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.

Several will wonder:/
Who is the Cali angel?./
She doesn’t exist.

OR

Why does it matter?

OR
She doesn’t matter.

Angel’s face I saw/
wings toward California./
I dreamed of her once.

OR

Angel’s face I see/
wings through Cali without me./
I dreamed of her once.

My dad said something in a Church meeting about tithing. It caught me off guard, but was so profound I captured it and put it into a haiku.

Pay Tithing first. Then,/
you learn how much you don’t miss /
it. That surprised me.

A counted cross stitch hung in our home for years, showing a mother kneeling, playing with her children. It said:
“I hope our children look back on today,
and see a mother who had time to play.
There will be time for washing and cooking,
for children grow up while we’re not looking.”

I wrote this in honor of the mother of my wonderful children:

I hope our children look back on today
and remember their mother, who taught them to pray.

They take time to wander, question and explore as youth,
but you taught them how and where to find real truth.

She probably does/
not know I worry about/
her from miles away.

I’m ravin’ o’er her/
raven-haired beauty ’til her/
skin turns leathery.

Burning my neighbor’s /
brushpile, I singed my chesthairs./
The frigid lake calls.

You’re so temptingly/
continental, my thoughts are/
inconsequential.