Tuesday, April 28, 2009


crowds of iris on curb
wave to pilgrims passing by
I'm still a hermit

Sunday, April 26, 2009

The House # 1

The brick house loomed like a castle over the neighborhood. Druid oak and white pine ruled the backyard and surrounding dwellings. At night, the sidewalk shivered and prayed beneath the full fat moon while maple trees dropped thier seeds into the wind.


Yes!! irises from
my window indigo drops
ink in green garden

Sunday, April 19, 2009


impression Andrew
Wyeth trees lean into his
river green spring

paint me into it
Andrew river pilgrimage

Thursday, April 16, 2009


You want to
live in a hut in the woods like some
medieval,Welsh poet and write
poetry to yew trees.

You want to be the grass.

Sunday, April 5, 2009


car radio off
a crow looms up in front
green stone church hidden

Saturday, April 4, 2009


green garden shut eye
meditation pond listen
look how brilliant now!

Friday, April 3, 2009


i bring them rubies
plucked from pomegranate heart
she spits them out

Wednesday, April 1, 2009


I pretend to be Basho

wandering here and there up

and down the mountain

pausing to write small

zen moment poems in

green silence or white

snow silence - garden

morning walks or 700 mile

treks searching for a

magic pollen place or a

clear bird song morning.

Frost did it, sure, but

Basho did it first. I am their

plump old woman disciple.