The Dwelling


On mucky, cloudy days
there’s poetry in my pond.

From solstice to equinox;
it crosses winter’s ray.

Admired the woodchuck,
on his groundhog’s day.

Yet, the busy muskrat
chases Eternal clouds away.

Grassy tower stands…
it stirs, shifts, and sways.

Till… last of days.

“As water disappears from the sea,
And a river becomes parched and dries up,
So man lies down and does not rise.
Till the heavens are no more,
They will not awake
Nor be roused from their sleep.”
Job 14: 11-12

We know so much about the groundhog, but it’s the muskrat that stays awake all winter at water’s edge munching on grasses. He’s a busy little thing piling up a tower of reeds and marsh debris to make his cozy abode. I’d say there’s poetry in that… just as you will find over at dVerse, as poets use their imagination with a form of the word “poem”.


Two Vines

Against a crust of snow
a vibrant mask appears
amidst white, a welcomed plight.

Trailing, twisting, turning…

Bitter sweet good-byes
beckoning eyes to garner;
baited, bribe’s delight.

Stony slopes and timber thicket…

Climbing woody heights,
clamber in clusters,
canker or cursed blight.

Value the Veracious Vine…

Drink not bittersweet liquor,
dulls the shrouded mind,
dims the veiled eye’s sight.

“I am the Vine; you are the branches.
Whoever abides in me and I in him,
he it is that bears much fruit, for
apart from me you can do nothing.”
John 15:5

At dVerse we are entertaining poisonous plants. Hopefully, we’ll all survive.

Dispensing Pine


The poplar, pine and paper oak
stretch crowns, trunks, and branches
upward pose toward the Provider.

Shedding of the old …
needles bumping and bouncing
clutching, clinging tree crevices.

Chestnut cones tumbling;
skid, slip, spill, stumble
down each sturdy branch.

Seeds donated for another season.

“And God said, “See I have given you every herb that yields seeds which is on the face of all the earth, and every tree whose fruit yields seed; to you it shall be for food.”Genesis 1:29

Over at dVerse words are bouncing in blocks of a 44 word count.

Moon Creatures

I marvel at the snow mark designs, as I tromp my wooded landscape.

Hoof prints precisely etched, step-by-step, deep in drifts. A pattern of an elegant waltz scattered on forest hill. Talons too mingle like confetti in powdered earth. I wonder, did they dance a Irish Jig in the middle of winter’s moonlit night? Rabbit paws join the collage of artistry. Soft pose, graceful pirouettes, and tender plié of prints; long leaps of a ballet routine is that what I missed as I slept through arctic night?

Did they worship? Did they pray? Did they fellowship. Or did they bath in thankfulness beneath the Light which lit their path? Giant pines fenced in the event, banks of snow make still the bustle, and an open heaven of moonlight tumbled from the heavens. A flurry of activity occurred here last evening and in the morning light I can only dream.

Simple earth creatures
in midnight memories praise…
against pale, powdered snow.

Fuyu No Tsuki–Winter Moon–dVerse Haibun Monday at dVerse. What marks your snow?

Grace & Glory

Splendor in the setting sun,
where neither nights nor days
reside against the sunset blaze.

Unfair, unearned, unjust…
Complimentary sacrificial source;
as shadows skulk off course.

No virtue in man without God;
His grace, His shield, His glory…
Be sheltered in the great I Am.

“For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
The Lord will give grace and glory;
No good thing will He withhold from
those who walk uprightly.” Psalm 84:11

Visit dVerse

Erin Hills

There’s a buzz about town. I sit in my thirty-foot pine haven. Wrens frantically feeding young. A filament of rainbow web dangles, as busy spiders labor. The lush green of Erin has surrounded my poetic voice for over twenty-five years. The melody of wind through marsh grass, the rhythm of throaty frogs on tuffs of ground, and the chorus of humming garden bugs sing of home. Not this day. Thousands have found my paradise.

Knee-high rough fescue,

Thirty-foot towering pine,

My hiding place found!

Living about three miles from Erin Hills Golf Course has been interesting this week. Farm fields turned into parking lots, new highway signs pointing to the BIG event, and unending traffic. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. Hopefully, there’ll be no tornadoes the next few days!