• WEARY to the bone,
    stretching out on the couch,
    socks on my feet,
    pillow BELOW my head,
    I review memories of the day,
    treasures of the mind,
    each a precious JEWEL.

    Georg’ann

    Magnolia blossoms flutter
    RAISE yard to an EVENT space.
    From window seats, we watch
    our crowning JEWEL.

    Heather

  • Sky PLAIN and gray
    STORM brewing
    Praying for gentle rain
    I invoke deities with
    A random QUOTE or two
    Then notice as a robin
    Shakes from its head to
    Its BOOTY, and all is well

    Georg’ann

    Swimming in a liquid forest.
    CLEAR water to explore.
    Sitting at the table,
    MOUTH wants something.
    Dream strikes me as LOFTY.
    Snacking on Pirate BOOTY
    salty puffed corn kinda lowly.
    I am in perfect balance.

    Heather

  • She was, despite it all, tonight feeling of pretty darn good CHEER. Admittedly, there was much that could SPOIL it all and throw her back into a MOODY, despairing cycle again. But, no, not today. Today was for recognizing some good things, nodding to her growing community and celebrating those connections. People she had KNOWN for years were now showing up and engaging to make things better. It feels good to work together to push back against the horrible things. And it’s ABOUT time this started happening. She is clear that she hasn’t even reached her QUOTA of connecting yet — oh yes, she thought, we are the river, and we don’t need to be the dam. We are getting organized for real, and things will change for the better.

    Georg’ann

    She prepared the GUEST room.
    Lotion, calming pillow
    scent to spray, if desired,
    into softest sheets.
    First spring TULIP, yellow,
    in a vase by the bedside.
    QUART of fresh farm milk
    for morning granola
    and afternoon tea.
    Kindness always replenishing.
    No QUOTA being filled.

    Heather

  • I can be clear and SOLID in my feelings, and yet hold space for regrets. To say “I’m SORRY” does not always convey the complexity of my experience.

    Georg’ann

    BOUND to regret
    if I bring you in home.
    Raise you from stray
    turning into family.
    ROYAL black princess
    emerald eyes, velvet coat.
    Another kitty love STORY.
    Try to seal my heart.
    Not let it be captured.
    Whisper “Goodnight,
    I’m SORRY”.

    Heather

  • “BOAST if you will, child, but you still need to PRESS the clothes. And there they lie, soapy and in need of a RINSE. Oh, I CURSE the day I married your father!” So saying the wicked stepmother turned away and flounced out of the room. Observing this performance, our heroine continued on with her drudgery. This Cinderella, though, had a secret: she kept herself sane and hopeful by recording her experiences in VERSE. This exercise kept her mind nimble, making her feel both productive and smug. She knew the time would come when these words of hers would prove a valuable weapon and a way out of her situation.

    Georg’ann

    Rebuilt what was BURNT
    Didn’t PARSE contributing embers
    Singing new VERSE

    Heather

  • A FINAL attempt
    to REPOT, a SHEET of dirt
    Mama’s treasured plants

    Georg’ann

    Hours of preparation,
    fingers crossed
    for a FLUID presentation.
    TRACE the arc, this is
    a STEEP learning curve.
    Teaching a new way of being.
    Not easily translated
    to a cheat SHEET.
    Invitation to personal experience
    allowing for aha moments.
    Still the uncertain seek tangible
    formula, don’t trust this realm.
    They want linear cognition.
    I offer tangential intuition.

    Heather

  • It seemed a simple matter
    to AVAIL oneself of a
    BLEND of luck and diligence —
    to bend an ELBOW,
    put a nose to a grindstone,
    and seize an opportunity.
    And yet, she found it
    required more discernment
    than she expected.

    Georg’ann

    Brain is not QUIET.
    Rare the SPARE moment
    to dip BELOW the noise
    and ponder a fleeting image
    of that huge maple tree
    with its giant ELBOW resting
    on the roof of someone’s porch
    as if it were a table.
    Massive yet so gently leaning.

