I mentioned in my writing blog www.evelomoro.blogspot.com a few days ago that I would post my poem "The Dock," written at the lakehouse last fall. Hope you like it, and remember - I'm not feeling quite so melancholy about it anymore.

The Dock

How many times have I sat here

looking out on the ripples and chops of the lake?

I cannot count them.

How often have I watched the fishing boats,

the speed boats and pontoons crossing the water

at various speeds? I cannot say.

Much of the activity, the landscape and sky

became too familiar and faded until

little was noticed.

I was just sitting on the dock.

It is only now when a “For Sale” sign is staked

in the yard, when we have to keep the house clean

for showing, when the grass

has to be kept well-mown – it is only now

that these sights become once again,

precious to me. Because the next sunset

over the water may be the last one I see,

the hummingbirds who fly to the feeders

on the deck may return when someone else

makes the sugar water, the irises in the garden

will bloom for someone else next spring,

and the dock may be painted red instead of gray.

 
 

Today, as every day, I pray for children who hunger. This poem, while short, paints a picture of two such children.

At the Market

Plentiful fruits, bananas, oranges, lemons -

plentiful vegetables, peppers, carrots, radishes -

an explosion of riotous color.

One small boy snatches an orange

and runs away.

A second culprit, his sister,

makes off with two peaches.

The merchant of the market stand

follows the two with her eyes,

and with a sad nod, turns away.

She knows.

At home, their table is less than

plentiful.

The First Daffodil

Isn't this spring weather beautiful? Check out my other blog Writing on Faith.

Here is today's poem:

The First Daffodil

Today, it’s warmer outside, and bright.

In my back garden, the first daffodil

bursts forth in bloom.

Spring has truly come again,

and I, like the flower

feel new life surge within me.

I am resurrected

after a long and frozen winter.

This was written  several weeks ago, but the weather here in Illinois is so beautiful this day that I feel the same as I did when I wrote it. 

Have a joyful and blessed day.

I Feel Blessed

This poem was inspired by a visit from my granddaughter, Annie, when she was five. She’s now thirteen, and she still delights me with her presence.

Sunlight streaks across my bed

in sharp spikes of brilliance

“Wake up,” God says.

“You’ve things to do today,”

and I feel blessed.

A few white daisies

adorn my breakfast tray.

I say to God,

“Thank you for this bread,”

then spread the jam

and I feel blessed.

.The doorbell rings – I open up

“Good morning, Grandma.”

She gives sweet hugs and kisses,

she’s five years old

Oh, I feel blessed.