January 13, 2020 by ebbtide

first snow

Poetry
absolution, contentment, ice, peace, poem, Poetry, rain, seasons, snow, trees, winter, writing
11 Comments

so cold, not-quite-rain
hisses through the husks
of the locust pods

later, this ice will gentle
into hushful snow –
which absolves all,
forgives everything

and for a blessed hour,
every branch will
outshine the moon

February 28, 2019 by ebbtide

at 4,665 feet

Poetry
hiking, joy, nature, peace, poem, Poetry, rain, spruce, wilderness
15 Comments

the rocks smell of rain,
and somehow too
of growing things that cling
to cracks and grooves

I imagine, when breaking
needles of spruce into cider,
this must be the scent
of wild-some joy

My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press. Pre-orders through March 22nd will have an opportunity to win a canvas print of the cover art. Click for details!

December 20, 2018 by ebbtide

luminosity

Poetry
cedar, discovery, joy, light, nature, poem, Poetry, rain, searching, seasons, winter
6 Comments

lately, I have not been so adept
at creating my own

but have become better at least
in the search for it

in hunting out the straggling streams
ushering along the broken light of winter –

streamfronts and lakesides,
and damp on long-dropped leaves,

and everywhere the subtle, persistent gleam
of cedar beneath the rain –

these have become my candle
against the winter’s dark –

there is peace in found luminosity,
and joy in unveiled light

April 13, 2016 by ebbtide

writing home

Poetry
birds, change, coffee, comfort, contentment, dogs, green, joy, life, pleasure, poem, Poetry, rain, reading, seasons, spring, teasing, writing
12 Comments

the small-birds have finally
found the window feeder
and the dogs are enthralled
with their sudden proximity

we are well, though feeling
the spring in our bones –
that gentle eruption debuts
a new brand of restlessness

the boards of the porch have been
too damp for comfortable reading,
and coffee for now is confined
beneath the mossy awning

but sweet and peppery
the season’s trees tease
the beginnings of green –
one promise kept, at least,
among so many hundreds dropped

these are days of small news,
buds of flowery hearsay – not much
here to report except the hummingbirds
are damp-winged and bright
among the new leaves of the maple

November 17, 2015 by ebbtide

in a blue coat, in the rain

Photography, Poetry
blue, change, life, perseverance, poem, Poetry, rain, reflection, shine, winter, writing
4 Comments

the sky demonstrates
the way to shatter,
regroup in puddles,

and upon reflection
find a way to shine

February 26, 2015 by ebbtide

2.26.2015

after a poem by Ono no Komachi

too soon the bloom
has slipped from the stem –
a light lost over the deepening
sill of evening

and back and forth,
the beads are slipped slowly
down the thread while I
wait with the rain

February 5, 2015 by ebbtide

2.5.2015

Poet's Journal
damp, life, love, poet's journal, rain, seasons, shoes, spring, writing
1 Comment

the crocuses have awoken, a defiant yellow flare against the bricks

and my shoes have grown fonder this year of puddles than I might wish

so much so, that my toes have pruned by the end of the day

yet I am reluctant to cast them off –

who am I to come between lovers in the spring?

November 1, 2014 by ebbtide

November chickadees

Art, Poetry
art, autumn, birds, chestnut, chickadees, dogwood, fall, ink, locust, maple, nature, November, poem, Poetry, quiet, rain, seasons, solitude, watercolor, weather
12 Comments

November chill
rusts the dogwood,
scatters the locust seeds
down the sodden street

the maple this year
shows an unusual
reluctance for red

but today gray was made
a near beautiful thing –
a frame for the darker
darts of the chickadees

in the yellow goodbye
of the chestnut tree

March 28, 2014 by ebbtide

thresholds

Poetry
April, birds, flowers, life, March, nature, poem, Poetry, rain, seasons, sparrow, spring, thrush
6 Comments

a brace of camellia buds,
pale gold and swollen,
nod knowingly in the rain

March puddles may come,
but the thrush still shouts
when he’s discovered his mate

April is at the threshold
and soon a parish of sparrows
will be singing themselves silly
in the branches of the wild plum

January 8, 2014 by ebbtide

found poem

Poetry
bulb, flower, gift, life, luck, nature, poem, Poetry, rain, winter, writing
13 Comments

yesterday’s fortune
left the fragment of a poem
lying in the January drizzle
for me to perceive
and carry (treasured) home

some squirrel, winter hungry
no doubt, had dug it up
and nibbled most of the roots
away to nubs – but still,
green pushes through
the almost ruin

it sits now on my sill
in a balance of stone and water
and quiet winter light, while I
and my curiosity await
the unknown bloom

While walking in the rain yesterday, I did stumble across a little bulb on the sidewalk with most of its roots nibbled off, but some healthy green just beginning to show. I decided to take it home with me and see if I could get it to bloom. It struck me almost immediately how much finding this little bit of life was like writing a poem – stumbling over a fragment that slowly sprouts, never knowing exactly what it will be when it finally decides to bloom. I’m actually very excited now to see what blooms on my window sill in a few weeks – love this little gift from the universe!