April Song on the Vineyard

A robin sings in the thicket on the edge.

Ter-eet! Ter-eet!

The wind whisks through the twisted oaks.

Somewhere off in the distance

someone steps on the gas

and the exhaust ripples the morning air

and the Atlantic yawns beneath the front.

A new day.

The Swing

The measured sawn board, sanded seat

parallel to the rise where the sappy roots dive

two ropes, worked through the holes,

knotted and plum.

My father pulls the swing, leans back over the edge of the world,

grasps the ropes with hands as scored as the inside of our wheelbarrow

the toes of his boots dig into the stubbled grass

behind the dirt patch launch.

Legs tucked, elbows bent,

a rocket ride promised to aim straight for the smiling sun,

the giddy countdown

and then

the push, as we move forward together

the rush of the under duck, my legs unfold

reach to the robin’s egg sky above the pine bough

back to the bursting forsythias

back to him.


Black-tipped Lynx Rufus

bobcat sandwich, nh

It catches my eye as I walk across the room
tawny spots, gray tinged slink across the snowmelt
right, left, right, left – like pendulums to her clock
clawless tracks of a wildcat, a string of calling cards
for the squirrel, the vole, the quick snowshoe hare
and here I stand at the slider, aware, my desk a cache

my camera zooms, focuses, clicks, hunts her down
she licks and preens, lithe and lynx-like in the copse
a crowned queen on her throne of stone, she’s alone
paws retract now, tuck in against the cold, eyes half-close
under gray sky, undercover in her coated mantle of instinct

Good Dads Have Sex Appeal

A good Dad.
Who is he?
Sometimes it’s hard to put it into words,
sometimes all you need is a good idea
and some action
a warm smile
lots of love
some patience thrown in
a lesson or two
a kid at heart to follow
one little book with a tree swing in it
some elbow grease
pliers and a good hammer
a little helper
heavy duty bright yellow rope

Papa and Robert put up a tree swing after reading about one in a story.

Papa and Robert put up a tree swing after reading about one in a story.

connecting steel chain
a special swing
a ladder and a sturdy branch.
That’s a good Dad
that’s a dream come true.







Shared on Poetry Pantry #153 at Poets United.


Up the Falls

Beede Falls, NH

Beede Falls, NH

A pensive hike, you smile
across the falls at me
the cascade a constant
declaration of invitation

I stand on the rooted bank
you have your footing
as you climb to the rocky top
for a better look
and perhaps a moment alone

you want to see it all
and I can’t stop that
even if I tried.

Poetry Pantry # 153

An old blind wi…

“..She’s only filled with

an old blind wish…”

This is my favorite line about motherhood in Mary Oliver’s poem, The Turtle.  A friend shared this with me today and I am so happy to share it with you.