33   2 comments


Because of what happened
this garden is my refuge,
this silence amongst purple coleus
trailing inquisitive vinca vines.

I hear not one opinion
uttered from the plants,
just their perky faces toward morning light,
their spines straight with innocence
and disregard for my life,

or possibly standing tall
to demonstrate graceful endurance.
Only their lives matter—being God’s
earthly ambassadors, holding
no one accountable for silliness.

Even the overgrown fern
showers delight from its crowded
nest of green fronds,
drooping, bowing to reality.

Time, I say.
Time they tell me is needed
for strides of growth. Time and rain—
rain from dark clouds pouring
into patient soil, rearing
the pointed caladium leaves of fiery red
and starlight of white impatiens’ flowers.

My Patio in August

My Patio in August

32   3 comments

Wild Geraniums

Chill of May
sweeps through soft seas

of wild geraniums
here in deep woods,

their lavender-pink heads
moving slightly

in waves of thick green,
a scene soon to disappear

as seasons move
to seasons,

reminder of endings
and beginnings.

This poem is my tribute to a family member, age 22, and all the others who fell victim to the pain-killer Oxycontin. They were productive citizens hoping to contribute to society and were fooled by a medical treatment.


Morton Arboretum, May 19, 2016

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Mossy Maple Mushrooms

There the white bubbles are,
popping from the bark
of the old maple tree
like lumpy balloons, starkly
bleached. But their perfection
is blemished by a dark scum
sprinkled on top, like pepper
on a hard-boiled egg.
Breakfast anyone?

On second thought, this is
not food, but a beautiful
plump polypore clinging
to the wide trunk, amazingly
topped with not pepper

but a spread of deep green moss
softening the appearance,
tempting me to touch
the flowerless green plant
usually looking velvety,
but here rather uneven
and spilling like soil
over thick white shelves.


Poet with her watercolor, Mossy Maple Polypore

Poet with her watercolor, Mossy Maple Polypore Morton Arboretum Exhibit, April 2016

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For Signature

For my signature
here on email
I cheer you on
hoping birds don’t land
in your hair,
or anywhere
to your purpose
for the day.

Posted December 24, 2015 by perettipoems in Humor, POEMS & ART COPYRIGHTED, Poetry, Writing

Tagged with , ,

29   2 comments

Are You Abdullah?

Are you the father?
The father who carefully escapes
overland the dread, the torment,
threats, fire and bombs of Syria,
then gathers up your family again
with small bags of clothes
and biscuits, climbs aboard
a rubber raft heading
to the island of Kos, bound
in an armor of hope?

When high waves topple
the boat and the captain deserts,
do you steer until impossible?
Are you the father who watches
your wife float away,
your little boys struggle
for air, then vanish?

Are you the father who cries
as he picks up one beautiful son
washed up on the beach,
who wonders where the world is
as the ocean swallows his nation?

Published on newversenews[dot]com, Sept. 4, 2015
Awarded First Prize by Illinois State Poetry Society, Oct. 2015

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Centenarian Overload
. . . . Japan 2015

We are very well
eating simple rice
fish and seaweed
stretching in the park
we are now 100 years
poised to accept
sterling silver gifts

so well we number
twenty-nine thousand
thus no silver anymore
maybe crisp paper
letters signed
by Shinzo Abe

This poem published September 1, 2015 on newversenews[dot]com

27   2 comments

Miss Panda

Miss panda plays
early in the day,
greeting cool mornings
before the sun is hot,
running through grass,
finding a good spot
to roll and tumble
like a baby, even when
she’s two—finds the old log
where she stands on
her head, finds a good
tree limb for chinning
and hanging—no cares
for this wild youngster
weaned and growing,
showing us
how to have fun.


My screen shots from site of National Zoo in D.C.


Such a beautiful day!


What fun!