This year, there are no pears on the pear tree.
The tree, a gift from a friend
who claimed it was an apple tree,
has become squeezed
between the white pine
and the tulip poplar.
Perhaps the beams of sunshine
now filtered through the surrounding trees
are not enough to produce fruit.
Nonetheless, there are no pears.

William Blake says
we must learn to endure
the beams of love
pouring down on us.

I love the image
beams of love
showering us.

At times, we walk through life
surrounded by clouds,
sometimes even for days.

For an extended period,
the beams of love
may not find us in the shadows,
Like the pear tree,
We have stretches
When we bear no fruit  

First comes the walk
walks are required now
prescribed to ward off
effects of life

getting from here to there
taken for granted
vertical movement
now a task

Next was found
the Underground
home of brews
home of seats

some soft, cushy
others wooden
yet warm, inviting
Come, taste our brew

chairs, sofas
filled with chatting people
mostly women
looking into faces

illuminated screens
across coffee, latte, or tea
communicating
smiles, grimaces

What is shared
humor, news
fears, fraughts, fragments
dimensions of now, the past

people rise to
pick up special steaming
drinks fresh from
the Underground

He never orders a latte
standard drinks
brew of the day
fill his cup

someday
An inkling may stir him

to order
a white chocolate mocha

There is no sunshine.
Cascading through
The wide porch windows

The overcast morning’s task
to make a grocery list
cans of soup, types of fruit,
nuts, cereal, potatoes, and more.

Don’t forget paper towels,
toilet paper, pancake mix,
and Jell-O.
Don’t forget the Jell-O.

Dots of White Queen Anne’s lace
Splash in the backyard

It’s August, and soon
the Lazy Susans and Cone Flowers
will go to seed.

Mundane, the view becomes prosaic
Making lists becomes dreary,
And days drift through the year

Lists and life,
unlike love, become mundane.

Today is filled with an unusual stillness,
With nary a breath of wind.
Perhaps now is a good time to rest.

I have solitude in my mind.
Today’s stillness has taken over
My entire being.
Thoughts vanish in an instant.

I sit here perfectly stock-still.
My immediate world
seems to be halted.

Please, let something move.
Everything feels so calm and placid.
I don’t want to feel lifeless.

Such extreme stillness,
Bordering on the edge of madness,
Am I slipping into insanity?

Will I pull myself out of
The periphery of lunacy
To step back into this
Mad, mad, mad world?

I can feel your patriotism
from across the street.
There’s a sense of arrogance
in your flashy display
of love for your country.

What ignited your patriotism?
Did a parent plant the seed?
Did your education reinforce it?
Were you there,
paying for butter with food stamps
during World War II?
Did you fight in Vietnam
or crawl through the hills of North Korea
as one of our fighters against communism?

You fly the flag to show respect.
Still, you fly it at night without light.
You don’t take it down when it’s raining
to prevent discoloration or fading
You don’t fly the flag at half-mast
When the state or the nation orders it.

Please align your sincere desire
to express your love for the country
with a solid understanding of
The Flag Code of the United States of America.

If you deeply adore someone
you’re devoted to following
her every twist and turn in life

Any attempt to squirm free
causes you to recoil instinctively

Her exotic scent
continues to lure you

Love is intense euphoria,
inlaid with moments
of sharp and profound agony

Your every contortion
only constricts her hold

Predictably, despite
numerous gyrations
you surrender to love

You left your home,
Your flowering tree
That bore you in the springtime.

Once released,
You drifted to the lake below.

Now on the water,
You drift again with the current
To reveal your whiteness

Your buoyancy
Creates gentle ripples

This picturesque scene,
Attracts attention—you're beautiful.

Your petals catch the sunlight,
Bringing feelings of tranquility
Unlike any other.