    Heather

  • The orchid is finally blooming, in striking shades of MAUVE and deepest purple. It looks like it should have a SCENT, but it does not. I nurtured it, repotted it, and took the time to SWEEP away the mealy bugs that have plagued it. I have been careful not to break or damage the flowering spike when at last it appeared. The buds took their time to appear and to open, each one a tight curved SHELL. I struggled to find a SHELF for it to display its rich beauty. I finally settled on a spot next to a white orchid, their blooms arcing over the fronds of the ponytail palm, my own personal jungle.

    Georg’ann

    Silent child, expressive face
    refuses to speak ALOUD.
    Glues buttons on paper.
    Quizzical look as we hear
    the microwave ding
    from the next room. Scent
    of Ashley’s CHILI comes
    through the door.
    He rises from his art, glances
    at me before taking a SHELL
    off the SHELF. Places it in sand,
    returns to resume his creation.

    Heather

  • The idea flew through my head like a COMET, fleeting and rare. It seemed that I could almost claim to have HEARD the words, a start to a new ESSAY, something brilliant, no doubt. Ah, so NAIVE of me to think that this is how writing works, a flash followed by words pouring out. I shift my position, tucking my ANKLE up under me. Thoughtful, I chew on the end of my favorite pen, moving the paper to a more satisfying ANGLE in front of me. No, I realize that drafts and rewrites, and maybe the help of a good editor, are key to writing.

    Georg’ann

    You’d think getting it in 2 would make it easy. Yet they are the kind of words that could go in so many directions. Exhausted me with all their running around in my brain from this snippet to that one. Their, “oh wait, what about that one there on the outskirts?” No energy to follow any thread to fruition.

    Bored.

    At this STAGE, I’m giving up. No ANGLE here to take me by the hand and guide me along.

    Heather

  • With QUIET concentration
    the BAKER bends over her cookies.
    SHEEP, bunnies, tulips, eggs:
    all shapes to signify spring.
    Wobbles of the arm,
    hesitations mar aim.
    Now a few MOPEY bunnies
    keep a couple of DOPEY
    lambs company,
    all on the “free samples” plate!

    Georg’ann

    SWIFT REACH
    Fast fall
    Glass shatters
    Don GLOVES
    Clear shards.

    This morning
    which dwarf?
    Part Sleepy
    Part Grumpy
    Part DOPEY
    Not Happy.

    Heather

  • Chipmunks CLAIM space
    Compete with squirrels under MAPLE
    Crows AMBLE and strut

    Georg’ann

    Everything so SWIFT. Always
    frenzy. Swooping, pecking,
    fluttering. Constant motion
    like this morning’s scene
    at the bird feeder.
    Discordant. Lacking CHARM.
    Free for all under the MAPLE.

    I relate more to the solitary cat.
    Taking her morning AMBLE,
    silently enters the garden.
    Winding her way to seclusion,
    curling up for a nap.
    Almost completely hidden
    under the soft, low
    branches of the hinoki.

    Heather

  • Ready to CLIMB into bed, I STARE for a moment more at my PHONE. I miss having a cat to NUDGE at my elbow.

    Georg’ann

    GUSTY wind, branch falls
    More might, hard to JUDGE.
    NUDGE taken, will be cautious.

    Heather

  • Family Feast

    A LABOR of love: prepping
    the roast in the BASIN,
    following a treasured recipe,
    BASED on those of the elders.
    Preparing for hours of roasting, we
    will lovingly BASTE and tend.
    Sides and salads, pies and cakes,
    but all cede pride of place to the big roast.
    Filling bellies and souls, all at one go,
    holding us all together in love,
    around the family table.

    Georg’ann

    Last night senses shift
    after the first spring rain.
    FRESH earthy scent allures.
    In PLACE of purity, clouds
    carry fertility. Earth and sky,
    intertwined. Raindrops
    land brown, speckle my car.
    Air thick with possibility.

    Inside an urge to cook, finish
    winter staples make room
    for something new. ANISE
    flavors the SAUCE, warming
    with her telltale TASTE –
    a hint of licorice, unexpected.

    Deer nuzzle one another
    on their way to the bird feeder.
    Lay WASTE to what wasn’t theirs.
    Brown bunny nestles into woody
    nest under the Carolina Spicebush
    Soft fur juxtaposed with sharp twigs.

