"Filled"

(Upon purchasing a new journal
On September 18, 2010).

Lovely leather binding pages
Sparkling with their silver edge,
Blank lines awaiting fulfillment.
Space for thought, room for
Expression; quiet moments to share
Beneath a blossoming cherry tree,
Beside the glittering open sea,
Amongst a pile of golden leaves,
Amidst the blustery winter winds
Pages fluttering and drops of rain.

Pristine now, crisp and clean,
Coffee stained soon to be, crinkled
Corners bent and shimmer dimmed.
Not worth a dime, yet treasured book;
Silent confidant for secrets shared,
Archive of fears, some joyful years,
Vial of tears and chocolate smears.
My life sketched with ink, not lead,
Encapsulation of my soul,
When the pages will be filled.

"Commuting"

(Composed upon returning home
Wednesday, August 25, 2010).

Commuting...there is always traffic,
Especially now Imperial Highway
Is littered with orange cones and
Seemingly spawning caterpillars.
Slow signs label the lanes and
Road construction ahead forebode
Blinkers and barrage of break lights,
Beeping car horns, and blare of rap.

The car ahead cuts into the right lane
Nearly colliding with my neighbor.
"Crazy driver!" I mutter aloud.

Light turns red and I'm stopped
Diagonally behind the Pontiac;
Its back window quickly lowers,
Expecting flash of a singular digit.
Instead, it simply rolls up again.
Reaching the top, it descends once more,
Then rolling upward, tiny fingers appear
Over the edge, skipping 'cross glass,
Playfully following the window's trek,
Flitting as a butterfly among buds,
Soaring and diving as a seaside pelican
Above the waves at San Pedro harbor.
Chuckling to myself and wiggling my
Fingers, as they rest on the windowsill.

Light turns to green and we once more
Crawl forward, as once annoying cones
Transport to first grade soccer practice,
Dump trucks to hearty preschool play.

"Blazing beach bonfire"

(Composed on August 5, 2010
Scent of smoke still in my hair).

You know the smell
Just after the sunset
The raw and reassuring
The organic sweet scent
Of burning firewood
Mixed with fresh sea air
Speckled in gritty sand
Smoke quietly billows
Soaking into your skin
Saturating your sweater
Tenderly enveloping you
In its warm embrace
The fire laps at the logs
Hypnotizing waves of
Gold and scarlet flames
Glowing embers beneath
Blazing beach bonfire
Towels spread around
Cool, damp sand underfoot
Soft guitar strumming
Beat of the bongo
A floating melody
And the crackling of the
Marshmallow golden fire

"Ode to My Alarm Clock"

(Inspired by true events
On Wednesday, June 30, 2010).

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring
When many a faithful year
Thou didst awakening bring,

From dreams of dark
And slumber deep
To day's warm sun
Thy promises keep?

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But left me to sleep alone,
World raced without thy ding?

Slept through my shower
Nor time to break my fast
For I awoke to find
'Twas sixty minutes past.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But trouble and frustration
As my sheets I did fling?

Alack I hurriedly did race
Past roommates, house, and store,
Mascara and brush in hand,
Left my pillow on the floor.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
Nor bing, cling, or even ping?
Why didst thou refuse to sing?

For pump the coffee in my veins,
Cold water thou couldst pour,
Yet nothing could jolt me awake
Like you silent clock forevermore!

"Today in La Mirada"

(Composed on April 16, 2010).

It's a particularly breezy day
Today in La Mirada.
Enjoying a brief walk in the park
In the glowing afternoon sun,
I am distressed to read the black words
Spray painted in capital letters
"DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS".

As though an icy wind encroached,
Chilling to the very bone,
So this interdiction shakes me.
Beside the gentle flowing pond,
The sweetly chirping and quacking birds,
This prohibition in its silent shouting
Disturbs the melody with its dissonance--
Clanging cymbal 'midst soothing sonata.

"Anticipation"

(Delightedly typed the
Evening of March 13, 2010).

