I followed the squealing to the barn,
my father wielding an axe,
the piglet desperate.
I burst into tears,
an uncontrolled outpouring.
Pa shook his head saying,
"The runt is yours, Fern.
Do with it what you will.”
Fern Saves the Literary Pig, Wilbur
The Avocet: A Journal of Nature Poetry
Mom counts off by fives—
“Ready or not, here I come.”
Behind trees, I grin.
Published in Highlights High Five Magazine
I want my poetry
to grab your heart
to wrestle your mind
to pulse a beat so deep into your soul that
to dance your message
to all who will listen
I Want My Poetry To Be Read
Published in Moss Piglet Magazine
A lone goose calls.
Dry oak leaves crackle as I hurry to my seat.
The pond, a stage, reflects autumn’s fire.
Sections of oak and maple
perform dressed in chestnut and honey.
They rustle to find their proper tune.