Reflection on the past reveals unexpected gifts — It held an armful of black-eyed-susans once, the glazed blue vase we bought to celebrate our first year together. Broken and dulled with time, it caught me by surprise, rummaging through my closet of forgotten mementos. I remember when those shards lay on the floor — how I tried to…

Five springs have passed… — She always loved the gift of daffodils. Those soft sunny cups could coax happiness even on the darkest days. My mother called them, Maerzenbecher* —  they were her wedding flowers. In my bookcase, the young couple framed forever in black and white — she, suited in gray, clutching her bouquet of…

Scribe Writing Prompt — On the Road to Spring — Beneath a white patchwork quilt, daffodils and snowdrops lie furled in her fertile womb. Legions of seeds bide their time and slumbering in the catacombs, bumblebee queens dream of spring’s sweet fare. Earth’s mysterious face peeks through a luminous veil. Enchanted, the sun king lingers longer each day, a lover who can’t pull himself…

A second chance for love — Once upon a time, she bought herself a gift, a whimsical work of art, a unique charm held by a black silk cord that rested just over her beating heart. In the miniature shadowbox, a red tinfoil heart, pierced with a silver arrow, floated in a blue mesh sky, flecked with gold confetti stars, that…

A narrative poem — She’s playing hide and seek again — hasn’t been spotted in over a week. There are things I want to tell her, I bet you do too. You might have spied her wandering the night, or even the day, when she appears like the sun’s pale understudy. …

Of a most unusual kind — I I’m spellbound — watching her, on the blue screen, in the blue ocean. Sporting three hearts, a cephalopod with panache, jetting through the kelp. The scene changes, the music builds. A fierce battle ensues, over in a few seconds. …

In memory of my brother — I like to remember you the summer I turned eight - at that Friday night dance in the park at Ivy Hill. I peeked from behind mom’s full skirt, only venturing out when the DJ spun the Bunny Hop. You were twelve going on sixteen, black-haired and blue-eyed, growing into a young god, rockin’ and rollin’ with the prettiest girls. You winked at me, then turned toward the crowd and disappeared.

A love story — Just behind the waterfall I spy him glittering like a rare yellow diamond, splashing in the small stream bathing away the dust of a thousand miles. He is called, Common Yellowthroat, though common he is not. A black bandit mask he wears, though steal he does not. I dare not…

A Valentine — The screech owls are courting in the tall white pine as night busies itself growing stars. Tremolos, sweet and reedy alternate with sharp vibratos building to repeated crescendos. He fetches her a plump field mouse, his gray-feathered camo suit hardly ruffled. She demurely accepts, their bond renewed another season. …