    Evening gives way to night.
    Grey clouds blanket the stars.
    Pulling out thread, quilter begins
    to BASTE the day onto fabric.
    Entering and exiting like breath.

    Heather

  • PRIDE is a difficult thing for me to claim. When I contemplate it, I feel as self-conscious as if I had had a tube of something SPURT all over my clothes, and that this has happened right before I have to stand up and do something very public. A bizarre thing, that imagining feeling proud engenders a feeling that seems very much the opposite: self-consciousness or, perhaps, even shame. Examining this quirk of mine is an interesting experience. I feel a bit like I have struck a match and thrown a tiny SPARK of light into a dark corner of my psyche. It’s a dusty and obscure corner. Perhaps it is time to do a little spring cleaning.

    Georg’ann

    Too many wars

    TRUCE called, then broken.
    Ash falls, needed FAIRY dust.
    SPARK magic, not rage.

    Heather

  • I took a BREAK from my shift, leaning against a wall outside Tony’s. I was really feeling it today. That dog tired ache in my feet. A busy morning and lunch shift, heck, it’ll do me in these dsys. I used to be able to go forever, but age and arthritis have taken a toll. Seeing a couple of my regulars earlier gave me a little boost, a little surge of energy and POWER to keep going. I take a last drag on my cigarette, and prepare to go back in the DINER. Somewhere, I know a TIMER is going off. Now that Tony is gone, his son, Nico, is in charge. He was a pain as a kid, and he’s proving to be worse as a boss. I don’t want to risk a scene like the last time I was outside too long.

    Georg’ann

    Three forks, one SLICE.
    Tines descend, each fork
    a DIVER searching for bottom.
    Moving through thick moist
    custardy cake, interspersed
    layers of thinly sliced pears.

    Trying not to devour more
    than our share, we each look
    at the crowded cafe walls.
    Slowing down one sense
    by amping another.

    Funky art descends from above.
    A globe with ring a round
    light bulbs becomes a new planet.
    Papier-mâché TIGER sits
    next to a kitchen TIMER.
    Signaling my wild animal instinct.
    It’s time for another bite.

    Heather

  • Would I be guilty of trying to HEDGE my bets by attempting to wash the dog and wrestle her SOAPY, wiggly body through the rinsing and drying without ever having to resort to using a LASSO? Or, maybe not?

    Georg’ann

    Mud splattered
    PETAL. After storm stem SLACK.
    Sun beams LASSO, lift.

    Heather

  • The VINES cover our
    front STOOP. Through the tangle I
    push a letter into the box and
    watch the postage STAMP detach
    and float away.

    Georg’ann

    POUND of clay in hands.
    Waiting for that SPARK
    before movement. Intuition
    guiding the SHAPE
    that wants to come.
    Raw lump molded into
    a form that bears my STAMP.

    Heather

  • Snuggled under the covers, we search for a story to read. We MIGHT want a little bit of a shiver, a SCARE with a poisoned APPLE, all in a faraway kingdom. Or maybe we will want a FABLE, with a wise ant and a lazy grasshopper, or perhaps a steady tortoise and a hasty hare. That’s a tale certain to be served with a LADLE of morals, making us laugh as we learn how we should be in the world. Or maybe we want an arch tale of flirtations and romance. What a lovely problem to have, as we snuggle under the covers, books piled around us, having a slumber party, just us two.

    Georg’ann

  • Happy Pi Day!

    There, in PLAIN sight, yum!
    I, with studied POISE, admire
    “A PIECE of pie, please!”

    Georg’ann

    MOUNT the steps, porch awaits
    We came up to this PLACE
    to sit with lap blankets, enjoy
    cheese and crackers, relax,
    watch the neighborhood stroll by.
    Three only children saturated
    in sisterhood. A day of expression.
    Pay the PRICE in aching bodies.
    Bickering, then settling into love.
    Which looks like one walking
    to the store, hunting.
    While two stay and gather
    tableware, salad greens.
    Each PIECE comes together.
    Meal making is meaning making.

