Monday, April 15, 2019

Compleat Prognostication

PD photo (summary & licensing below)
Compleat Prognostication

Things will get better,
then, things will get worse
(though, the actual order
might occur in reverse)

PSC / 2019-Apr

Kingman Reef, NWR

Kingman Reef, NWR

Hard to argue with labels like
“tiny, remote, obscure, and isolated”,
but one ought take issue with
the designation “uninhabited”

yet, that’s a happy misnomer
for this pure, pristine coral reef,
petite pearl hidden, sequestered
in a side pocket of the Pacific

National WildLIFE Refuge inhabited 
by many and (one hopes, 
still) mostly untouched
by the hand of man

PSC / 2019-Apr

Note: YouTube video published on Nov 16, 2018 by Peyton Feurer

Sunday, April 14, 2019

An Eye for an Eye

photo by PSC

An Eye for an Eye
(or Eye Don’t See What You See)

When you look closely
what do you see?
Is it strength or malice,
justice or vengeance,
ambition or greed?

It seems  
what we all need
is an accurate lens
that allows us
to focus on facts
and intentions
and not hocus-pocus.

Tell me, exactly,
when did grace & charity,
empathy, goodwill,
and compassion
 fall out of fashion?

more importantly,
may it be
just the tiniest while
before they come back
into style.

PSC / 2019-Apr

Saturday, April 13, 2019

The Art of Gaia

PD photo - taken by NASA

The Art of Gaia

She weaves
the silkiest of webs,
with nimble fingers,
strong, supple; adroitly,
she fabricates the finest
lacy entanglements,
beautiful, powerful,

She’s gifted,
a crackerjack
with color and light,
painting amazing scenes
and still lifes, all as she
choreographs a dance
to music she

each piece
precisely planned,
beautiful symbiotic balance,
in one corner of the cosmos;
deliberately executed, amazing
mixture of mystery,
science, math and

PSC / 2019-Apr

Friday, April 12, 2019

For My Stellar Love...

PD photo - copyright below

For My Stellar Love in the Entire Cosmos
(who consigns all non-rhyming poems
to a black hole in some distant galaxy)

we may face
anytime, anyplace,
still, our lives

Where you are
is where I’ll be,
‘cause where you are
is home
to me.

Even when
we’re far apart
a wormhole
links us
heart to heart.

PSC 2019-Apr

Wednesday, April 10, 2019


photo by PSC / 2010


She longs
to be alone to just
linger in waking, to listen
to the sounds of dawn breaking
to take the day one breath at a time
refusing to rise (until fully inclined)
then savor her breakfast in silence, or
maybe with windows and doors open wide
to manifest morningtide’s music inside,
drinking in all that she hears – frogs
peeping, birds cheeping, even
an early rainstorm
might be music
to her ears

she yearns
to wander the woods
for a spell, unencumbered
by duty or time, unconstrained,
to relish the taste of autonomy
as the afternoon gradually wanes,
slowly roaming until gloaming;
then, biding her time a bit more
 (welcome, moon, farewell, sun)
greeting each star 
one by one

but even
as she prepares these prayers,
(a petition of sorts to the uni-
verse) she divines a voice
from years before (expounding
with wisdom she shouldn’t ignore)
“be careful what you wish for, child,
be careful what you wish for”

 PSC / 2019-Apr

Tuesday, April 9, 2019


photo by PSC / 2011


She dreamed of him
again last night
in the wee hours, writhing
amid twisted sheets
 beneath the full
Chaste moon
(some call it
a Wind moon);
and the wind crooned
a melancholy lullaby
that only stoked,
her inconsolable
causing it to
like a sea tide
at the moon’s behest,
her essence, her entire soul
refusing to be soothed;
the unceasing song
at her bones
and she,
reeling at the loss,
upon awakening
still feeling the connection,
their bond remaining

PSC / 2019-Apr


PD photo - copyrights below

She scoffs at the notion
of luck or misfortune being
guided, governed by a clique
of handpicked numbers.
Three, seven, thirteen –
what can they mean?
You hold more luck
in your three fingers
than in the digit 3
(says she)

Numbers are merely ciphers,
(she avers) a tally, a census of sorts;
not things, but a method
for counting things
(which brings her to
her point)

Luck (she alleges)
lives and breathes and
needs a place to reside,
somewhere to hide;
That’s when she opens up
her cabinet of charms,
totems, talismans
and tokens, and
(I’m willing to bet)
she’s about to sell me
an amulet.

PSC / 2019-Apr

Monday, April 8, 2019

Greens With Envy

Greens With Envy

Hyacinth hankers
for Holly’s berries.
Rue craves the scent
that Rosemary carries.
Ivy cites envy for Iris’s flower.
Erica covets Lavender’s power.

Veronica aches,
 (and I know this sounds silly)
but, she’d like to try soaking
in water – like Lily.

And Daffodil spills
she wishes that she
could be orange or red
(like Poppy instead)
while Poppy prefers
a bit darker hue –
maybe purple or blue –
more like Violet, who
while so dainty, petite,
thinks it might be quite neat
to be leggy and tall
instead of so small…
maybe bloom in the fall,
which makes Mum
rather glum,
as (despite her fall timing)
she’d much prefer spring
over everything.

It seems every plant –
in a pot, on a trellis
has a penchant for making
another one jealous

And it’s not just the flowers.
I beg of you, please,
don’t get me started
on shrubs, grass and trees.

PSC / 2019-Apr

Sunday, April 7, 2019

After Words

PD photo - licensing info below

After Words

Some forgive
and disavow the pain,
ignore the slights and slurs,
deny the stain, cajoled  
to trusting leaves can ever turn,
while others live and yearn.

There’s no annulling words
once they’ve been cast.
You must merely refrain or
contend with the pain
 of untying knots
meant to last.

There’s no point
in ruing the blunder;
any judge in the county
can legally
put those bonds

Still, it seems
a terrible waste
when all that remains
is the aftertaste, and
an afterimage that still
can make you yearn

yet the more you live
the more you know
and enduring is
the only way to learn
how afterglow
can preface afterburn.

PSC / 2019-Apr

Saturday, April 6, 2019


photos by PSC


Earlier and earlier
every day,
I perceive the sky
lightening, brightening.
And the air fills
with trills of birdsong.
Peepers keep piping
the whole night long.
The calendar claims
it’s plainly spring,

but here’s the thing:

Even April admits
she’s a bit of a tease.
She relishes taunting.
She’ll flaunt a warm breeze
then crack you a wallop
that brings on a sneeze,
dropping you
to your knees.

Take today, for example:

all afternoon
it hasn’t been nice
falling pellets of ice
suggest spring’s
been enjoined;
or, perhaps
purloined –
fully pilfered,
swiped, nipped.
Either way,
I feel gypped.

PSC / 2019-Apr