Bucolic Way

Bucolic Way, known only to locals
A treasured route in the famed Forest Trails
Steep rolling hills chase valleys and meadows
Beguiling the eager trekker to seek
Obscure, idyllic lea o’er the next ridge.

Hot Summer winds tickle pale wheaten shafts
Waving to hawks glissading lofty skies
The cattle hunker in circles as clouds
Roil, winds howl, then warm rain showers the earth.

The Fall leaves flaunt flashy, terminus hues
Awaiting chilly, blue norther’s volley
Fussy fat squirrels amass their nutty cash
Bucks seek asylum deep in the thicket.

Bitter Winter winds forecast icy roads
Snow dresses the hills, a chaste cloak of white
And diamonds dance on the frigid waters
The hush crushed by a heckling filly.

Ah, Spring, yes, sweet Spring on Bucolic Way!
Such green!  Clean green!  In shades likely not seen
By the nescient.  Twin fawns leap, for life
On Bucolic Way, a covert sanctum.

Source of Inspiration for Bucolic Way
Bucolic Way is actually CR 3357, a short road connecting my country home to the small town of Winnsboro, Texas, in the heart of the Texas Forest Trails, where I shop the grocery and pharmacy.  I coined this obscure, but beautiful road Bucolic Way because of the topography, rolling hills, fabulous green meadows, thick forests.  Bucolic Way was published in Who’s Who in American Poetry, 2015.


Sandy’s Sinners and Saints

Sandy butchered the Eastern Shore.
The lambs sold short her brawn.
Droplets morphed, a macabre mount!
Sandy’s scourge marred the dawn.

Lambs mourned their loss, their loves, their lives.
Gouged for needs, evil spawned
The greedy wolves, a mortal blight.
Sandy’s scourge marred the dawn.

Flood waters gorged on memories.
Homes, yards drowned, every awn.
Streets, blocks, history ablaze.
Sandy’s scourge marred the dawn.

Undaunted by havoc and death,
Unsung heroes, no pawns,
Emerged from the mire with help, hope.
Sandy’s scourge marred the dawn.

American spirits fatigued
But never fainting fawns,
Recast their communal turf, when
Sandy’s scourge marred the dawn.

Source of Inspiration for Sandy’s Sinners and Saints
Your first task as a poet is to assess the subject matter and decide which poetic form would best represent the subject.  Hurricane Sandy will long be the subject for conversation, tales, and folk music, thus my choice was the ballad.  Researching the aftermath of Sandy, two things that stood out were the heroes that emerged from unusual sources, even children, and the gouging of people for basics:  food, water, and shelter, exposing the ever-present by-product of evil greed.  God bless the heroes.  Shame on the greedy.
Sandy’s Sinners and Saints was published in Best Poets of 2013.

God’s Perfect Dance

Our love, a destiny, not by chance.
We love as one, God’s perfect dance.
Step by step, life’s rhythmed pace,
Ours souls in sync, ignite by grace.
Staccato the music, each step, each day,
In harmony and love our bodies sway.
Seconds fly, a year yet gone.
Still the dance goes on and on.
Dance with me ever, dip and twirl,
Past the moon and stars, and out of this world.

Source of Inspiration for God’s Perfect Dance
On the occasion of our 30th wedding anniversary, I awoke at 2:00 AM.  Unable to resume sleeping, I stumbled to my computer and began to “pen” this poem.  I wrote this as a gift to my husband, my hero, my champion, the one who has always encouraged me to reach higher.  

Then on the occasion of our younger son’s wedding, a young, very talented minister friend of mine, David Luna, put this poem to music, composing it in a Baroque style for piano and flute.  It was then sung by my friend and singer/composer, Brian Leeser, for my son’s wedding.

God’s Perfect Dance was featured in the Best Poems and Poets of 2003, and received the Editor’s Choice Award.


Katrina’s Heroses

The malevolent winds pummeled my world,
Deafening sounds of fury evoked fear,
Unimagined, incomprehensible.
Great oaks plucked from the earth like dandelions,
Yanked from the gardens of the southern belles.
Cold, dark, muddy waters surged, effacing
Floors, walls; encompassing all matter,
Human and inanimate.  No regard
For life or value.  No hope for the weak.
Climb! Climb!  Sanctuary in the attic.
Katrina wailed as murky waters rose.
My haven, now a bleak muddy coffin.
Shrieking frenzied prayers, grasping at shadows,
Groping frantically——for what?  Miracles?!
The ax!  A blessed instrument of hope!
Climb yet higher!  Ascending through the roof,
Now a solitary island scoured
By a vile, savage sea.  Exhaustion weighed
As a heavy shroud, compelling slumber,
A brief hiatus from reality.
Vigil screeching gulls beckoned consciousness.
Dawn’s soft haze revealed images–faces!
A soldier, a fireman, and a medic
Heroes!  Bearers of hope for the living!
Greeters to a new dawn, a new day — a new life.

Source of Inspiration for Katrina’s Heroes
My husband and I work for the largest catastrophe firm in the nation, contracting to large insurance companies for added personnel during disasters.  Our assignment to work Hurricane Katrina revealed countless stories of horror and devastation.  My job was to monitor “high priority” claims, claims involving death.  After reading the adjuster’s reports in the computer, I was overwhelmed by the terror Katrina inflicted on the people of the southern coast.  These stories led me to write about Katrina’s heroes, the thankless rescuers.  With this poem, I honor those heroes of Katrina’s survivors.  
Katrina’s Heroes was published in Songs of Honour, Noble House London, 2006.  This poem was also published in Centres of Expression, Noble House, London, 2007.



My brain is clever, smart, and wise,
But it scrambles words;
Thoughts elude the memory bank.
My demise, the eyes,
So weak and slow,
Delude the mind.
Letters dance a charming
Gait across the page and preclude
The sweet accord,
Thus alarming the senses.
Frustration exudes!

Source of Inspiration for Dyslexia
“Dyslexia” may be a strange poem for a book entitled “Labours of Love”.  However, this malady, which I was diagnosed with as a senior in college, turns normal tasks into labours of love.  What a relief it was to learn there was a reason why I many times did not perform to the level of my classmates when I knew I was just as capable.  I never allowed my dyslexic son to use dyslexia as an excuse not to perform to the best of one’s ability.  It might be a daunting task, but the end results are worth the effort.  Therefore, I dedicate this to my son, Heath, a dyslexic who graduated with a PhD in Psychology and an MBA, and is head of the Primary Care Unit in a VA hospital in Florida.  His achievements have been a great source of pride and inspiration to me.  We can do it, huh, Kid!
Dyslexia was published in Labours of Love, Noble House, London, 2005.


Texas Dawn

With golden fingers the sun disturbs the dark.
A gradual hint of light invades the clouds.
The world’s long silence is broken by the lark,
Who clears his throat and sings his song aloud.


Texas Sundown

Coral fingers tickle blue, gone purple.
Moments flee; the fingers pale, then retire.
Vast power fading, intense light heightens
The hues of dusk, grasping for lost moments
Of the day.  No beauty is held in time.

Source of Inspiration for Texas Sundown
I try most evenings to slow down to enjoy a gift from our Creator.  Sundown, the daily, one-of-a-kind display of power and color never cease to awe and amaze me.  When asked once how I came up with the color palette for my Florida home of corals and purples, I admitted that it was not an original concept rather an inspiration from the “ultimate decorator”.  
Texas Sundown was published in The Best Poems and Poets of 2004.