Sweet anticipation,
That flutter in the stomach,
The thrilling lightheadedness!

With a click of the mouse,
My plane ticket was bought--
I'm going to Germany for Easter!

My bags to pack,
Fun details to plan,
The countdown has begun!

Dear friends to visit,
New lands to explore,
Plenty of museums, for sure!

Forest trails to hike,
Wines ready for tasting,
Maybe I'll try some schnitzel!

Oh how I love to travel,
To discover new beauties,
To seek the awaiting adventure!

To journey with a friend,
To find a new favorite spot,
Experiencing life across the sea!

A few weeks still to wait,
Yet waiting is half the fun,
The joyous anticipation of a trip!

"To a new year"

(Composed the first week of January 2010).

Some new years feel like a new blouse,
Purchased from the boutique rack,
Colors bright, completely unworn,
Blooming with great expectations,
Long awaited and at a high price.

Others are more like digging through a gym bag
Trying to locate a not so smelly sock,
Filled with more of the same old troubles.

This year, however, like a familiar friend,
Having begun and ended in the same spot,
Is most like pulling a newly laundered
Pair of blue jeans out of the dryer,
Fresh and warm, yet snug and comfy.

Thus, this year begins like the last,
Toasting my plastic cup to a new year,
Bundled on the rosiest street of Pasadena.

"Rearview Mirror Reflections"

(Jotted down December 17, 2009).

The morning commute is always an adventure!
My fellow drivers never fail to amaze me
With their crazy maneuvers and sudden stops.
Orange cone-lined construction zones are especially thrilling!
Yet perhaps my favorite part of the drive is
Sitting at a stoplight and glancing about.

Mascara wand and shiny pink compact in hand,
A young women stares at her reflection,
Applying powder, now manipulating metal pinchers
While the other cars zoom by, and
A teenager in his skinny jeans and red beanie
Pops a zit then bites his nails on my left.

A mother walks her daughter to school,
Girl bundled in pink scarf and white mittens,
Mother in a dull, frumpy brown jacket,
As the orange-vested gentleman,
The school’s friendly crossing guard,
Raises his sign and steps across.

Animatedly talking on her phone, or better yet,
Vigorously texting a curious friend,
"Baby on board" bumper sticker in the back,
The mom beside me would hardly notice, if
A fiery meteor fell from the sky
Or a bomb exploded up ahead.

And in his starched white shirt and tie,
Suit jacket hanging in the backseat,
The man ahead of me scarfs down
A steaming breakfast sandwich,
While I, finger tapping and latte in hand,
Sing along to a lively country song.

"The Little Lamb's Tale"

(Composed November 19, 2009).

The sun is in full bloom today,
A few wispy clouds overhead.
Birds are chirping in the meadow,
The promise of adventure in the air.
Prancing about the open field
Through green pastures and wild flowers,
A butterfly catches my eye,
So I skip after it to get a better look,
Its golden wings shimmering.
Among the trees I wander
Over roots and fallen leaves
Following the distant glittering.
My hooves now sore, throat dry,
Grown raspy with want of water,
Still I trample onward.
Entering shadows, hidden from the sun,
I stumble after the elusive sparkle.
Finally drawing nearer I hobble,
All my energy, just a few steps more...
My eyes riveted on the growing gold...
Suddenly the earth gives way beneath me,
As I fall downward, air rushing my face,
Landing hard, and SNAP!
"AHHH!" I cry out in pain,
My leg throbbing, pressure floods my ankle.
"HELP!" I moan, but no one responds.
Alone in the darkness I sob,
"Is there no one to help me?"
There is only silence.
Feet flailing I try to crawl forward,
But I am too weak.
Pushing harder I try to stand,
But I fall once more.
Utterly exhausted I curl tightly,
Clinging to a lone scraggly bush.
I wrinkle my nose as a bit of dirt
Falls from the cliff above.
Bleating once more, now with hope,
I lift my eyes heavenward.
Gentle hands surround me,
Embracing my thorn-filled fleece,
As he lifts me from the ledge.
The sharp pang in my leg
Seems to ease under his touch,
Wrapped in his strong, secure arms,
Held tightly to the shepherd's heart.

