Category: The Poets Heart

This section contains poems written to capture emotional truth through rhythm, line, and compression. These pieces focus on feeling, voice, and immediacy rather than narrative sequence or explanation.

The writing may draw from lived experience, memory, and observation, but it is shaped by image, sound, and pause. Meaning often emerges through what is suggested as much as what is stated.

This space is for readers who want language that resonates rather than instructs, and who are willing to sit with intensity, ambiguity, and insight.

Between the Buzz and the Fall

A Stream of consciousness from the stairs above

Sounds of a creaking door…
As I write about the sounds
Of water hitting bedrock below
A crescendo from thirteen feet above.

More than a trickle,
Less than a roar.
Yet still a fall.
A lazy stream’s descent.

Laughter behind a glass door.
Nude.
The house has finally warmed
To a temperature that’s
Birthday-suit worthy.

The buzz of a yellow jacket
In search of food for winter.
My fingers and nose tell me,
It’s too cold for this creature
To be flying about.
Yet it defies logic,
Buzzing close to my ear.

Wasp stings are a powerful,
A Solid blow.
I remember the time
Three tagged me on the back.

BOOM! I felt it.
BOOM! again.
BOOM! a third time.

It was between the second and third
I realized what was happening.
Then I ran
Yelling, crying,
Screaming.
A third of each.

The pain was immense.
It did not stop.
Not a throb,

A Stab.
As if it were stinging me
Again and again.

For over an hour.

So now,
As this cold-weather fiend
Flies near,
I watch.

“What do you have to say?”
I ask.

I listen.
I observe.

All I can gather is…
It is in no hurry.

It finds a grease stain
On the patio chair arm,
And begins lapping it up
In the manner yellow jackets do,
Until the spot is no longer visible.

Cleaned its mess.
No
Cleaned a mess.
Not its own.

Like we as parents
So often do.

I swing my hair
Back and forth,
Hoping it will leave me alone,
Not lap any oil
From my body.

Memories rise
Panic follows.

I feel it there,
On top of my head.

I swing my curls again,
Trying to send a message:
Go.
Elsewhere.

But it is here.
It was here before me.
And unless I smush it,
It will be here after me.

For now
Gone.
Or out of hearing reach.
Out of sight.

The soothing sounds of nature…
Not made by man.

Water falls onto rocks.
Into a pond-like puddle
Knee-deep, perhaps,
Or at least it was last year.

From the top of the stairs
I can see the bottom.

This place, carved by nature
You can’t help but wonder
What was on the Divine’s mind
When it shaped it.

I want a place like this.
All to myself.

But would I share it?

Places like this deserve to be shared.

Yet I want to hoard it.
Keep it for myself.
Unfettered access
At all times.

And I suppose
With a tweak in scheduling
That’s always possible.

Cold water cascades
Slaps,
Claps,
Splashes,
Sings.

It continues its journey.

Boldly it goes
Down, winding, trailing,
Lulling.
Its journey never ends.

Can you see the wind?
No
But you see the evidence.

The leaves are moving.
As it blows by.

Sometimes it yells.
Sometimes it whispers.

Heaven’s altar
A living canvas.

My Tree

I have a tree, a seat for thee,
Where the woodpecker and chickadee
Come perch and peer and to look at me.

I have a seat to view the tree
Where sit the woodpecker and chickadee
They’re restless, wondering when I’ll leave,
And I am wondering when they’ll come to me.

The nuthatch and the junco are curious, too.
They come in close for a better view.

Below, I hear the soft dove coo,
The cat appears, the birds all boo.
Out comes the hawk, and we all bid adieu.

Agrypnotic

Insomnia’s sister
Transients cousin
Fluidities Aunt
Instabilities mom
Anxieties grandmother
“Sleeplessness”

Words, 11 of them.

Better

Is your life today what you pictured a year ago?

My life is better today than what I pictured a year ago.

However, the year came with several speed-bumbs, road blocks, delays and detours. But isn’t that what makes our lives better? The learning how to navigate through life when faced with challenges?

I’m just thankful you didn’t ask if I enjoyed this year better than the last. I might’ve had a different answer.

Sleeplessness is…

Insomnia’s sister
Transients cousin
Fluidities Aunt
Instabilities mom
Anxieties grandmother

….me

A Reflection on Grief

The Mourning Dove

I remember the first time I noticed a mourning dove was at our backyard feeders. Its coo stood apart from the others. A sound that seemed to linger instead of passing through. I remember thinking how different it was, like a new voice I had not heard before.

I had read that mourning doves sometimes appear after a loved one has died, offering comfort. I wondered briefly whether that was true and whether it was meant for me or someone else. Then I did what I had learned to do over the years, I dismissed the thought. Too many beliefs I once held had not unfolded the way I thought they would, so it felt safer not to attach any meaning to this.

Later that afternoon, my husband called to tell me they found his brother. He had died in his car during the night. It was the end of his quiet battle with addiction.

