A bird’s eye view

washed in hues of skyscrapers

and a stream of cars


People walking dogs,

briefcases, and groceries

with earnestness


Generic agreement of

a dance

pausing, as directed

at each juncture


Some crossroads

are not quite so beautifully



Minute to moment

breath upon feeling

they appear

no regard for time


Compassion and annoyance

steadfastness or fear

gratitude with despair


We choose, often wrongly

cross the street

and being occurs

Skeletons on the Beach

Broken, delicate, and graceful shells,

iridescent and bewitching skeletons.

Deconstructed works of art and life, and

symbols of a prolific, healthy sea.

Meticulously crafted, now abandoned homes,

painted by brushstrokes of ocean.

Finally resting in a graveyard of sand and seaweed,

Broken, delicate, and graceful shells.


I have often watched my sweet kitty sleep,

seen her whiskers twitch and sigh so deep.

The thought crosses my mind each time,

what images frequent her thoughts and mind?


Perhaps she dreams of the golden sun,

warming her belly till it’s nearly overdone.

Maybe she’s bird watching with her glassy eyes closed,

crouching and stalking, so as not to be exposed.


Or sleeping on a pillow nestled next to my head,

climbing bookcases early morning, much to my dread.

Playing with toy mice, batting and pouncing,

and voicing hunger, her loud meow announcing.


But, I wonder too if she’s haunted by the past,

her life as a shelter animal, an unwanted outcast.

A cold cage of uncertainty is no place for a kitty to live,

yet millions, just like Stella, are unwillingly captive.


So each time she awakens I remind her she’s lovely,

and promise to make up for those who treated her wrongly,

with sunny windows, and bird watching, toy mice, and a soft pillow,

hoping that for other kitties, a forever home will come tomorrow.