sentences
and I read and carried
their borrowed memories
between weird longings and
letting go,
then, not a finish but a second chance
now shelved somewhere new
by the pale electric hush
of my reading-lamp.
-------
April 13--Lucky or unlucky
Lucky
You, the four-leaf clover,
and you, the coins that flash
in the passing light,
lucky isn't just your claim
not that I blame you both
But
Lucky is the warmth
in ordinary days, if
I can find them, and
in the voices I love, and
a certain hand that reaches back
for mine.
-----
April 15—Deadlines
Deadlines?
Dead or lines? I ask
and I'm not being cruel
but firm in what I ask.
"It's deadlines," you say
"a finish line for that task,"
meaning a clock is pressed
into my hand, but no, I take a stand
between delay and if it gets done,
yet, you whisper firmly,
“Now. Not later. Run!.”
-----------
April 16—Fish or fowl
The Fish that Could Escape
They still drift through
my liquid memories of
fishing with my uncles,
when we were all quiet
not to scare the catch
and where our silence
could be heard,
silver flickers stitched
the streams, quiet
as our unfinished dreams
their gills like pages,
turning slow, reading
currents as they go
then, they'd vanish
with a tilt of light,
a whispered flash, their
slipping sight, leaving behind
widening rings, as if
a thought of small,
unnoticed things.
--------
April 17—Rhyme, subtle or overt
Arthritis
My joints complain at break of day
a quiet ache that doesn't stray
it whispers first, then speaks aloud
this stubborn pain, my gathering cloud
yet, still I move, so stiff and slow
through early dawn and evening's glow
for in each step, but not as free
there lives a quiet strength in me.
--------------
April 18—A sense of an ending
The Ending
Through its flickering light,
when edges softened and
the air was cooler,
I heard its whisper
barely there,
toward the end, as
it was once bright, yet
it had begun to bend,
not loss alone,
but a closing note,
or was it some peace,
a strange release
in the hush of an ending
for the light bulb
on my lamp.
-----------
April 19—A literal sense/senses poem
The Beach Breathes Slow
The beach breathes slow,
as salt lingers on my lips,
the briny echo of the sea
under my feet the sand is warm
fine grains slip softly through
my toes, as I taste the air,
sharp, alive, and clean,
while the wind's cool hands
on my sunlit skin slip away
as soon as it notices me
and gulls cry with wild laughter,
their feet stitching patterns on the sand,
while the surf repeats its rhythm,
ancient and steady, as green perfume
rises with the foam, filling my lungs
and so, this shoreline feels like home
for at the edge of this morning,
the beach breathes slow.
------------
April 20—Salient image (most memorable or resonant image in your day)
Watching the Rain
Glass veiled in thin, silver threads
that tremble, and each drop hurries
like a traveler slipping down
invisible roads, and so, my window
has become my theater
to watch the trees bow their heads
with leaves shivering, each
a whispered secret,
and the sky, low and heavy,
a gray quilt, stitched with distant
thunder, and then, on the rooftop,
shingles speak in percussion,
and I watch
while time loosens its grip and inside
the air is warm, untouched, nothing
fractured, nothing in motion
except my thoughts, and I still remain
here, watching a single drop cling
to the pane, hesitate, then let go,
its quiet surrendering to gravity
losing its boundaries into
a blurred watercolor painting, and
I still stay, still watching the rain
write its endless poem.
---------
April 21—Growing up
I looked up to adults
with my scraped knees.
tatty outfits, wet from
running into the rain,
and messy small hands
And, my voice deepened
with questions to which,
there were no answers
and adults said, mostly,
I was precocious.
Was it the way I asked or
were the questions wrong?
Except, sometimes, mirrors
answered back in a better way,
while waiting me to outgrow
my questions, like I did
my shoes, friends, fears
stories about princesses,
and who I could be
somewhere along the way,
Am I grown up, now
I wonder...since without
any single clear moment,
I became the one kids are
asking all the questions.
---------
April 22—Doubleness
Two shadows of me?
But where should I be?
One shadow of memory
and one of me!
At a mirror I pause, I'm so
unsure, which self is echo
which one is pure? A split
refrain, for one speaks of facts
one hums in dreams,
my two kinds of pain...
Yet, in the blur, I also can see
being twice lost, is twice to be.
------------
April 23—Shakespeare
Shakespeare
As “O Romeo, Romeo,” echoes
through the dark, Shakespeare
walks again in the hush, between
pages and breath, dipped
in starlight, into my thoughts,
his words outliving time itself
while his quill is inked with kings
and fools, with wit and wind
stitching centuries together
for "All the world's a stage"
not just tragedy but where fairies
can tip the balance of the heart,
for nothing is what it seems,
since he carved a soul in
breathing syllables, and
left them to stay, to this day.
So, I ask, "What voice could house
both a tempest and still air
and what hand could hold
so vast a human tide?
