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the wet grass of the dappled dawn
Shines back to fading stars

The whippoorwill sounds hopeful
The crow is full of scorn

Shadows grow westward from the gravestones
light rays glow between the trees

A solitary turtle head breaks the surface of the pond
Vibrations from his ripples open up the sky


About wherearetheheros

just someone my mother might know

11 responses »

    • thanks Leslie
      soon the turtle will go down in the mud and
      wait for spring. 🙂

      • Where you are sounds idyllic. I’m mindful tonight tho that home is where the heart is … or that “wherever you go, there you are … or that homelessness is just another address. I’m glad for some poems like this that are grounded. Long day.

      • It is idyllic, outside at least.
        I spent the whole day Saturday in my office getting ready for an insurance audit.
        That means I have to do accounting which is usually reserved for a few horrid days at the end of the year.
        Saturday was my long day.

        Did you get rid of your Dotty problem?

        Peace and rest


        Thanks 🙂

  1. I’m struck that responsible and stable aren’t always mutually exclusive with poet, at least for some poets like you.

    Dotty seems to have come and gone like your stars.

    Peace and rest to you, Where.

  2. haha cute turtle~~~
    it’s getting cold~~~ are still swimming in the pond?

    • I think I may see them a few more times but I quit swimming because the water is colder now.

      One of my turtles is sick.
      We have had her over 12 years.
      I think she will be fine though,it is my fault she is sick.
      Vitamin A deficiency.

      Maybe the turtle problem makes me think of death haha

  3. This poem, like so many of yours, transports me. I like being transported!
    Prayers for your turtle. What kind is she?
    We had a turtle for a little while, that a friend gave to my daughter. We all loved it, but were challenged in caring for it properly. It was so fun when we found out what he liked to eat. He could do some serious eating! We kept him outside and sometimes he escaped his container. The dog would find him! Poor Franklin! (what my daughter named the turtle). One day he escaped while the dog was penned and we never saw him again. But I felt better that he was back to doing what he needed to do to take care of himself, since we were amateurs.


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