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Mockingbird Spat

Some poems that particularly appeal to me -

some are recent - some are older

Nerudas Fountain

Neruda's Fountain
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Its mouth gurgles Gregorian chants - 
no half notes or quarters or sixteenths -
but from its bowels steady-flowing vowels 
leaking, laughing over stones shaped and smoothed 
by eons' incarnations of seas and sands. 

Its loins sing and hiss the hymns 
of cells, and tissue,
their issue rained softly into the soul, 
cosmos songs haltingly hurled 
clear of the grasp and snarls of life. 

Its heart beats its bloody rhythm 
ticky ticky tick 
slither slidey slip 
pushing pushing 
gushing gushing 
up and over 
edge to edge 
it's relentless surge - 
so that heart and mind 
ease their edgy throb 
slowing, staying, stilling 
whispering, sighing, filling 
emptying, and restoring.... peace. 

Dedicated to Pablo Neruda whose poetry awakened in me in 2001 a
dormant poetic muse which has never gone
completely away to this day.

Written July 14, 2001


A Mockingbird Spat        Print this poem only

This morning the cat
awoke from its shelf
to a multilingual spat
a Mockingbird had with itself.


Written 3-28-03

Lake        Print this poem only


You alchemist turning grayslate days
into luminescent jade

You tempestuous temptress
with voice of thunder and lightning eyes

Your skin sparkles sun and stars
and paints peace on our scars

We swim in your moon
trembling in your silver climax

We sleep beside you by night
your abundance sates our days

We dash and flash and storm 
you caress and touch and transform

The wisdom of your vastness
reaches us in waves

Oh you liquid goddess
leap into our souls

and make us whole

Author's Note: Written after a two week campout/retreat on the shores of Lake Whitney in north central Texas - May 2003.


Lake Whitney.JPG

Quiltmaker        Print this poem only


Every evening when day is done

my body tired from an active day

you cover me and ready me to come

into an orbit far away.


A place native peoples reside

where Kokopelli wanders and plays 

and eagles ride the winds, glide

and rejoice in setting sun’s golden rays. 


I fly into a patchwork sky

where I am stitched together,

comforted, protected under your watchful eye

where hawks soar and tickle with feathers.


I visit frightful places 

hear horrible screams

see angry and twisted faces

feel my fears in my teary dreams.


I am grateful for these flights

for the certain and steady care

that covers me on cold and windy nights

for this Quiltmaker beyond compare.


Dedicated to my sister-in-law, Virginia Hilton whose love and dedication are sewn into the magnificent quilt she fashioned and created for me with blood, sweat, and tears, who came to our aid and was there for me for so many years.

Written 4-3-18


Morning Encounter        Print this poem only

In the morning coolness
just after dawn
such sweetness
settles upon me
in these few moments with you
alone in this sacred space.

Here You gently filter
your peace and love
into me
before this day’s stream rushes upon me
with its swift flow
and turbulence.

Here for now it is just you and I
in this silent colloquy
in this exquisite intimacy.

I rest unperturbed
and blameless
in the presence
of your quiet majesty
and forgiveness,
nestled comfortably
in your warm embrace.

This precious moment
of trust envelops my heart
protects it from all harm
says good morning
to my soul.


Written 4-2-18

Author's Note: Written one morning in April 2018 while I was journaling in our garden room.

Morning Encounter-1
Twilight Tree

Twilight Tree        Print this poem only

In the coolness of a waning winter
spring waiting in the wings
here you are you beauty
in your dark magnificence
you stand quietly without pomp
your silhouette a public secret
unassuming and unnoticed
reaching out to the fading light
as if to say “I belong here
so nice of you to visit.”
I belong here too.

And in this now
I feel a harmony of being
in our moment of silent union.

My eyes and my mind
are drawn upward
as if in a Gothic cathedral
and its pointed arches
but here you are gesturing
in all directions
with your thousand fingers
serene in your eastward lean
a perfect prayer of earth
to the beyond.


Written 3-17-18















The plants are dying 

one leaf at a time

loosing luster


no longer turning expectantly

toward the light.


Their stillness a portent

the dulling green

the browning

the yellowing

their silent acceptance

of their perilous symbiosis

with us.


We all need watering.

We shrivel without love.


But unlike this simple green life

we can say no

speak to ourselves

the language

of dissuasion





we can choose to rise

turn on the faucet

and move toward the light

and life.

Written 9-8-14










Hymn to Delta Blue          Print this poem only


The other day in twilight hue

with a setting sun of pinkish gold

I felt the ghost of Delta Blue

and from afar he touched my soul.


He sang a heartfelt battle hymn

he sang his grief in sad refrain

his soulful shouts shall never dim

his words of brothers and their pain.


Have you a thorn deep in your heart

that no amount of talk can take

nor find a balm to make it part

nor take away its dogged ache?


Is there something in you broken

the docs can’t seem to fix

and nothing they have spoken

no words nor drugs can nix?


He could not find a bridge away

or anyone who really knew his scars.

And he saw the folly every day

of desperate hopeless wars.


He stood among the red and dead

he drove a boat in waters brown

and mixed with blood and tears and dread.

No river could his sorrows drown.


His poems addressed our deafened ears

his prayer that we would be alright

all who fought those tortured years

he prayed they’d hold on through the night.


I wish I’d met this gentle man

who felt the wounds of war so deep

I wish I’d gone to shake his hand

to hear him laugh to hear him weep.


Let’s stand and sing a requiem

salute him and all the ones who gave.

Let’s honor them with heartfelt hymn

and walk into their sunset grave.


Author's Note: This poem is dedicated to Delta Blue which is the pen name of my friend Russell Glen Robison. He was an extraordinary and sensitive poet who published five books, most of which reflected his experience in and as a result of the Vietnam war in which he valiantly served. I regret that I never went to nearby Red Oak, TX to meet him in person before his death 2-24-14. But I am glad I got to meet and get to know him through his poetry. I also dedicate this poem to all of Russell's brothers and sisters in arms who served in Vietnam and to their loved ones who traveled their tortured journey with them.

This is Russell's Facebook page which is still active and contains some of his poems:

[Russell explained his pseudonym: "DELTA BLUE....a slang term we used to describe navy personnel fighting IN country....Mekong DELTA navy BLUE...... "] His book, Delta Blue is about the Mobile Riverine Force in Vietnam.  They fought on the rivers and canals of Vietnam in armored assault craft that resembled the ironclads of the United States Civil War.  On the back of his book, Delta Blue, he says: "It almost seems as if these water borne craft were destined to return one hundred years later and carry the fight to the enemy in the Mekong Delta.  Their story is little known, but long remembered by those who saw them in action."

Written 11-7-14


This image is from Russell's still active Facebook page where you can read some of his poems.  His Facebook page is:

Please see a special page I have prepared as a tribute to Delta Blue (Russell Robison)

Please see a special page I have prepared as a tribute to Delta Blue, Russell Robison

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