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- The Way
As the pigeon streaks through darkened skies
- The Singing
I found him humming a fanciful tune
- The Singing Beach
I will never feel this way again.
- The Grand Prize
I can hear the cry of the end of time and
- The First Dress You Sewed
You don’t remember how your tears
- That Tender Bruise
In that vulnerable moment
- Still We Search
We are all of us only re-worked stardust.
- Song for the One Who Waits in the Forest
Woman in the pines, I bring you
- Sight
I see you
- Sell-More-Land
Who were the suits who voted from the back of the room? They don't live on our streets They don't shop in our stores They're not our friends and neighbors They're the absentee landlords Realtors and developers Who hover on the edges of our community Not unlike vultures Waiting With preplanned profit They smile among us Feigning friendship and concern The harbingers of "infill, densification and light rail" The Three Proselytisers. They envision concrete caskets five stories high Skirted by zero setback front and sides Nothing green and grown Nothing living, waving in the wind No summer lawn hissing Only long halled rows of doors Leading to private, unshared worlds Cocoons of separation Linked only by nods or grunts On the unavoidable occasion Of accidental eye contact Soft carpet padding And muffled knocks Of never-ending streams of strangers But where do the children play? Neat tidy rows Of traffic calmed car trails But no place to park no place to park NO place to park All boutiqued and bedecked With trendoids lounging A gourmandic spectacle With antiquery accents No need for drug store practicality In Sell-More-Land But where do the children play? Follow the money And you'll find A trail of your uncounted years of labor Drenched in the sweat Of your grand-parents’ dreams Thinned by tears Of generations yet unborn The heritage of open spaces lost-- Stamp sized yards Swathed in Martha Stewart designery It's quiet It's civilized Wine glass tinkling laughter Splashed with political correctness And very generous incomes But where do the children play? Children? Children? Dahhhhling . . . Who cares about children? --Renee Kimball Right Click Image Save: Download PDF to Print:
- Salmon: Symbol of Autumn
Leaping ‘above the water
- Riding the Dragon, II
He rides into town on a dragon











