Thursday, April 24, 2014


Many years ago, I found this poem by James Hearst in an old magazine. I copied and framed it, and around this time of year, I like to share it with some friends. On this National Carry A Poem In Your Pocket Day, I’ll be carrying this one. It is like an old friend that speaks of spring and hope and faith and of course the glorious Forsythia.


You said, take a few dry

sticks, cut the ends slantwise

to let in water, stick them

in the old silver cup on the

dresser in the spare room and

wait for the touch of Easter.

But a cold wave protected the

snow, and the sap’s pulse beat

so low underground I felt no

answer in myself except silence.

You said, winter breaks out in

flowers for the faithful and

today when I opened the door

the dry sticks spoke in little

yellow stars and I thought

of you.

By James Hearst

Friday, April 18, 2014



On this day, I sit so still
As if I’m stalking the earth.
It is a good Friday, any way you slice it.
My eyes open and close to sunlight
And shadow-then wind and stillness.
With early clouds floating by,
 I tune in to songbirds and wait
For new colorful wings to arrive.
 Sun hits my legs, hot and burning,
 Till a breeze returns, cools me
And flips the pages of my opened book.
 Spring endures, regardless of what I believe
 On this breezy Friday before Easter.
 In a straw lined bowl on the counter,
The hardboiled eggs, dyed and arranged
 Wait to be tapped and rolled on Sunday
Uncovering the opaque white that protects
The golden prize inside.