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A Bit of Grandma’s Wiisdom

Once, as autumn was blowing away

on  crunchy brown leaves,

and frost had appeared, taking the last asters,

I sat on my porch, shivering,

thinking how long it was until spring.

I longed for daffodils,

and warm breezes.

I looked deep inside and realized

that I longed for my past.

When my kids were little,

before I lost my son and health.

When my marriage made me smile.

When I was young.

Then two of my grandsons ran up the street.

They hugged me so tight,

“I love you, Beebee” they smiled.

And I smiled too.

I remembered my grandma used to say,

“We should never wish time away.”

She lived to be 96 years old.

She was so brave and so wise.

I smiled and hugged my grandsons,

and tried to appreciate the biting winds

yet to come before daffodils.



Autumn’s fingers poke into
blue skies, coloring trees
crimson, orange, yellow and gold,
dusting them with wealth,
expectation of change this time of year.
Frost soon,
gregarious announcer of winter
hunches with gray shoulders as
if it were a cat stretching. An odd
justice creeps over the land,
killing summer, erasing fall, and
lighting the landscape with white
October treasure remains.
Pilfered, we trudge on toward December
quietly, steadily, with
teeth cutting into growth
under the snows.
Violence erupts, blizzard
winds whip with
extraordrinary power,
yammering temperatures to


Love on the Wind

The sound of waves hitting the shore combined with a sharp wind. It was the perfect picture of life at the junction of the  water and sand. Two sea gulls sat together on the sand, One seemed injured, the other, taking short flights and diving at minnows in the shallows left by low tide.

I was witnessing the caring of natures partners. One gull rose on the wind and dove into the water, coming up with a wiggling minnow. She waddled to her partner and pushed the food into his mouth. He hobbled, then swallowed. She flew into the wind.



I intended to post this here to begin with, but messed up.  Still getting used to being back, and there are changes to WordPress since I’ve been away that are tripping me up a bit as well. Anyway, I went to reblog it and accidentally reblogged it to my blog too. LOL…so I’m posting it here too.  I WILL get used to this again. :)



Amid the silence

Soft whispers of wind

Soothe my restless soul


Christmas Trip

We leave Sun. for the airport where we’ll stay overnight at a nearby airport hotel for our Mon. morning 10:30 flight to North Carolina, where we’ll be visiting my brother, sister-in-law, and their grandson for eight days over Christmas. We are supposed to get several inches of snow tonight plus high winds, resulting in blizzard conditions. Of course our school-age grandchildren are hoping they’ll have a snow day tomorrow. So far it has rained, but as of late this afternoon/early evening the snow and wind are supposed to whip up into quite a storm. I’m just hoping we can “get out of Dodge” in spite of the dire weather predictions.

My brother tells me that the weather in NC is in the 50s, and that sounds downright springlike to me. We will celebrate Christmas with them on Monday evening, Christmas Eve, with food and gifts. We will spend the weekend at my brother’s cabin in VA, and on Dec. 26, I will be meeting someone you all know.

He and I will be going to music stores to look for sheet music for songs he especially likes, like “Crazy” (of Patsy Cline fame), “Take Me Out to the Ball Game,” “Irene, Goodnight,” “When You’re Smilin’,” “This Land is Your Land,” and others. He likes Jimmy Durante, Woody Guthrie, the Kingston Trio, Peter, Paul and Mary, and similar artists. He’s so excited to do this, and it will be fun to explore music stores that have good selections.

He has recently been working on “Amazing Grace.” He wanted to learn it “for Mom,” and that motivation has shot him forward at a super pace. He’s working on the very last measures right now, and by day’s end he’ll have it all. Mom died 17 1/2 years ago, and one of the songs I played at her memorial service was “Amazing Grace.” He’s not particularly into songs that reflect a spiritual message, but he wanted to learn it because it was one of the requests she made of me for the music at her service.

His wife has been out of town for nearly a month, taking care of her 90 year-old father, and she’s due home Sat. There are ten children in the family, and they’re each taking a month to stay with him before he has to go into a care home. His wife passed away about a year and a half ago, and the kids are caring for him now.

Anyhow, my sister-in-law has no idea that Tom has been working on “Amazing Grace,” so it will be a complete surprise for her when she gets home.

I’m so looking forward to our trip. We celebrated our family Christmas here on Sunday, and now we get to have another one. How fun is that?

Christmas tree



Talk to me, December.
Tell me where you hid the green.
What secrets do you hold inside your mittens,
under your hat?
You practice your seasonal math,
knowing the requirement for fourths.
Stick branches poke into the skies,
licorice or clarinet against the grayish-blue.
You hum your melodies composed of wind,
surprise us with the first fresh fall of snow.
December, culmination of the warming,
warmed, then cooled, now cold.