    Heather

  • I continue to wake up and feel heavy with fatigue. Covid lingers and WOULD severely hamper my day if I hadn’t been through this before. There are advantages, I realize, to having lived 66 years and to knowing my own body. So let me not GROAN and moan too much. I might not be ready to TANGO my way through the day, but at least I can lift my face to the MANGO yellow sun in the clear sky. I can be patient with myself, gently moving forward.

    Georg’ann

    Ionian sea blue SCARF
    wrapped around her head.
    No tendrils escaping the silk.

    Reaching up, she uncoils,
    fabric cascades, a waterfall.
    Before me an Aquarian goddess.

    I’m here to help her BATHE,
    ensuring she doesn’t slip.
    Long standing, the DAILY desire

    to soak in warm water,
    let the washcloth press
    against skin. Penetrating

    and absorbing simultaneously.
    Dry skin absorbs sweet lotion,
    softening like PANKO crumbs

    mixing with MANGO juice
    as components of a luncheon
    salad meld into one another.

    Heather

  • Packet of BASIL seeds in hand
    THANK goodness for spring
    On TRACK for a cheerful day

    Georg’ann

    This MONTH moves quickly
    STARE at new life emerging.
    TRACK each bud and bloom.

    Heather

  • She’s an IDEAL friend
    Doesn’t WINCE at bad jokes
    Welcomes others to her TRIBE
    Never acts out of SPITE
    Lucky to have her in my life

    Georg’ann

    TRUCE called.
    Waving WHITE flag.
    Forgiven in SPITE of
    irreconcilable differences

    Heather

  • I am surrounded by bins, lots of COLOR all around. There are balls, skeins, and STRAY bits of yarn spilling about. There’s yellow like a daisy, green like a pickle in BRINE, sky blue, rose pink, dusty gray, and more. I dig my fingers into my stash, sorting by touch, happy in my innocent GREED for creativity and abundance.

    Georg’ann

    Waning VIGOR dawns.
    Moving requires GREAT effort.
    GREED for life recedes.

    Heather

  • I pick up a new book, wanting, willing myself to step into my best, IDEAL self. How many times have I tried, searching for ways to be better? Always hopeful, always seeking. I smooth the notebook paper, bustle about looking for a pen. Cup of coffee, lamp on. I stare at the pages. One set is filled with words that I hope to take in, words like magic beans, words I will swallow, and that will take root inside me. The other set of pages blank, empty spaces waiting for me to fill, where I will note my questions, copy out passages, savor small and large triumphs of understanding, a PANEL of white waiting for me to fill it up. I pick up the NAVEL orange beside me, pierce its peel, and watch the oil spray out. I breathe in the heavenly smell, anticipate the bright taste and soft texture. Abundance of nourishment – for my mind, body, and soul. Balancing the book in my lap, holding a slice of orange, I am ready to begin again.

    Georg’ann

    Invited to visit my brother’s lair.
    In midst of grime, piles everywhere
    he shows me his hobby.
    A WATCH repair desk,
    strewn with tiny bits and mini tools.
    Drawers full of bands and faces.
    He reworks discards with reverence.

    Here his thick, clumsy fingers
    and construction worker mass
    become delicate, precise.
    I SAVOR this tenderness.
    How rare the opportunity
    to be with this part of him.

    His daughter stands quietly.
    The moment broken by beefy
    dog sniffing her NAVEL.
    Her giggles pull me out
    of bittersweet reflections.

    Heather

  • Under gray skies, days threaten to MERGE, a blur of monotony. So sick of being sick. I wish there was a pill, a food, something to do to ROUST unwanted germs from my body, misery from my soul. Oh, how we all would TROOP to grab that cure! En masse, a demonstration of need and urgency. I dream on, waiting and waiting some more.

    Georg’ann

    Many grocery deals.
    WASTE is THORN. Cook, then cook more.
    Enough for a TROOP.

