How any poem is created is a mystery to me. How concrete (shape) poems like the three below happen is an even greater mystery. I had...

Saturday morning. Skies are clear. An hour after awakening, my husband shows me the two tall pines we lost in the night. One lays toppled...

It happens every October, but has it ever been more breathtaking than this year? Showy leaves, an extravaganza. It makes me feel quick...

This one tree is symbolic for many people of the resurrection of the Christ. A cross is in the blossom. It usually blooms in early April,...

More than the garden phlox growing rotund heads, more than the display of bright red canna tongues shoving their way upward toward sky,...

I am using that word more and more. Maybe I’m more aware of the act of sacrifice than ever before. Military families know. When people...