******************* Lacy and austere at once–beautiful barren trees–winter’s mystique. ********************* Frost-covered branches, in winter-land magic, play music when jiggled. **********************
Category: Poetry
Tapping Bird
For two days, a little, lost cardinal has been tapping on our front door, trying to get in. He certainly has been insistent. Tap, tap, rapping at our door. I quickly snapped this picture of the little lost creature. He flew away as soon as he saw someone inside, but he came right back….
Maine’s Coast
I wrote this poem on the craggy coast of Maine with the churning waves hammering against the ancient rocks.
haiku: scarlet leaf
A scarlet leaf stains my parched lips and quenches what is thirsty in me.
Solitude’s Sweet Cup
I wrote this poem in New England. We stayed a couple of nights in Kennebunkport. Our hotel was close to the beach. One morning I arose at dawn and walked to the ocean. After an hour of drinking in the seaside beauty and the solitude, I wrote this poem. Its memory is still vivid and its…
‘Setting Sail’
It is the holiday season, and everyone is thinking about holiday stuff. Very few are thinking about “Setting Sail ” right now. I am not sure Emily Dickinson was talking about just “sailing” either when she wrote this beautiful poem. Setting Sail Exultation is the going Of an inland soul to sea, – Past the…
haiku: random thoughts on south america
Brazil ************************* Cock-a-doodle doo! Roosters declare to the world sun’s up in Brazil. ************************** Rich in penthouses; poor under the bridges. All nations are the same. *************************** Hand-hewn cobblestones old world traditions remain today’s foundations. **************************
haiku: American Society 2007
I wrote these haiku on culture, choice, and contentment on the plane on our way to South America. ********************* Distinction comes in two ways: hardship or needles that carve a tattoo. ********************* Distinction is the gift of achievement or the piercing on a lip. ***********************
Leaning on the Stars
Leaning on the Stars Writers are strange creatures. Who can explain the impulse to write or tell when it will come–or worse–when it will go? We are leaving for the airport in about 20 minutes, and this poem came to my mind. It would be so easy to skip this trip, to enjoy the first of the holidays…
haiku: alone tonight
********************* Daughter off to work, and Daddy upstairs asleep, just Mama and tree. *********************
Bonnie Saul Wilks 