Poem for Thanksgiving

Mr. Owl’s Apology
 
High above
the woodland din,
perched on a
listing redwood
limb,
I spy
the hollow
far below
where humble
creeks
and rivers
flow,
where songbirds
flit and
beauty lies,
where greening
trees and
bluing skies
hide forest
creatures
shivering,
their flittering
and fluttering
their wintering
and summering,
set my heart
a spin-owing.

A Poem for Fall . . . and two free books

Dear Readers,

Happy Fall!  To celebrate, I’m giving away digital versions of two of my children’s books this weekend (Oct. 24 & 25) . . .

Yogabets: An Acrobatic Alphabet

Cover 1200 dpi YOGA single pp for CS - 9 22 15_Page_01
https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=yogabets
&

One Charming Cat (Un Chat Charmant).

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B016B0F6PG?keywords=one%20charming%20cat&qid=1445615776&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1

I’d love to know what you think of them!

For Richer or Poorer

A spare red ring
can mean
many things—
from a bedbug bite
to a life-saving buoy,
from the hatband
mark on an old
man’s head
to the salty rose
of a child’s
mouth,
from the
first full chomp
of a ripe red
fruit
to the mulberry
groove on
a widow’s hand—
yes, a deep
red ring can
mean many
things.

Rainy Day Blues

Two weeks of rain have come and gone–hurrah!

My head is wet,
my nose is cold,
my feet are
lumps of clay.
A chill wind’s blown
the starlight out
and chased
the moon away.
Fog steeps me
like a bag
of tea
in drizzle, dew
and mist—
so I lift
me up and
squeeze me out
and plunk myself back
in the house.

Equinox

IMG_0155

Halloween is coming—
I feel it in the air—
pumpkins tumbling,
dry leaves crunching,
apples everywhere.
Windy days,
frigid nights
shadows on the bog—
soon the sky
will fold the sun
into a wintry fog.
Stalks of corn
without their cobs—
just rows and rows of straw—
pumpkins tumbling
dry leaves crunching—
tell me it is fall.

Hello, Fall!

Witch’s Brew

my little witch isn’t scary at all—

she’s round as a melon and six inches tall.

her name is Miranda. she lives in a cave.

she’s got twenty children, the youngest is Maeve.

but, sadly, Miranda is mired in gloom—

tonight’s Halloween and she can’t find her broom.

she searches the closet, she searches the hall,

but spiders and cobwebs are no help at all!

so she hurries to market on two tiny feet—

but instead of a broom, she buys olives and beets.

a spree for fresh veggies, you wouldn’t expect.

but my witch is peckish, so that’s what she gets.

she washes the veggies, removes all the pits,

then slices and dices and dances a bit.

’cause Miranda is happy with her witchy brew—

now she’s got supper—a hot veggie stew!