    Heather

  • Covid, Take Three
    Confined and isolated within
    my own house, within two rooms
    my only CHORE to mask to protect you.
    It’s an experience of absences:
    absence of work –
    no reason to EXERT or push;
    absence of others –
    no guests, no meetings;
    absence of schedule –
    no pings to ALERT me.
    What an odd suspension
    of time, of self, of us!
    A weirdly unique-to-now moment,
    I hardly know what to make of it.
    Let’s hope we can process
    it soon, in the same room.

    Georg’ann

    Genetics PLAIN to see
    in a quick pass through
    the ALBUM. Still a mystery
    how traits shift, here so
    completely paternal, almost
    a replica. Suddenly a series
    in which maternal features
    dominate the visage.
    No consistent through line.
    Fascinated by attractions,
    commingling DNA, the role
    of mirroring and emotion
    in shaping muscular structure.
    ALERT to fear when I feel her
    face inside my own. Solace
    she never shows in yours.

    Heather

  • PANIC and hasty action, such an unfortunate combo, yet succumb I did — indeed I CHOSE, and now here I am STUCK, in the corner trying to SCRUB a stain out of white pants for all the world looking like the end of the worst rugby SCRUM ever. I clearly will have some explaining to do, though to whom and when is not yet clear.

    Georg’ann

    To CRAVE takes energy
    I don’t have. For now
    passivity in the wake
    of ROCKY circumstances.

    Nightmares and fitful sleep
    the result we INCUR.
    You also murmur and flip.
    Walls are thin.

    Today might be a day to SCRUB
    floors, reset the foundation
    praying on hands and knees.
    This is how I prepare.

    Others lock in formation,
    arms intertwined. Ready
    to meet opposition, waiting
    to kick what enters the SCRUM.

    Heather

  • No sense of TASTE, so
    EVERY FLECK and bite
    requires that I CHECK, for
    otherwise, it’s a mystery
    meal every time!

    Georg’ann

    GRIEF cloak worn everyday,
    hanging on broad shoulders.
    Days when the weight pulls
    her over, inward. Movements
    slow. At times wrapping around,
    a comforter infused with his scent
    while she watches tv and eats
    STALE cookies. Or looks out
    at the WEEDY garden, tea in hand.

    We often CHECK in with one another.
    As time passes I’ve noticed her
    fingering the clasp, not quite
    ready to fully release.
    Though she is pushing back
    layers of fabric. Shoulders visible.
    Transforming cloak to cape.
    It’s subtle this shifting
    from protected to protector.

    Heather

  • Sick as a dog, waiting
    to get well, WHILE the
    world turns GREEN out
    the window, daffodils send
    one brave SPEAR after
    another into the chilly air

    Georg’ann

    Blankly staring at the wall,
    listening to clothes the dryer.
    Occasional scrape of metal
    against metal. No rhythm
    to GUIDE me toward rest.
    Intermittent pings become
    my ENEMY. Steady sound
    then a BREAK startles, heart
    accelerates with sharper clang
    or ping. Now the furnace blows.
    Jazz duet, the discordant variety
    that jangles my nerves.
    Are the lights flickering? Yes.
    It’s not CLEAR whether they’re
    grooving with the machines,
    or like me, about to blow a fuse.
    Watery, tired eyes. Pulsing head.
    Stuck on this unmade bed as if
    a SPEAR held me in place.

    Heather

  • Lily really needed a BREAK. But it felt like the SCOPE of her work just kept growing. It was not even March TENTH, and she already felt overwhelmed. She sighed and looked over at her supplies. Being a LEFTY meant she had all kinds of left-handed things on her desk. But she was so busy that she was having trouble keeping her desk tidy, so those handy items seemed lost in the piles.  Even her personal shrine to the house DEITY was looking a little messy. Perhaps it would be wise to stop and sort things out? Surely that will make her more effective later?

    Georg’ann

    Windswept variables, 
    not a single one settled. 
    No action is SMART, 
    I THINK, when so many swirl. 
    Trying to secure what is still
    in motion, QUITE likely to 
    yield regret. When she’s ready
    the DEITY of Decisions will
    guide you. Wait, love, wait. 

    Heather

  • From a PERCH above the SHORE, one bird watches the OTHER. All the gulls love to HOVER, watchful, patient surveillance.

