nature

‘Tis True, Mr. Wordsworth

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Daffodils interrupt doldrums
break through badgering news.
They brighten my day,
my thoughts, my views.

They do indeed flutter and dance,
providing a joyful scene.
They grace the banks of the Charles,
greet me with bright ruffled faces.

They are sunshine
atop green leafy stems.
How can I be lonely
as they smile at me?

NAPOWRIMO Day 17. Prompt: Write a poem in which you respond to a favorite poem by another poet. My poem is in response to William Wordsworth’s famous poem, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud. See below for his complete poem.

Photos taken two days ago on my walk along the Charles River, from the Boston side. (Cambridge, Harvard and MIT are on the other side).

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Message of Sunrise

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There is a calming
an acute listening
as I sit enveloped in darkness
waiting, watching.

Darkness dissipates.
Low-lying orange-red layer
ombres into blue-black sky.
Then . . .

. . . ever so slowly . . .
a sliver . . . an arc . . .
an entire glowing orb.
Nature’s metaphorical reminder.

Even in the darkness
hope does rise
and become
reality.


NAPOWRIMO Day 16. Prompt: write a poem in which you describe something that cannot speak, and what it has taught you or told you.

Images are photos I’ve taken over the years at our beloved Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod. Same rental, on the ocean, for 25 years. Sunrises from the deck never disappoint.

Sunflower Tanka

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I stand tall and proud.
Yellow petals round my face
mirror my namesake.
I sway in summer breezes,
turning always to the sun.


NAPOWRIMO, Day 9. Prompt is to write a poem in the voice of an animal or plant. Photo taken some years ago in Provincetown, on the very tip of Cape Cod.

Tanka: a Japanese poetic form with 5 lines in the following syllabic pattern: 5-7-5-7-7. Some say it’s a Haiku that has more to say!

Nature’s Way

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Dew drops on petals.
Nature’s evidence of rain
or her sweet soft tears
singing Cry Me a River
for humanity’s deaf ear?


Written for NAPOWRIMO (National Poetry Month) day 1’s prompt. We’re to write a Tanka: an ancient Japanese poetic form composed of five lines with the syllable content as follows: 5/7/5/7/7. “It’s like a haiku that decided to keep on going!”

Photo taken last month in San Diego. “Cry Me a River” is an American song first published in 1953 and made famous in 1955 when recorded and sung by Julie London. Justin Timberlake’s 2002 hit “Cry Me a River” is not at all musically similar. London’s version is known as a torch song….listen below!

Hushed Stillness Resounds

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Moonlight shimmers softly.
Snowfall recently ceased, shrouds trees,
covers small town’s street.
Traffic absent save one car’s tell-tale tracks.
Owner, probably settled in reading,
nods off by flickering fire.
Lone man savors silence walking slowly.
Two dogs on extended leash,
content with no distractions
pause only to sniff the cold.
Winter’s quiet stillness reverberates
in late hours of this night.


I’m hosting OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Open Link Night means writers can post any one poem of their choice: no required format, rhyme scheme, topic or length OR they can write to the optional prompt I’ve given. The optional prompt? To write a poem motivated by the painting above, entitled Hushed And Still by artist Simie Maryles. The scene is representative of Provincetown, MA on the very tip of Cape Cod.

To learn more about Simie Maryles and see more of her paintings go to https://simiemaryles.com/artist/simie-maryles NOTE: writers only have permission to use Hushed and Still for their poetry.

Seasonal Reflections

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In the waning days of autumn
nature sheds its hilarity.
Crimson red, halloween orange,
and golden yellow leaves shrivel,
lose their vim and fall.
Farmers’ fields, stripped of crops
seem eeirly clold and barren.

I seek warmth, light and respite.
Candles lit, afghan wrapped,
mulled wine and book at hand,
I hibernate.
I am, afterall, a creature of nature.
Slowed by age
and sensitive to seasonal biorhythms.

Shared with dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe.

Haikus for October 2025

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nature’s cancan skirts
vivid orange, gold, crimson red
leaves delight the eyes

windows opened wide
fresh breezes ruffle curtains
pumpkins on display

witches roam the streets
moms and dads with little ones
door to door for treats

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Dora’s prompt is entitled Tripping the October Light Fantastic. She asks us to write a poem about October. Photo from last October in Boston’s Public Garden.

Aging . . . Poetically Speaking

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When I think of aging
visions of nature appear poetically,
ready to be written across the page.
But my hand tremor sets script askew,
not unlike a preschooler’s
first attempt at printing their name.

Nature’s brightly pink ruffled peony
once perkily perched, quite the showy thing,
gleamed amongst garden’s greenery.
Now droops beneath residue
of last night’s thunderstorm,
struggling to hold its bloom.

Newborn gangly foal tries to gain its footing.
Youthfully romps through riotously colored fields,
bluebells and golden columbine waving in the sun.
Years later, put to pasture,
stands swaying slightly, head down,
eyes clouded, wildflowers a dull blur.

And I myself, mark changes in my body.
Steps slowing down, sometimes falter.
Veins protruding on my hands.
I reflect more and more
on what was, and what is,
and what is to come.

Perennials dance in spring’s fresh air,
stand proudly through their season.
Then wilting, lie down to disintegrate.
But their stock is strong, their lilt not forever gone.
Perennials bloom again and again and again,
one generation gifting its beauty to the next.


Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Will be submitting for possible publication in the dVerse Anniversary Anthology.

Image by eetrinde from Pixabay

Grateful . . .

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You are my sunrise
as are friends, family,
birthdays, holiday celebrations,
graduation festivities
hot fragrant coffee
smiles from passersby
crescendos in concertos
hugs and kisses
toddlers stomping in puddles
charitable donations
springtime flowers
random acts of kindness.
Sunshine, a constant,
even behind the clouds.

Written for Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. I’m tending the pub and asking folks to include the word “sunrise” in their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title.

In all the chaos across our world, the sun still rises every day, even when it resides behind the darkest of clouds. For me, that is representative of hope – the idea that love and goodness are always present – even in the stormiest of times. Sunrise photo taken in Provincetown, MA – at the very tip of Cape Cod.