More 5 Line Poetry

under
my porch light
Junebugs
waddle and flutter
on their backs


a Junebug
buzzed
and wrecked itself
into my
hair


sensored porch light
came back on
when I stomped
on a pesky
Junebug

House Plant

The poinsettia I received
two months ago, sits
on a tan, linen tablecloth
on my kitchen table.

This is a miracle for me,
"Miss No-Green-Thumb" --
the longest any plant
I've kept has survived.

It still has a few red leaves
having shed some parts;
now more airy than before
when it was lush, full.
Some have fallen to the table,
half burned by the sun,
or curled, dried to a wither.

It likes my daily practice
to give it's pot a quarter turn,
so that when it bends
toward the kitchen window
one day, it balances out
at the end of the next,
so it doesn't stay bowed
like a person with osteoporosis.

It likes when I softly touch
its soil, to test its moistness.
It likes the Western light
when the blinds are louvered flat.
The sun kisses it between the slats
to give it warm massages.

It used to be – if I stared
at a plant, it would die.
Perhaps I have hope.

Sunset

a striking sunset
from my kitchen window
made dish washing
more pleasurable
for as long as I could see

the horizon and sky
intense canary yellows
tangerine oranges
ruby reds
tall like a blazed forest
died to a faint
line of smolder
until nightfall
snuffed out the light

Drifting Through A Fog

(On suffering writer's block)

A fog drifts through the gaps of my mind,
haze as a mist hangs between hills and valleys--
low floating clouds on a humid day.

Thoughts harbor in silence, suspend,
then chatter away about nothing,
about everything at once.

Cranial grayness filters the light, hides the crannies,
glides through a part of me that reflects
how my brain got stuck, dangled in midair.

I sit here dazed with nothing to write,
wondering where the next word comes from.
Must I cull utterance from my next-door
neighbor's cigarette smoke? So be it.

I'd rather grasp them from coolness
of my living room air conditioner. Maybe
that will blow away and free me from congestion.

All we have to fear is fear itself

fear of the unexpected
of predicted storms tomorrow
dreading trips she doesn't want to take
as nervousness brings accidents
afraid to walk around the corner
worried that evil waits in shadows
she hesitates to take one more step
timid of free choice
unable to understand leads to confusion
apprehension of future events
with pointless qualms of perceived danger
doubts, anxiety, trembling, stress
causing social doom upon herself

I want to tell my mother
that troubles can duly disappear
our woes change to relief
taking risks to find out the truth
turn on the light when fate is shadowed
we have the power
to grow like colorful flowers
our reactions stay calm as we know
that this inspires us
as religion of fear disintegrates