Meditation

Wilted pink tulips

on a vase of tulips:
the pinks     whites     yellows
reaching upward             outward
way over the edge
opened wide to their silken centers               
until              inside out
suffused with the vibrant morning
light
they surrender who they are
with wordless grace
leaving only
small soft footprints
across the kitchen table
should I wish
to follow

Another “golden oldie” from two decades ago, first appearing in North Shore Magazine in 2005.

Nominated For A Pushcart Prize: One Sunday, Slow To Wake

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Photo by Zach Taiji on Unsplash

Let us grant that the pulsing rain wells
from a cavernous heart. Now the tulips

peering redly through my basement window
stoop slowly, nodding amid the blades of grass

as I curve to red yawns and the green stretch
of a lip, artfully shaping soundless appeals

to these guardian sentinels, this crimson grail
from which I drink and dream. Let us believe

there are upheavals in the dark: a bell ringing,
tears gathered in the urgent arch of my heart,

the congregation, at last, rising to sing.

I’m thrilled to share that this poem has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize by editor Robert L. Penick of the print journal “Ristau: A Journal Of Being” where it first appeared in January of 2019! Oh happy day! Here’s what the Pushcart Prize is about.