"Dear Katie"

(One month from her graduation).

Dear Katie,
Graduating from college was like breaking the tape,
Finishing the last stretch of a race,
A seventeen year long marathon,
Breathless and stumbling,
Yet full of joy, excitement, and relief.
Enjoy the last few paces of the straight away!
The finish line is in sight!

"I went for a long run today"

(An autobiographical account
of September 22, 2009).

I went for a long run today.

I love to run around the park,
The breeze blowing in my face.

I ran by families going fishing,
Clusters of friends playing frisbee,
Little girls feeding a flock of geese.

That's when I got a blister on my foot.
I tried limping for a little while,
But that was not very effective in
Stopping the rubbing, the hurting.

I was struggling on the cement path,
When I had a brilliant idea--
I took off my shoes and walked in the grass,
Down the green slope, among the trees,
And to the little rippling pond below.

When is the last time you untied your feet,
Toes hidden among the silky blades of grass?
Why do they call them "blades" anyway
When they are so soft and soothing?
The strands of grass? No, that wouldn't work--
It sounds like the earth is unraveling.

Well, you should try it sometime soon.
The freedom of your toes to wiggle,
The refreshing tickle of nature's fingers.
Most days my feet seem to be numb.
I don't even think about them
Housed in their little leather soles.
What a joy to feel my feet again!

" *sigh* "

(Doodled on May 13, 2009).

People speak of boredom as a feeling,
Others as a state of being.
"Boredom" is not simply the lack of activity,
But the lack of interesting and engaging activity.
Wasted time. Waiting. Without purpose. Wilting.

I may perch on a grassy lawn perfectly contented,
Counting the blades of Kelly-green grass,
Watching the gentle tendrils sway,
While another may shout, "I'm bored!"

Silent in a dimly lit room,
Surrounded by dusty old volumes,
Seated on a hard wooden chair,
Can be paradise for a few like me.

Yet caged in a sterile desk with nothing to do--
No pending items, no projects,
No training or upcoming events--
Is nearly universally acknowledged to qualify as
Legitimate grounds for boredom.

"Ode to the Q-Tip Tree" or "Fronds to the heavens"

(Composed at a table with friends
at the local Panera, 30 May 2009).

Born to privilege are some,
Robed in gold and precious gem,
As kings and princes these cedars come,
Rising to great heights of majesty.
The mighty oak stands tall,
While others, adorned by exotic fruit,
Display bows of exquisite flower.
Yet as thou, O little Q-tip tree,
Lowly as the shepherd boy or carpenter's son,
Dirty and scraggly, barely a leaf,
Cloaked in rags and burlap sack
(Nothing beautiful to attract the eye),
In such attire was our Savior born--
No jewel-bedecked, sparkling crown
Or marble Roman palace ground.
So lift your voice! Extend your hands!
Fronds to the heavens, as the children raised--
That Sunday morning their Savior praised!

"Rainbow"

(Composed in April of 2009).

Wrapped snuggly in cozy blankets,
Fluffy pillow 'neath my head,
My eyes glide toward the ceiling,
Gazing at shapes in the popcorn sky,
And sunlight peers through the blinds
Casting a warm, buttery pinstripe on the wall.

Saturday morning--
No urgent matters to invade the room, unwelcome guests,
No alarm clock to imprison the silence, locked in chains,
No task sheet to hold me hostage, no ransom to pay--
Simply lovely freedom to lounge and relax all day.

"Ought I rise?" I ask myself with a sigh.
A grey cloud lurks at the door.
Then like an effervescent rainbow emerges in the sky
Following the dark and dreary storm,
On this week's end a sparkling grim sweeps 'cross my face,
And my eyelids slide shut once more.

