She Makes the Flowers Bloom at Night

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She makes the flowers bloom at night

She borrows magic from the moon

Collecting stars, she holds their light

and makes the midnight shine like noon.

Pale luna moth from dark cocoon

seeks out her flaming auburn hair.

Enchanted girl with shoulders bare,

unnamed goddess, who can she be?

I would be lifted from despair

if she would shine her light on me.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, A Mini Challenge for Sunday, The Prince (Dizain)

Elixir of Summer Rain

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The buzzing of cicadas in the night

As bats begin to circle through the air

The song of the spring peepers trills so light

When day's frenetic pace turns laissez-faire

Black crickets chirrup secrets we can't share

A barred owl calls "Who cooks for you?" unseen

An echo seems to answer from somewhere

On silent wings they fly off to convene

In pools of water plunk proud frogs of green

Shy deer emboldened rustle through the wet

Leaves in the summer rain glow with a sheen

And darkest nights shine as if polished jet

This magic fills each drop of summer rain

An anodyne to ease the winter's pain

submitted for Think Tank Thursday, #107 Sound, at Poets United
and Poetry Jam, Do You Believe in Magic?

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I, Mouse (Redux)

I am just a mouse

But cross me at your own risk

Quiet but deadly

Persistent as a toothache

Scritch, scritch, I'll gnaw down your walls

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Word Count With Mama Zen

Black and White

Franz Kline, Figure Eight, 1952

You lay the strokes with confidence

a master calligrapher

Awed

I watch as you create the piece

I think I know where the next brushstroke will land

but you change course

following a sketch that only you can see

(or is it all improvisation?)

You say questions of perception versus reality are pointless

that we can argue endlessly about interpretation

but it really comes down to black and white:

Either I believe you 

or I don't

I don't.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 127

and Poetic Bloomings, #65 Betrayal

and Poets United, Poetry Pantry #107