    Georg’ann

    CROWD of purple crocus.
    SAVOR this new carpet.
    Above golden tendrils HOVER
    on buoyant spring branches.

    Heather

  • The hush is BRIEF –
    Then it starts –
    FLUSH those birds
    up and out – FUNKY
    tunes shake ’em out –
    Lose the FUDDY in your duddy –
    Spin till the room goes FUZZY –
    Dance-o-rama!

    Georg’ann

    WATER pours into and out
    of cups. Glistening liquid
    falling, infinitely fascinating.
    CHILD lost in simple delight.

    SOUPY mud mixed with a stick.
    Stuffed BUNNY and bear
    served YUMMY pies and tea.
    Their FUZZY fur slightly matted.

    Heather

  • Step right up, SPOUT
    your ORDER, we are 
    here to please, 
    here to set you at ease
    The LODGE is open!

    Georg’ann

    Open minds

    We are oh so stuck 
    in WRONG LOGIC.
    Let new ideas enter, 
    find a way
    for them to LODGE.

    Heather

  • Can I FUDGE a little?
    Cheat the season a tiny bit?
    I STOOD and pondered the
    dusty leaves and mud,
    giving way to dreams of
    a rainbow – CHARD, arugula,
    zinnias, basil, marigolds, eggplant!
    Modest ambitions, no need to win
    an AWARD, my little garden is
    its own reward.

    Georg’ann

    WATCH daybreak, slowly
    light comes on as if the sun
    were on a dimmer switch
    easing us into the day.
    Pink glow along the horizon,
    sliver of silver crescent moon
    rests in dark branches.
    AWAKE to receive this REWARD.

    Heather

  • We are about to go out on a date. I am looking forward to it. It will be nice to have a moment, a chance to SHARE and talk. We don’t stay out late anymore, so it will BRIEF. It makes me smile, to think of looking at you across a table. I can see the scene already – small table, we will have a salad to share, a CRUET of oil, and one of vinegar will be brought to the table. We will joke about our ravenous appetites and compete with each other about who can demonstrate more GREED. We will ORDER a pizza or, maybe, some pasta. It will be nice, very nice. I find myself humming as I pick up the hair DRYER to finish getting ready.

    Georg’ann

    SOUND intuition, your knowing
    her request was a trap, gift given
    with undercurrent of malice.

    There is a DRIVE towards
    secret society insult
    with sulfurous salt
    into wounds better
    served with sugar.

    Falling into a DREAM
    letting the subconscious work
    it through. Awakened
    by the thumping of wool
    balls in the DRYER.

    Heather

  • Trying to play it SMART, I look for a good PLACE in the class. It’s only the second week of cooking school, and I feel cautiously optimistic about how the first week went. But my mind goes BLANK as a different instructor walks in. Have I made a mistake? Did I walk into the wrong room? I do not recognize this person at all. I glance about nervously. No help from the other students. The instructor looks very intimidating. His chef’s toque sits smartly on his head, and his apron is starched and blindingly white. He begins, his voice soft and accented. I strain to make out what he is saying. We are all bewildered. Then our bewilderment turns tense, as we begin to grasp what he is saying. “We will be developing a series of dishes involving what is commonly known as offal, or organ meats,” he whispers to the class. He claps his hands sharply, twice. We all jump, startled by the loud noise. Assistants step into the room from the doors to the supply area. They are carrying tray after tray of something. The assistants distribute the trays. I can barely bear to see what I have been given. It’s a platter of sweetbreads – the pancreas or thymus GLAND of a calf or lamb. It so happens that I have eaten this delicacy, but I have most certainly never prepared it. I feel both relieved (thank goodness we aren’t starting with kidneys) and intimidated. I hear the person behind me say in hushed tones, “Oh, I heard this set of recipes is how they weed people out, testing us to see who is cut out to be a chef.” I swallow hard as I wait for instructions.

    Georg’ann

    So much hair in the DRAIN.
    It comes out in handfuls now.

    Desire spice, relegated to BLAND.
    Each GLAND felt for swelling.

    Changes noted with curiosity.
    Disintegration and renewal.

    Heather