6 Wheels

He drives; I sit
armrests down
blanket secured
seatback reclined.

We are trucker-high
panoramic witnesses
living a transformer life –
retractable walls, 6 wheels

bus-like we navigate
destination discovery
former stagnation distant –
we are nomads, defying roots.

He drives, and I sleep
two old people undertaking
a journey of impermanence
thriving in each given moment.


(Today’s challenge is to write a paragraph describing some aspect of life and then by erasing words to create a poem.)

Blurring Blogging Lines

“Morrell Nature Sanctuary” is a poem I wrote for the Story Circle Network’s poetry writing group.  It is also my post today for my other blog (non-poetry, mostly non-fiction), One Woman’s Quest II.

If interested, check it out.

Just curious:  Did you even know I had a second blog?

Have a good day!


I navigate sharp twists,
confront rough trails,
steep slopes, swoon
at dizzying heights,
feel my frailty –

this path is for rugged,
those accustomed
to the sheer immutable
force of  rock –

and yet, my lens
tells a different tale –
speaks of shadows
shifting, witnesses
mutations of colour

describes a giant
whose facade reflects
the day’s passing light,
demonstrates compassion
in earth’s stillness.



Tenacious are we,
will not be derailed
by rock-hard inflexibility
nor disintegrating foundations

we endure, require little
in the way of adulation
or support, self-sufficient
warriors, timeless

we adhere to a call
of evolution, indestructible,
sustained by a productivity
and a steadfast will.

(Inspired by this photo taken at Coon’s Bluff, Tonto National Forest, Arizona.)


Have opted for a minimalist existence –
efficiency dependent on accessibility –
still suffering the effects of disease, age.

Used to dwell in the sarcasm of fixed roots,
keep-up-with-the-status-quo, thought that
swapping furniture equated with renewal

Now the only fitting-in we do relates to
rig size and whether or not the next stop
on the road can accommodate our home

Have sold off the real estate, motivated
by simplicity; seek vistas that restore
our souls, preferably with a water view.

We are comfortable marrieds, adapting
new perspectives, easing out of the shell –
shock of former agendas, rat-race lives.



A Torn Christmas

The wind blows,
a steady beat,
disperses Texas heat
palms succumb
to the rhythm
seduce the cerulean sky,
my heart a bird in flight

Back home winds cut
squalls threaten, snow
swirls nipping children’s
cheeks, while inside
hearths glow, eyes sparkle,
an anticipation my heart
aches to behold

This year, we’ve balked
tradition, chosen sunnier
vistas, the selfishness of two
will limit our Christmas
to FaceTime chats, snapshots
of excitement; my heart torn
between bliss and guilt.

(The Daily Post prompt:  torn.  Image and baking by my daughter.  Missing limb courtesy of a granddaughter.)


He is the planner,
planning routes and stops,
measuring distances, researching
particulars, focused on specifics

I am the organizer,
organizing a mass cull,
distribution of worldly possessions
to kids, goodwill, or garage sales

He is the scheduler,
scheduling maintenance,
pre-departure inspections,
double-checking mechanicals

I am the communicator,
communicating itineraries
answering emails, phone calls
reassuring family left behind

We lose each other
in the preparation scramble,
absorbed as we are in personal
agendas, anxious for departure.

The future is unknown,
we have committed to the leap,
replaced obligations with openness,
are setting sail on a new adventure.

We are questers,
questing after discovery,
retreating from a weighty past
leaving judgment in our dust.

We are travellers,
traveling off the beaten track,
chasing vibrant panoramas,
a close proximity to nature’s best.



She flows, unapologetic of her girth,
does not flinch at barges scoring
her surface nor paddle boats laden
with curiosity; confident in her fluidity

she bears the secrets of life, the sludge
of our history in her belly, stirs the minds
of merchants, voyageurs, and children,
tolerates those who gather at her banks

certain that the final word is hers – no
boundaries can contain her wrath; still
waters rise and spill, she is dragonness,
nature’s force, and she is magnificent.

(Inspired by The Daily Post’s prompt:  sludge and the great Mississippi.  Photo from personal collection)


Pre-Journey Jitters

This ride is not all that it seems to be:
this on-the-road-home, suits two,
carries more – there’s unrest onboard,
and the air crackles with trouble brewing.

Seems we’ve brought along our bad
selves, shadowy figures resembling
adolescents – the in-your-face, life’s
not right, and I-know-it-all types.

There’s insolence in one’s actions,
rebellion in the other, no tolerance
in sight – doors slam, plans alter,
chaos threatens to put us in the ditch.

Until crazy pushes the Done! signal
and we withdraw to our corners,
buckle in for the ride, focus on
pending destinations, happily

embracing anticipation, imbecilities
set aside, preferring to believe that
this adventure is leading us towards,
not running away from, the unexpected.

(Image:  quotesgram.com)

Language Is Not The Barrier

Bought tickets once for Spain,
planned to escape the fading
autumn golds to find brilliance
of Spanish hillsides, vibrancy
of villages, radiance of smiles.

Succumbed, instead, to illness
a fate whose grip defied urges
to flee, thrust us headlong into
the ravages of a blustery winter
remorseless in its stormy rage.

Only dream now of exotic locals,
of sun-baked vistas and cobbled
streets, of busy marketplaces and
houses tucked behind hidden doors
where mothers gather their broods

Motherhood, I imagine, universally
driven to offer comfort, provide
security, no matter the resources –
a call to protect the inner richness
of the family – places that draw me.

Envision plates of home cooked
delicacies, offerings delightful to
the eyes, aromatic, appetizing, and
likely beyond my ability to digest –
this disease imposing sensitivity.

Travelling is a catalyst for change:
exploring cultures, encountering
residents, inspires reflection, the
magic of communicating without
words – languages no barricade

I am marred now, an ungracious
guest – such is the sentence of
this disability – unable to bear the
disappointment on the faces of
those who would extend welcome.

(Image: www.expanish.com)