POND
Bronzes and rubies whisper,
drop onto the gold dish,
trapped in the riffles

from dead branches. Along
the surface, frozen leaves’ veins
rupture and begin

to leak amber. Water
distills into whisky brown
like the drink I want.

Third Wednesday 2016

Black Snake
Often it would scare me–draped on the mower handle
or hiding underneath it–sometimes just its skin on the brick wall.

The dog would bark in high alert.
Coiled, it was prepared to strike. With the dog in the house,
I would escort it outside the fence with the rake.

But today, the dog did not bark, only the loud crash
of tubs, buckets and wood told me something was wrong.
He, shaking the lower half of the torn snake,
danced with pride in the yard.

I searched for the rest of the it, mangled in the dirt.
Its ripped lung fluttered like a red flag in the wind.

Tar River Poetry
Fall 2016

UT Sweatshirt
I kept my sweatshirt with short sleeves;
gray with an orange UT in the center.

It is one of the few things I have kept from my college days.
Used it to warm-up before racket ball.

Folded neatly in the bureau, I take it out sometimes thinking
I will wear it but I don’t. I want to keep it just for the memories

of basketball practice, running the stairs, eating cheeseburgers
and fries after every practice. (By the time practice was over, the cafeteria was closed.)

Forty years old, looks good; I keep it with the light blue t-shirt
with UT Women’s Athletics, on the front;

we’ve come a long way baby on the back. Must of gotten this one after Title IX.
We sold doughnuts to fund our field hockey and basketball, used our own cars

to get from game to game. Rock Hill South Carolina for a tournament
was a big trip for trip us. Not the same today, the women have home

and away uniforms, warm-ups, airplanes to get from coast to coast.
No eating cheeseburgers every night.

Don’t know how long I will keep the sweatshirt,
I have carried it with me from Knoxville, Kentucky, Memphis and North Carolina.

I refold it and put it back with the t shirts.
I guess it will be given away to Good Will.

Muddy River Poetry Review
Spring 2016

Shadow
Early in the morning
it walks behind me blown backwards
by the wind. As the sun rises, it gets closer
to me until it is underfoot. In a few hours,
my shadow will be walking in front of me,
stretching long on the sand, absorbed
by the darkening beach only to appear
as a ghost in the moonlight.

Peregrine 2016

The House
The door frame stands empty,
poison ivy creeps the outside.
The siding warps into weary smiles,
studs peek through the empty spaces.

Wall paper hangs; a faded flower
dying of neglect. Stairs creak in time
with my slow climb to the second floor.
Windows sag like veiled eyes.

In the sun’s rays, dust motes sift downward.
Peeled open, the metal roof lets spring rain
pepper the dusty floor. Winter snows will
cover the lost.

belle reve 2016

Memories
They peer at me from the bureau;
sit on the box topped with two small
Seiko watches and wedding rings.

They skulk behind me: walking the dog
or in the quiet moment when the sun is setting.
Behind the framed pictures, they cry with me.

They grab a taste of the applesauce cakes
as they cool on the old racks. They clamber onto my shoulder
when looking at mountains or changing the car’s oil.

Ambushed, I thank that walnut box
for holding them secure.

Boston Literary Magazine
Sept. 2015

Summer’s Turn
humid air
no leaves stir, river flows
sun peeps out

wood pecker
rattles, another answers
a pair

dusk
leaves fade to black
insects sing

midnight
moon smiles
tree frog calls

four a.m.
no leaves stir
all are quiet

The Four Seasons Anthology
June 2015

Window
the trees
naked in the passing winter
are clothed in their best spring greenery
no leaf
torn by hail or curled to hide an egg
a breeze touches the understory skips from tree to tree
the nuthatch
hikes up the walnut slips its bill
under the bark for an insect hiding from the cold
a chickadee
flits back and forth from the feeder
pounds the sunflower seed open
the redbud
shows its magenta dress to introduce the spring
the warbler lingers on the branch to catch
an early gnat
summer leaves tremble in the wind that precedes
the storm shudder from drops that pummel them
yellow-billed cuckoo
slinks through the canopy leaves tire
sourwood reddens green poplar fades into yellow

the morning light
outlines the downy woodpecker hitching up the sycamore’s trunk
the trees sulk under a pewter sky

The Four Seasons Anthology
June 2015

Scalopinae scalopus
Don’t know what killed the mole;
on close inspection I saw no damage
from talons of barred owl or punctures
from cat attack.

But there it was, looking like a stone
with feet; small, pink with nails.
Pointed nose, short naked tail, no eyes or ears,
just a rock with paddles.

Didn’t want to touch it,
no matter that I pick up dead birds.
Scooped it up on the shovel
and tossed the body into the woods.

Something will eat it.

Plum Tree Tavern
6/2015

Thoughts
Like a root hidden under the fallen leaves, they grab me,
I stumble, fall, then get back up to walk the trail.

Or like poison ivy, insidious, clinging, growing up the oak.
Other times, they float down gently as an autumn leaf

drifting to the ground. Maybe they are a dry leaf
torn by the wind, blowing far from the poplar.

Or perhaps hanging on the beech branch until spring.
But most times, they strike like lightening to the pine

and split me down my trunk leaving a long black scar.

The Magnolia Review
June 15