A friend from long ago wrote the following poem for me.  A must have on my web site, I thought immediately.  Other poems following are by me, with no claim that they even approach real poetry.  But I do love all of the words.

An Ode to Ruth's Website

There is a flower named Ruth
its center warm as sun,
petals circled for stories,
Stalk and roots that run
southward from where the heart
Gathered colors from each place
To draw you in to listen to
Stories written in a vase.
                       by Patty Bacalis Ariman
   
A LONE ROBIN 
        

A LONE BROWN ROBIN PERCHES

ON THE FENCE IN MY BACK YARD

TO EAT FROM THE CHERRY TREE

COVERED WITH FROST.

SHE HAS FOUND SOMETHING -

A WORM PERHAPS

OR LEFT OVER FRUIT.

NO HAWK FRIGHTENS HER,

NO JUNCOS JOIN HER,

THOUGH SHE WATCHES

WITH EACH BITE.

WHERE ARE THE OTHER BIRDS,

THE ONES WHO HUNT WITH HER,

WHO KEEP HER SAFE?

HAS SHE MISSED THE FLIGHT

SOUTH FOR THE WINTER?

OR DID SHE CHOOSE TO STAY?

SHE'S A BRAVE WOMAN

ALONE IN HER HABITAT

YET SURVIVING,

AT LEAST FOR TODAY.

            ###                                    

lucky the cat 

LUCKY THE CAT

THAT CAN HISS,

STRETCH, AND HIDE OUT

WHEN LIFE GETS TO BE

TOO FRANTIC.

THE CAT DOESN’T

APOLOGIZE, OR

SPEND YEARS SHEDDING

GUILT.

THAT’S JUST THE WAY

CATS ARE, WE SAY.

THEY STALK, LIVE ALONE,

AND ALWAYS KNOW WHAT

THEY WANT.

WE NEVER QUESTION WHERE THE CAT HAS GONE. WE JUST KNOW.

THE CAT HAS GONE

TO BE ALONE, TO

SHED HIMSELF OF

US.

WHEN HE REAPPEARS,

WE NEVER ASK WHERE

HE’S BEEN. WE

REJOICE THAT HE’S

READY TO LIVE

WITH US AGAIN.

WE SMOOTH HIS MATTED FUR,
PET HIM BACK TO FULLNESS, AND

WHISPER SOFTLY THAT

WE UNDERSTAND.

             ###

    bright pink pig

BRIGHT PINK PIG

BESIDE THE GATE

WAITING FOR THE FAIR

TO BEGIN.

SHE’LL RIDE THE FERRIS

WHEEL, EAT COTTON

CANDY AND BUY

A YELLOW BALLOON.

IF ONLY THE WORLD

WERE SO SIMPLE:

FERRIS WHEELS, COTTON CANDY
and yellow ballons.

            ###   

    Mama's dinner table

HIGH-BACKED CHAIRS AND LACE CLOTH

DOMINATE THE ROOM WITH

MAMA’S DINNER TABLE.

HEAVY ROSE-COLORED DRAPES

SHIELD WINDOWS, SHUT US IN
every sunday at noon.

“DINNER’S READY, Y’ALL COME.”

“HURRY UP NOW, PAPA.”

“SAY THE BLESSING.  LET’S EAT.”

THERE’S HAM, GRAVY, POLE BEANS,

HOMINY GRITS WITH CHEESE,

HOT CORN BREAD AND PEACH PIE.

THE OLD MAN LUMBERS TO

THE TABLE, SITS DOWN, FOLDS

HIS HANDS AND BOWS HIS HEAD.

“HEAVENLY FATHER,” HE

BEGINS, THEN FALLS SILENT.

WE ALL OPEN OUR EYES.

A CHILL RACES THE ROOM.

OH, NO, GOD.  PLEASE NOT HERE.

NOT AT SUNDAY DINNER.

THEN HE STIRS, REMEMBERS.

WE SIGh WITH RELIEF AND

BEGIN OUR DANCE OF FOOD.

            ###                               

    Tomorrow

WHAT DOES TOMORROW LOOK LIKE?

CAN I TASTE TOMORROW?

CAN I SEE IT?

TOUCH IT?

FEEL IT?

IS IT SUNSHINE?

OR RAIN”

OR FOG?

OR IS IT A DREAM, A WISH, OR A SONG?

DO YOU KNOW TOMORROW?                        

             #

    Pensacola Beach, Florida

MY TOES SCOOP DOWN INTO HOT WHITE SAND.

WAVES RUSH TOWARDS ME, AND SPRAY MY FACE WITH MIST.

THEY LEAVE SHELLS ON THE BEACH FOR ME TO FIND.

SEA OATS STAND TALL, SWAYING THEIR WELCOME.

GULLS CIRCLE LOW AND SCREECH OVERHEAD,

BUT DO NOT DISTURB ME ON MY BLANKET.

PERSPIRATION BEGINS TO COLLECT BETWEEN MY BREASTS.

BEHIND ME, SAND DUNES GUARD AGAINST INTRUDERS.

A SALTY BREEZE KISSES MY SKIN.

SEAWEED ENTANGLES MY ANKLES, AND ASKS ME TO STAY.

JELLY FISH AT THE WATER’S EDGE ARE WAITING TO TOUCH ME.

EVERYTHING HERE WELCOMES ME HOME.
                      ###