Listen to the foghorn moan─ pushing its throaty alarm through the weight of night, stilling the pulse of the day, erasing all distinction. Perhaps the unknown of its tone comes straight from the gods themselves, murmuring their message in primal sound. Tonight, its voice grows louder, more enchanting than in past, diving to the depths of … More Last thing at night…
I blame the rain. Generally, rain soothes, restores, nurtures. But not when stuck in the hand of El Nino, simply sitting, draped in the grayness of clouds, laughing heavy tears as if the light of the sun was confined to the pages of nursery rhymes, as if blue skies belonged only to painters, as if Noah … More Grumpy
And still they wait— 157 or more, gathered before the soup kitchen door. Waiting— for relief from the chill, from the brunt of hunger, from lost promise. Waiting— before the shadow of light that must define hope peters out. Waiting— to escape from the wet, from the dirt and the dark. Tonight, tomorrow, again, again and … More Reprieve
There is an art, they say, to falling. Turn one’s face to the side. Stay loose, arms and legs bent, body relaxed. It is an art I am yet to master, falling more likely face first, catapulting headlong, fearing to miss one tiny step in this affair of love. For that’s what it is. Drawn … More Falling with grace
Silent predators of the night world, Barn Owls roost in hidden, quiet places during the day, hunting by night in open fields and meadows. NIGHT GAME It’s after midnight and the moon is in the sky. Listen to the wind, or is it the great owl’s cry? Silent is his shadow as he sets his … More Night Game
A living legend has died. Not of old age. Advanced in years, Cecil walked always as an ecological study of magnificence. Treasured by rangers and tourists alike, (adored may be too easy a word), Cecil defined the spirit of wildness. Known to stop cars in their tracks as he padded along a dusty road, he would lay his … More Cecil the Lion – Legendary Trophy
Hiding their delicate bloom in heart-shaped leaves, they lift their seemingly shy heads from the forest floor, understated harbingers of spring after winter, life after death. Some, dressed in white, speak of beauty and purity both. Others, in stains of purple, pause the viewer’s soul at the edges of mourning, whispering since the days of antiquity … More Beautiful Strength
Sometimes I sit with my back pressed against a wall of sky, until the winds shift and the clouds pass by. * * * Poem, Wall of Sky by Mary O’Connor, originally published in Dreams of a Wingless Child © 2007 Wheatmark, Tuscon, Ariz. © 2007. Photo, Charles W. Morgan whaling ship docked in New London, CT, by Jan … More Wall of Sky
Across deserted fields, under fire, prints of his last run leave their mark, pairs of tiny split hearts, coursing the ground like tears. * * * Poem and photo by Mary O’Connor. “Deer Tracks” reprinted from Dreams of a Wingless Child, Mary O’Connor, Wheatmark Press © 2007.
standing still, silent, tiny speck in vast splendor— portrayal of peace * * * Haiku poem by Mary O’Connor © 2014
Life Is Full of Sweet Spots 