SURGERY A poem about a dear friend who was a therapist. She had surgery which affected her larynx.

The voice became voiceless
at the turn of the surgeon’s knife.
The house was filled with quietness
The canker sore of the woman’s throat
left the family filled with strife.
Fun no more; they doted upon her.

She gave too much; now must be fed.
Confined to her house
to learn to receive instead.
On the eve of winter,
the woman now dimished.

To be or not without her speech
live her life; listen to Bach.
His ear upon the heavans.
A trial life, spiritual number seven.
She gave too much, now must be fed.



Twinkling shimmering dots cover the skies
connecting Orion’s belt,
head, shirt, legs.
I see new brightness,
ecstatic pleasure overcomes me.

My head falls back in awe.
Trembling, tears stream forth, eyes glisten.
The night sky alive.
No city pollution
The canyon’s crystal clear
pure, resonating twilight.

A mass of God’s paintbrush
swirl the sky.
Let me remember,
these visions.

As I reflect my life,
back into smog, fog infested city.
Let me not forget God’s Grace.

Snow covered fields.
Mountain tops, passing roads.
Snow, there, here, everywhere.
Crunchy boots, indented
on chalky pavement.