"In a child's eyes"

(Composed in a cafe
on February 14, 2009).

Smooth jazz floats from the speakers,
As a family is seated in the cafe for lunch.
The young couple munches their baguettes
As their two toddlers laugh.
The little boy in a red baseball shirt
Sips his milk and stares about
With his big brown eyes,
While the girl in her pink stretch pants,
With a matching top and little pink bow,
Attempts to pull the lid off her mom's cup.
She shakes the plastic cup
And giggles as the ice cubes jump.

Everything becomes a curiosity
For little eyes and fingers.
Every color, texture, and sound,
A new adventure, a hidden treasure,
Uncharted waters to explore.
A menu, a cup, a napkin
Become a fort, a tambourine, and a hat
In the eager hands of a child.
What energy and enthusiasm for life!
What joy they bring,
As the monotony of daily life
Becomes a fascinating excursion
When reflected in a child's eyes.

"Balance Beam"

(Composed February 14, 2009).

A tightrope walker learning to balance,
That perfect equilibrium to establish,
Neither too much to the left or the right,
But lightly stepping in his orange tights,
Careful not to shake the hanging wire
That separates him from the earth below.

A little girl in her blue leotard
Beginning her gymnastics class
Mounts the balance beam,
Then cautiously steps forward.
Unstable, her arms extend,
Attempting to stablize her weight,
As her toes hesitantly reach ahead.

A tickle in the throat, a cough, a sniffle,
Orange juice and vitamins, I swallow
Orange pills in the morning light, blue by night.
The delicate balance of health--to avoid illness,
To maintain some sense of wellness--
I rest, medicate, and attempt to remain lively,
Fighting for health, on the balance beam I flail.

"Soundtrack"

(Composed to the smooth jazz
in the cafe on February 14, 2009).

Out the window I stare
From the warmth of a cafe table,
Spotting cars drive by and couples stroll,
And a flock of birds in mid-flight.

The hustle and bustle of the city
Becomes a choreographed dance,
As the jazz seems to infuse all in sight.

The flustered shopper seems to float
On the notes of the saxophone,
As the kids in line for the pizza party
Smile and laugh to the beat of the drum.

Calming me into a contemplative state
Or exciting my soul and moving my feet,
This music becomes the soundtrack of my life.

"Rest"

(Composed November 2008).

Kick off your shoes
And take a seat.
Recline yourself.
Prop up your feet.

Light a candle.
Smell its scent
Fill the room.
Relax content.

Sip your Zinfandel,
Refreshing vine,
Sweet cordial fruit,
Ambrosial wine.

Read Bronte's Jane Eyre
Enchanted by romance.
Play Strauss' Blue Danube
Charmed by the flowing dance.

Close your eyes.
Let the music unwind
Tightly clenched hands
And worried mind.

Rather, whisper a prayer.
Seek quiet repose,
The Peace in our hearts,
And Rest for our souls.

"A Stroll through the Park"

(Composed in mid-November,
the week of Veterans' Day 2008).

The beginning of a path
Open and inviting.
The gentle breeze whispers to me
Bids me come for a stroll.

"Open your eyes and see!"
He calls unto me.
"Gaze upon the beauty of this place.
Enter into its warm embrace."

Meandering up the grassy hill, I stroll.
Shady trees outstretch their branches,
Extending outward, upward,
As though reaching toward heaven.

In the rustling leaves birds chirp,
The winged chorus of beautiful harmony,
Accompanied by the hum of insects
Dancing in the breeze.

A squirrel prances
A lizard leaps
A butterfly flutters by
As birds twirl in the sky.

The patter of rabbits' feet
Eager to join the jig
Celebrating the beauty of the day
And proclaiming their Creator's praise.

The breeze caresses the trees
Orchestrating the woodwinds' play.
Leaning against a tree,
I hum along, enraptured by the melody,
Warmed by the sun's enveloping ray,
Swaying in the gentle breeze.