Spring Blue

In the heart of the nation
no ocean
so I carve time to indulge
in the widest blue I know:

bluebells blooming
in the woods,
only for a short time
since branches above

show tiny yellow-green
petals-of-leaves
which in this overdue
warmth will enlarge quickly

masking sunlight feeding
this sea of blue,
stealing my ocean,
leaving me once again

on dry land. 

      May, 2018, Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL

Spring Blue is May prize winner at Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge; photograph by Marilyn Peretti.

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Bear Care

With all the turmoil
in the news each morn,
I turn to a bear
who doesn’t care.

Many in Europe
now lean to the right,
North Korea may do
blah, blah, blah,
lots in DC are falling
from great heights,

but I turn to a silly bear
who doesn’t care.

Every morning
I check the zoo cam
to find my panda friend
leading his life,
trotting about
and climbing there,

thankfully,
I can turn to this bear
who doesn’t care.

 

October 25 in Morton Arboretum East Woods

 

October’s Colors

Yellow and green
and orange buttons
and more green
in paddles of fungi

red of sumac
and red of maple
and red in my heart
burning with autumn

look at the colors
flying like flags
blazing a sky
before ice grays it

 

Green “paddle” fungi

Little white umbrella!

Tiny (3/8″) orange buttons with sister moss

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Fragrance

sweet tart orange—
tinges of this taste
embed a fragrance

the old mock orange
vines over a fence
in gentle greeting

 

At old house in Lombard, IL

flowers made of air
petals dense in color

colors beyond palettes
sky bluer than ever

blue I can breathe
spring surging

beyond expectations
fulfilling hopes seeded

in coldest times

Morton Arboretum April 23

could this be spring
the blue too blue

tiny greens
alight with yellow

barely peeping from
high ink limbs

all fresh and full
of hope

Morton Arboretum April 23

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