Poetry: Dark Woods


Bathed in silver, the sun played memories

Of light to guide me through the dark woods

Where I found an unfamilar path

That I somehow remembered from a dream.

At the end of a path stood a stone house,

Bright and pulsing with warm intelligence,

Curiosity, laughter and red wine.

We talked for hours before I wound my way

Back the now familiar path to bed.

The next day, morning shook me with alarm,

And through the fog I found another place,

Unfamilar and strange, with cold walls

Dark and dreary with boredom, with people

Whose shriveled souls ached for the deep, dark woods.

Poetry: Welcoming Rain


The sky was the color of unbleached whites

In a nickel-plated laundry basket,

Predictable—then the pressure collapsed,

The exposure darkened and the drama

Gave way to the perfect rhythm of rain—

Kissing leaves, nestling into clumps of earth,

Reviving the life trapped in the death-grip

Of summer—when all is action, movement,

Appearances, scheduled relaxation—

When we are all on display in the heat

Of the interrogative sun, shading

Our eyes from the truth—when the oxygen

Disappears, leaving us gasping for fall—

When the soft rain demands we go inside.