"Bad Luck Friday"

murmurs just beyond my hearing
shadows wavering at the edges of my sight
dirt beneath my feet…becoming softer
with each step I take?

Until we can die to the past
and dream our own dreams,
we are held hostage
to demands and expectations
not our own.

Not to run away, but
to say, The past’s lessons
instruct, but do not ordain
a future—decree another’s will
must prevail.

Held hostage by demands
fueled by love and piety,
blood and expectation,
dutiful recompense for the gift
of having breath
and continuing to breathe.

To say "No," simply,
and walk a path not charted
by its distance or closeness
but by its honesty.

[First Draft]

Nip, then jump back fast!

cocker spaniel and bulldog

getting acquainted

That leash is longer

than he thought. Too late now to

measure it again

As wonderful as lunch may be,

it’s no time for visiting

about anything but food–

holidays remembered, recipes,

who was there and who, not.

A bit of shopping, though,

and then a stop for coffee

before home, and hours pass,

conversing of the most important

things of life, resolution to the problems

of the world, next year’s garden.

Together . . .

"Summer Songs"

The brush of air from
birds’ wings! Watch them glide to rest
and call to one another.
Always time to puff the wings
and look around to see what
singer sings the song.

Day of the Dead

Leaves cover his grave . . .

shadows brush across my heart . . .

remember, again

In lieu of NaNoWriMo’s novel writing, I am attempting to write a poem each day during the month of November.