Day Fifteen: A Season of Doubles

“Double, double, toil and trouble”

I think I’ve heard that somewhere before


Here I live inside my bubble

Far from home on foreign shore


To a foreign shore I moved then

Now a decade past


Far from home desert hill and glen

Explored as days would last


Explored then happily many treasures

Civilizations from long ago


Ammon land became a pleasure

Civilizations come and go


And so I find the times so fleeting

Pleasures now gone too


The cycle of this season completing

New adventure for me and my crew

Day Thirteen: Fortunate Son

His fortune cookie ever displays

No fortune there to predict his days

He is handsome, he is swell

But his fortune it won’t tell


Success belongs to those who work hard

You’d think the writer is quite a bard

But ever fails his cookie then

The future for him to spin


And yet my cookies often portend

A future just around the bend

You are doomed to be blissful in wedlock

With the fortunate son, I’ve thrown my stock

Day Eleven: Waiting

The heat mirages off the brick pavement, obscuring the tiles beyond

Yet I sit under shaded canopy with a soft breeze

And the chirp of birds

The sounds of children learning with passion

Their teacher patiently trying new approaches

As they find the mystery in numbers

And the joy in finding truth

Girl Scouts are coming.

Day Ten: Spineless (An iBook Spine Poem)

Lords of Time who lived on

Cactus Creek had always wondered how

To Love a Lady.

Little Women who shied away from

Birds, Butterflies, Bugs, and Dragons but loved the

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen.

The Secret Garden was where they read their

Dumpy Books for Children. And finished off with

Bella and the Year of the Dragon.


A simple poem rendered by the spines of invisible books, perhaps a spineless poem after all.

Day Nine: Bravery

Whispered Secrets

I wish there were less of me

Inside, outside. Some days.

I wish I could shrink down to a size from the past

Without changing anything of course.

Inside I wish there were less, I could shut off the engine that sometimes wakes me and whispers things in my ear.

I wish I could I wish I would I wish

Day Eight: About a Flower

Iris. A flower like no other
This is the flower of my childhood.
The flower of my heart.

Yellow irises surrounding the mailbox like fans mobbing a rock star

Purple irises along the compost cage, entwined with its chicken wire frame

Purple bearded irises, see why I can never love a man’s beard? The nuanced tones, deep purple with gold peeking out like a shy child from behind his mother’s leg…

Even more poetic that the man I love comes from a country with iris as its national flower

The black iris.
Deeply, darkly mysterious.
Like the land it represents.
Like the homes of its inhabitants with their shades rolled down to block out the fierce sun.

The black iris.
Intimate and beautiful.
Like the intricacies of its home culture.
Like the rarity of its finding, a gift of spring.

Iris. A flower like no other.
This is the flower of my lifetime.
The flower of my heart.

Day Seven: The Tritina

Sunshine bright in the sky filled with children’s laughter

The swings fly back and forth back and forth like a rocket

The slide shines like a mirror in the hot, hot sun


But the eclipse closes in and blocks out the sun

The deafening silence roars and blots out the laughter

As the meteorite slices through the sky a bright rocket


Shoots through the space between us a sound-laden rocket

The voices of the children shriek and reach the sun

Coating the day with the laughter of innocents… innocent laughter

The sun rockets through laughter