Tag Archives: poem

inspired by the turning of the wheel

Winter Solstice 2016 by Ron DeKett

There’s something about solstices and equinoxes that turns my creative mind to nature. My talented husband Ron DeKett wandered with his camera down the steep path behind our house to Love Creek at the bottom of the ravine we call ours. He found  beauty. (And below is a poem to accompany it). Happy Solstice!

Winter Solstice at Love Creek (2016)

Snow shouldering bare-limbed


flows down to a silent stream’s

mute beauty.

Is it enough

when trouble is too much

with us and both eyes sting

from hate’s rebuke?

It will have to be.

–Nan Lundeen

the beech with elephant knees

The Beech With Elephant Knees by Nan Lundeen
The Beech With Elephant Knees by Nan Lundeen

The beech rises

stalwart on the ridge

brooking no challenge,

his smooth gray bark

shining in Fall sun

among yellowing leaves

and as I lean

to watch, a golden leaf

falls, whippling,

barely stirring air

to come to rest gently

on a twigged fork.


On a day

when politics

is too much with us,

I repair to the woods

to admire the beech

with a crook

like an elephant’s knee

in its massive trunk.

each day is a new one

by J.D.

Each day is a new one

Made special by me.

I breathe deeper, dream harder, look closer.

It’s all here right now,

All that I need or want it to



I’ve no time for playing

Earth Mother, Hecate or Crone.

I’ve found out the mystery—

My wise woman’s alive

Every minute inside me.

on the occasion of my 60th birthday (and pending financial poverty)

by j.d.

I practice a hundred frugalities

I eat my toast without jam

I shut off each light I’m not using

I try to live small as I can.

But, music keeps playing inside me

My mind sings a million new tunes

My-self is a universe unfolding

I’m a river that will not be damned

I run into mornings with laughter

Little Goddesses dance on my windowsills.


Perchance a bleak future awaits me

Living does take what it can


Death may be an added adventure

Yet, to living I answer

I am!!!!!


by Josette Davison


Through fields of tiny flowers

Mindful not to tread on them

I wonder…does God hear me?

Hear my prayer?


Why am I here?

Stumbling over stones

His answer comes

In a trinity of bright violets

Blooming midst the rocks


In the whisper of trees

In bird song — in scented air

He speaks to me

Answers my prayer

I hear — I care —

a prayer

by Josette Davison

Lord, let me not be bitter

For bitterness crawls into itself

And awaits a shrunken death

But let this raw heart

Stand back from its wound

Accepting and knowing

That love is its healing

last call!

Wood violet on woodland path at Paris Mountain. April 2014
Wood violet on woodland path at Paris Mountain. April 2014

Will you rise to the challenge of writing a poem a day during April? So far, five of us are in—Adamy Damaris Diaz, Jacquelyn Weddington, Cindy Carver Hosea, Cathy Zellmann and me. Choose a theme (which can be changed up to mid-month). Adamy is looking at “Memory Lane.” Cathy may choose “Places.” I’ve already changed mine—as a warm-up exercise I’ve been writing a poem a day and discovered I can’t keep to a topic. Instead, I need to write what the Muse inspires, so I’m thinking of changing my theme from goddesses to something less specific. We’d be happy to consider publishing the poems you wish to share here at mooingaround.com. Happy writing!

ice storm

by nan lundeen


dogwood by Ron DeKett
dogwood by Ron DeKett

The weather’s unsettled on Easter Eve

like a restless cow about to calve,

the land licked clean by heady winds.

By early evening

sleet takes the land

collects on branches

slicks old snow

burdens old limbs—


they conjure thunderous cracks

like mindless destruction.

Lights flicker off

a match flares

a kerosene lantern

a smoke-smeared chimney.

The dark kitchen presses

in on Mother, Daddy, and me

huddled in a puddle of light

over eggs, the tang of vinegar

in cups of





One by one

we balance them

on spoons,

lift them into the night.

she of many names

by nan lundeen

Quan Yin
Quan Yin

She is called Quan Yin,
She is called Tara,
She is called Mary,

Hers are the believing arms wrapped around a raped teenager
Hers is the cool night blessing a disturbed mind
Hers is the today no of the father who turns down a beer

Hers is the mercy of the last breath
Hers is the forgiveness in a lover’s heart
She births the hope in every soul.

We are She.
We are One.
Glory be.

a walk in the woods on winter solstice

Winter Solstice Tree at Paris Mountain  by Ron DeKett
Winter Solstice Tree at Paris Mountain
by Ron DeKett

Appreciating the sacred is for me a walk along a path at Paris Mountain State Park in Greenville, SC, meeting the occasional mountain bicyclist, the occasional friendly dogs walking their person, listening to a woodpecker hammer at a tree, keeping my photographer husband Ron DeKett company, and observing the gems nature offers such as this little pine tree that could have been decorated by Charlie Brown and friends. As often happens, my time close to Mother Earth produced this poem (in the middle of the night) to accompany Ron’s photo of a Winter Solstice Tree. Click on the poem title to read it and see the photo. Winter Solstice Tree. Blessed be.

traci barr shares her creative process

traci barr

The poem “Seeing” popped into my head while I was reflecting upon the way I felt about a man who told me he loved me…and then who chose to not act upon his feelings.

I eventually came to believe that he said he was in love with me just for the “thrill” of it and in order to stroke his own ego.

Because he speaks a lot about the subject of love, I wrote this poem in response to what, I thought, was his hypocrisy. In the relatively brief interaction I had with him, my own ideas about love changed quite a lot, and I began to think of him as a used-car salesman.

Sometimes an idea for a poem will start rattling around in my head in a way that becomes very, very distracting.

The only way to make the rattling go away is for me to…write the poem.