Seven Petals

seven petals float
trapped in a spiraling stream
i splash among them

the streamlet flows to
where the river warden waits
silent and brooding

dips in his fingers
draws forth a dewy petal
and whispers my name

we run through the glade
in the warmth of spring sunshine
and chase each other

it’s too much to know
that our love is forbidden
and so we pretend

this is our garden
it is our sanctuary
for a brief moment

walking home again
i stop by the stream and see
petals floating by

Blogger Random Question: Digging to China

Decided it was about time to change my Blogger Random Question on the profile. I got several really stupid questions. I don't know where Blogger comes up with some of this crap. I finally settled on the following:

You have to dig a hole to China. Where would you start?

My response?

Beijing. I don't like to work too hard.

There. I've changed my Blogger Random Question and made my next vacation plans, all in one fell swoop.

Poets

New poem published on "Soft Whispers" today.

Poets are like magicians

that pull verses out of the air

like bouquets, each one as lovely

and fragrant as a flower.

Poets are like mothers

in labor to deliver inky black lines;

their twitching hands 

like wombs, birthing rhymes.

Poets are both teachers

and students of life;

their subjects are love and loss

and sorrow and joy and strife.

Poets are like oysters

and their poems are like pearls;

the words they hold in their souls

change not themselves, but the world.

They are all these things, and more,

though they may not know it.

You can be whatever you like, but for me:

I think I’ll be a poet.

Simple Beauty

This is my latest poem published on "Soft  Whispers."

the dewdrops arrive
    and linger on the petals
    of the morning glories;
        their bright faces
        cerulean like a sky,
            unspoiled by clouds.

the trees are calling
    each rustling leaf like a sigh
    of a wood fairy gently drifting;
        sweetly on the breeze
        at the edge of dreams,
            untroubled by time.

the streams are singing
    asking me to stop and listen:
    a half-remembered song;
        to look and wonder,
        to pause and consider,
            beauty in simplicity.