Foto flowers from/
far away, sent without scent, /
still say: “Happy Day!”

Would a gentle caress/
from a gentle man/
ease your stress?/
Maybe I can/
relax your mind/
from far away./
That, you’ll find,/
is all I can do today.

She left after my invitational request.
I, not knowing she would go
alone,
showered,
watched TV,
drank orange juice
fixed a dock,
pinched my finger,
repaired a computer.

She had
the better sunset.

Maybe the planets will
align for us
tomorrow morning.

Maybe some soon day/
I’ll learn ways to woo quiet/
enthusiastic.

It is laughable,/
(at least to me!) that I’d know /
her intimately.

Purple martins chirp./
At dusk, they soar, swoop, land near./
They are used to me.

Two years ago,
in a funky,
garden-based;
coffee shop,
you listened,
looked deep
at me,
and said:
“Never again
say
“I think
I am
a poet”.

You are.
Accept
and share
your gift.”

Do you remember?
I do.

Since then,
I’ve believed you.

It is late.
The thumbnail moon
is setting
into the waters
of a central Wisconsin lake,
“Winneconne”,
“Gathering of the Waters”.

My words
have gathered
20000 views.

Sunrise.
Moonrise.
Sunset.
Moonset.
But stars
and night,
and light
and day
stay
eternal
as words.

And you,
mentor,
teacher,
guide,
are the subject
of poem number
1700.

The creative
inspired
in me
honors
the creative
inspiration
from you.

Thank you.

A heart-felt THANK YOU! to all ye/
who have inspired me. /
On this Mother’s Day/
consider yourselves, in a way/
the mothers of my poetry.