That mourning dove stayed, reminding us of how fragile life is. And that people are delicate too. Potential and talent do not protect or shield us. My brother-in-law was profoundly gifted, a creator, a man with vision and skill in the horticulture world. But addiction did not care about any of that; it never does.

Now, three years later, a small flock visits our feeders regularly. Like grief, showing up a little here and there and sometimes all at once.

The mourning doves have become a regular presence in our lives, just like grief.

My husband lost his mom when he was 14. We lost my son in 2020, and now his brother. Sadness has a way of settling in quietly, rearranging our lives without permission. But the coo of the Mourning Dove reminds us to pause and notice that calm can exist alongside pain.

The word Mourning carries a lot of weight, yet the Dove itself is gentle. It does not exaggerate loss; it endures it. Instead of feeling like a symbol of sadness, it becomes a symbol of peace and survival. Encouraging us to persist after something irreversible happens, reminding us that love does not disappear when someone is gone.

Now, when I hear their coo at the feeders, I do not dismiss it. I stop, listen, and remember. I take that moment to whisper a prayer for my mother-in-law and husband because I understand that grief can show up at unexpected times, and that peace can make remembering them easier.

Tortured memories

Addicted to forget them

Yet scarred thoughts remain

Enslaved for the fix

Blacked out,

resting thoughts at peace

A soul gone too soon

Addiction and suicides

Fatal kiss

Paper, Screen, Stone

I put my words in both places, on paper and on screen.
Both are temporary, fleeting as a dream.
If my papers burn, then let my thoughts be seen.
If the power fails, my book still stands, unplugged, yet keen.

Perhaps I should carve them deep into stone,
So time itself might read them when I’m gone.

ODE TO PETE

Ode to Pete

You can see the age in the white fur around his face.
Even old dogs get gray hair.

He’s stood watch over this home for so many years—
steady, loyal, patient.
He’s kept it safe while they were away,
and when they were home, he still kept watch.

He knows this is his family.
They belong to him.

Through the noise of the house—
the laughter, the shouting,
the running of little feet—
he knows his job.
He doesn’t need to be told.

He finds his spot on the old tree stump in the yard,
his throne, his lookout, his comfort.
The wind carries the world to him—
the familiar scents, the faintest hints of change.
He knows every smell, every sound.

His eyesight isn’t what it used to be,
but he doesn’t let that stop him.
Where sight fades,
his nose and his heart make up for it.

He’s heard it all over the years.
Every conversation.
Every disagreement.
Every whispered apology made after the house quieted down.

He’s been there through the sicknesses and the scares—
waiting at closed doors,
lying close when someone needed warmth.

He’s seen the birthdays,
the holidays,
the tables full of food,
the laughter spilling out into the room.
He’s been part of all of it—
quiet, steady, always there.

He sits and he watches.
He makes sure everything is safe.
Everyone is safe—
because Pete is on duty,
just like always.

And when the day quiets,
and everyone goes inside,
he waits.

He waits to be called in,
to hear a kind voice,
to be told he’s done well.
But humans forget sometimes.

They take it for granted,
thinking, “He’s just a dog. My dog.”

But that’s not really true.

We are his.

We’re more than just the people who fill his days—
we are his purpose.
His reason.

Every breath,
every watchful moment,
has been for us.
He has given his whole life
to our safety,
our laughter,
our love.

We belong to him.

And now—
when I see him resting in the soft light of evening,
his muzzle dusted white,
his eyes still following every sound—
I understand.

He’s not just watching anymore.
He’s remembering.

Every argument.
Every joy.
Every moment he’s kept for us.
Every growing child,
every season passed,
every quiet night he stood guard.

And as I watch him now,
I realize—
I’m the one still being kept safe,
just by knowing he’s here.

Question Everything

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein

Have you ever asked God, “Why?”

Have you ever questioned His existence?

Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?

Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?

Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?

Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?

Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?

Have you ever sought answers but found none?

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”

Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?

Have you ever wanted to start all over?

Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?

Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?

Have you ever felt cursed?

Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?

I have.

“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi

How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that. But guess what? He understands. We were born questioning everything around us. That is how we learn and grow. The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked. Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers. Questions help solve problems. It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.

A Quiet Voice Echoes

Dear Me,

I hear you.
I see what you endured.
I believe every word you wrote.

You were a victim—not because you were weak, but because others chose to harm you, control you, silence you.
It was not your fault. Not then, not ever.
You were not to blame for the loneliness, the violence, the brainwashing, the betrayal.
You were doing your best to survive inside a world that kept telling you to disappear.

And still, you are here.
You are speaking.
You are remembering.
You are healing.

I honor your pain. I honor your courage.
You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to feel angry, sad, and confused.
You are allowed to feel everything.

There is no right pace. No deadline.
Only this: you are not silent anymore.
And that is everything.

I love you.
I am with you.
You are not alone.

— Me

I’m better now, since you left….