---------
April 24—An unsung hero/heroine
My Aunt, the Teacher
She taught how
to doubt, how
to be really free
and scattered sums,
and questions, to be
for a spark, a thread
or thousand paths
and she mended
cracks no one could
see or knew, for
no medals hung
upon her wall,
no trumpet's sound
to mark her call,
yet in her hands
unseen, unknown,
future's seeds were
softly sown, and except
for a few, her name has
faded from view.
--------
April 25—A moment of joy or delight
A tiny salamander, its belly pressed
on the windowpane, listening
to the slow language of the water
as my hands move through soap and heat
right below the window, as the sink hums
its domestic song, salamander leans quietly in
to watch, its toes splayed like delicate stars,
a stillness in joy and patience I have long missed
but in that moment, we share the same light
two small lives paused in our own reflections
after I rinse and smile at it and turn away, it still
stays quiet like a secret that needs no telling
===========
April 26—An arrival
The Alien
Earlier, he had studied us, of course,
charts, signals, fragments of speech,
and he knew our words of welcome
for home and peace, but he did not know
how rarely we meant them.
So he came, without thunder, with no
blazing tail to warn us from the sky,
just opened a quiet seam, and that was all.
Then, he stood in a field at dusk, his feet
sinking into our soil and listened to
the low electric hum of our restless world.
Later, he walked into our biggest city where
the night glowed brighter than the stars, and
he saw us hurry past one another, with our
unfinished thoughts and our eyes elsewhere,
always elsewhere, just to escape the present
and he saw tall towers clawing the sky while
shadows of poverty pooled at their feet, and
he thought, "Why do they build so high, yet
they look so low?"and he listened to our laughter
sharp, fleeting, cackling, and brittle-edged
with the weight of life. He shook his head,
wondering, 'Their defense, perhaps?' And
at night, on a park bench, he whispered
into the dark, "They have everything, but
they are afraid, still, mostly of each other,"
Then, the next day a child wandered near
and looked at him, and really looked,
smiling without question, without any
common history, startling him more,
more than our wars, our ills, and our noise,
with this unguarded act. "Why?" He asked
gently. "Because you're here," she said,
as if this was enough reason, and
in that moment, this alien felt his heart
stir. This alien, the lone traveler of vast
distance through the sky, now felt
hope. Perhaps! Or a fragile beginning,
or maybe he thought he finally understood
this species so brilliant, yet bewildered,
still learning how to be at home on their
own small, troubled, but still shining planet
of endless motion, which its sky they had
forgotten to notice while the stars burned
steadily and patiently waiting, as ever.
-------
April 27—Something undone, forgotten, or lingering in the mind
"The Sound of Silence"
by Simon and Garfunkel
It is a hush that learned my name
a whisper without breath
a question with no end
"Hello Darkness" and suddenly
my room feels deeper as if
the silence has roots
I try to move on, but no!
Threading through memory
it lingers...not loud, not urgent
but patient, like dust settling in
the corners of my mind where old
words and memories go unspoken
and it folds itself into every pause
between heartbeats, long after
a certain memory fades
yet, it remains not as music but
the space it carves inside me
drifting in and out.
--------
April 28—Satisfaction or completion
At the End of the Day
Evening settles slow, like a sigh, but
why, it's only a wish, maybe a dream
that I'll have put away the dishes,
the papers, and all lingering threads
since each task wasn't a drain or too low,
with no strain, for I'm unhurried, and
I can gently sit down in the warm glow of
the lamps, no rush, no call, but slow; and
I'll be at ease, like drifting leaves in this
drowsy, forgiving life, with all the comfort
for I'd have left the day, with no high-fives,
displays, just peace when all set in its way,
then, with satisfaction, I'll say, it's true
today is over through and through, and
tomorrow is another day to try, yet I'll sigh,
but why, it's only a wish, maybe a dream.
-----------
April 29—Coincidence or synchronicity or déjà vu
Deja Vu
Too much dopamine
in the brain, they say
I think a confusion,
maybe...momentarily...
Could it be?
Yet, your face arrived
like a memory misplaced
from some window in
the past, I couldn't
quite open, with
that tilt of your smile
from another hour or
another life? It held
some strange certainty
as time flickered while
we spoke, every word
falling into already worn
grooves as if we said these
same sentences before,
on the same path...
Were you a dream
I misplaced upon waking
and you left with your echoes
with me remembering you
without knowing how?
Too much dopamine
in the brain, they say
I think a confusion,
maybe...momentarily...
Could it be?
--------
April 30—Moving on…
For Ken 🌝 HuntersMoon 
The news arrived this morning
I sat with it for a while
my cup gone cold in my hands
but I couldn't set it down
and I wasn't able to drink
The news arrived this morning
to fracture the day with
your name suddenly spoken
in the past tense,
and memories came gently
Your words in bright fragments
your writing voice threading
through our site, now telling us
to write, to move on, after
the news arrived this morning.
|
un: 
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