We drove down to our beach and saw the lake,
an angry monster’s gnashing teeth of white.
The crashing waves took more than just a bite
of shore. They shook our calm with  every break.

The mom could not continue baking cake.
Electric power blinked, blanked, and took out light.
Winds, 80 mph, caused swaths of blight.
How many weeks until the dove might make

appearance bearing olive branch? Coast-wise,
we see the devastation, and we gasp
in horror at what crucifies our eyes.
Impossible to take this in, to grasp
the nightmare.  And the people agonize
while holding memories in their tight clasp.

(Petrarchan sonnet)

To East Coasters

I hold you in my prayers, asking God to keep you and yours safe. I hope the wild wind and waters come nowhere near you and that the superstorm will pass without damage to your property. You are in the thoughts of many, and please know that we care about you as the historic weather whirls around you.

Waiting Out the Superstorm

She’s called a superstorm, this Sandy gal,
unleashing thrashing power on east coast states.
It’ll be some time before her strength abates,
before assessing all the damage. Shall

they run, evacuate, or stay at home?
No, those in charge told them to go. Go now,
and take no chances. Yes,
they said, we vow.
But some board up and wait for storm to comb

their state or town, their neighborhood or street.
It can’t be that bad. Is it real? They ask
themselves this question. I think Sandy’s mask
will be ripped off as storm-surge waves rise, beat

a path toward doors that can’t be locked against
such force. No matter what the barricades,
she’ll swallow houses, pull out trees. The raids
on calm are punctuated by a dark

foreboding, no more lights or heat. They should
have listened and obeyed. Storm Sandy grew
beyond her borders. Then the people knew,
and choked at seeing where their houses stood.

The Worker

She blows the leaves into artistic heaps,
allowing not a crisp of brown to fall
upon her drive. When will the city haul
these leaf piles well away? No young child leaps

into her mounds of crackled yellow leaves.
I wonder at her need to keep so free
of Nature’s wind that blows them. I can see
the coming challenge: winter snow that cleaves.


Fall Fair

I should be there with friends to sell my book
but I woke tired, decided to stay home.
An autumn fair where lots of people look
at a variety, its background loam

for produce, jams and jellies, fall décor,
the mood is leaves and pumpkins, things of fall.
A crush of customers mills near the door.
I see an older woman with a shawl

drawn ’round her shoulders, proclamation cold
is on its way and we should stock our shelves.
A sudden wind might well appear with bold
breath bringing winter, leafless branches, elves.


Wind Blown

Originally posted on Living and Lovin:

Wind Blown






Running with the wind








Wet and Tired

JT done for the day


Well we will be on the beach as soon as the storms rolls out to sea.

They say it could really be bad in these parts or barely not much at all.

We want the treasure to get tossed up onto the beach.

What we do not want to happen is for it to stall.

As the rain falls from Sandy you know our stream will rise .

He is getting a boat repaired that will haul all he will need to clear the way.

I do not know about you but I will be keeping my eyes to the sky.

The last thing I want to worry about should it be bad is where we will stay.


Stay safe!   I know many of  also live along the east…

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Trying Villanelle Poetry

The wind blows fiercely in the open sky

The wind blows fiercely,

the birds chatter by,

in the open sky.

The clothes hanging in the open

tend to go for a nice fly when

the wind blows fiercely.

The voices become distant and weak

but the whispers of the nature

in the open sky.

The apples drop down the massive tree

residing in front of my house when

the wind blows fiercely.

The leaves and the twigs flying by

unperturbed, aimlessly

in the open sky.

The power of the nature can be seen,

its might can be experienced when

the wind blows fiercely

in the open sky.


1. Five tercets and a quatrain with 8-10 syllables in every line.

2. The first and third lines are refrains and are to be repeated as follows-




















*I haven’t paid any attention to the number of syllables, since I was trying this form of poetry for the first time.


The sun sinks low behind the distant hill

removing all its warmth from in the air

and leaving us with autumn’s first big chill

while tiny drops of moisture pearl our hair.

The spiders spin their lairs of lustrous sheen

which glisten with the damp of foggy dew,

and slugs and snails leave trails of where they’ve been

and leaves begin to don their winter hue.

As trees bequeath their fruits and lose their clothes

We see their skeletons against the sky

and listen as the wind their branches blows

and watch as birds bid us their last goodbye.

So turn your collars up against the cold

March forward into winter feeling bold.




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