Savoring, draft no. 2

The crystal-dolloped leaves

The velvet-wrinkled moss

The silken, swaying pom poms

With every whisper toss’d

Nature in her glory

Every glade aglow

This is what we’re made for--

Savoring God's work slow

Haiku for Marcia, draft no. 1

Living in the now,

Cheerleading my counseling--

Marcia is a gift.

Wheee!, draft no. 1

Biking in the fall

Leaves orange, red, and yellow

Cheering me onward. 

Returning from the grocery store, draft no. 1

Bald eagle swooped low

White head and wing tips shining

Now on tree stump lands

Every season, draft no. 1

Winter is on the skin

Spring is in the nose

Summer is on the tongue

Fall is in the eyes. 

Fruit in every season,

Blatant or disguised. 

What I Always Wanted, draft no. 1

Lord, help me to want you

More than an American Girl doll sweater

Your will is to bless me

You will satisfy me better. 

Satisfied, draft no. 1

I sat until the rain drops;

I sat until it came.

I think I shall never be thirsty,

No, not ever again. 

Another day, draft no. 1

Black clouds overhead

Picnic table dots of rain--

Too windy to eat 

Filling in time, draft no. 1

There was a young girl named Jen

Who wrote fanciful rhymes with her pen

Whenever she fretted

Or felt copacetic

She scribbled a line or ten. 

For my spiritual director, Ellen, draft no. 1

You taught me how to be quiet

You taught me how to pray

You taught me to feel beloved

When God seemed far away.

How can I ever thank you

For all the wisdom imparted?

The only way I know is

To continue what was started.

Poem for my hairdresser, draft no. 1

You’ve done my hair for nearly decades

My tresses are your biz

You’ve steered me clear of mishaps,

Re-righted untamed frizz.

You’ve also given guidance

On gifts and techno stuff

Michel’s got multifaceted talent--

And won’t take any guff!

How can I ever thank you

For camouflaging my gray,

And teaching me how to pat dry

And to flat iron strays?

A hairdresser’s job even improves

her clients’ mental health,

which is why you’re getting a poem

And wishes for happiness and wealth.

Haiku for my body, draft no. 1

 I like my tummy.

My pouch made me a mother.

Dignity in flesh. 

Poem for Jeremy at Auto Select east, draft no. 3

Jeremy, darn it, Jeremy, I’m overdue to admit

How much an auto repairman deserves a poem writ.

You have been honest and professional, pleasant, fast and good.

You have not made me feel dumber than my real dumbness should.

You know cars and customer service; you know part availabilities, too.

It’s a wonder your employer hasn’t duplicated you.

You remind me of that garden where men work and don’t break sweat.

Just think of what could happen, if everyone worked like that.

Happy Customer, draft no. 1

By Jen Hunt

“It’s just what I wanted!”,

the biker proclaimed,

as she put the straw helmet

atop her brown mane.

The poems had dwindled,

she loathed to admit,

since Covid she’d written

nary a bit.

But biking and musing

had never been better

since donning this tribute

to all her endeavors.

“The poems are flowing!

I’m coming alive!”,

declared the Poet Laureate

of Peonies Drive.

Who would believe what a straw hat could do?

A happy Bike Pretty poet, that’s who!