Six o’clock sounds
say ‘hurry home’
in the rush and whoosh
of tires sliding through
the rain soaked street.
The tick, click, tick of
the clock confirms
the dinner hour
while a bird
through the window
with his “cheerup, cheerup, cheer!”
reminds any and all
listeners that
evening is approaching.

The electronic hmmzzzzzzzz….
of the flat screen TV
insists I pay attention
to the 6 o’clock news;
but I resist the tell
and welcome instead
better clocks with softer sounds—
the message bird calling,
the rainy streets telling me
and the slow, drowsy way I pen these 
words at the close of day.
This poem was in response to a prompt from the book ‘God in the Yard’
Chapter 9—Poetry:Silence, by LL Barkat, where the author encouraged us 
to sit and listen, then record what we hear in a poem.  I highly recommend the book.

Linking with dVerse Pub for Open Link Night 98. More wonderful words over there.

Pressed into Joy

Golden oil in 
a bottle

liquid light
refracting sun in shimmers

a mirrored shape 
reflects on the surface

and I wonder at the
drop, drop, drops

of light as they
drip, drip, drip

All this tasting
joyfulness because
something was crushed
and pressed,
leaving light.
Sharing with dVerse Pub for Open Link Night 97.


the lights have left the leaves,
golden brilliance
turned out like a 
glowing candle
quieted by the wind.

the leaves float and rustle
voices, too, carried by the breeze
to this place atop a hill--
the slant a receptacle for sound
forcing it upwards 
to my ears.
I'm hidden--
He's not.
I hear Him.
He's here.
linking with dVerse Pub for Open Link Night 95. Join us?