Yellow Moons (a poem)

be careful, son

don’t delve into

too much mystery

it’ll consume you

pray to yellow moons

inky-black skies

howling wolves

green wilderness

cycles of rebirth

summer turns to autumn

the land sustains us

be careful, son

& brave

(Photo by Izabelle Acheson on Unsplash)

The Eve of the Funeral (a poem)

On the eve of the funeral, there was a knot in my stomach –

his death was so sudden

a Friday night phone call + he’s gone forever

I felt panic, a wave of grief that threatened to demolish me

my sister stepped into the summer night + screamed

a primal shout that began long years of healing.

(Photo by Richard Burlton on Unsplash)

Groans of Thunder (a poem)

Dark clouds gather + block a stifling sun, breaking the heat

of oppressive summer days – we’re in a daze, at a standstill,

shops closed + mask-wearing maniacs stashing cash

under dirty mattresses in case of economic collapse –

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In the Woods (a poem)

It’s been so long since I’ve

walked in these woods,

surrounded by trees

on a humid summer night.

It’s dusk and tree cover provides

shade on the trails, but we still

huff, puff with each mile.

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