One Year

This year looks much like

last year.  Blank slate, pen

in my hand, resolute, intent

for a personal best.

Two thousand fourteen.

The only one I’m given.

One glorious year

to orchestrate,

then await

my fate.

Hopes For My Children

Dear ones,

 

I wish you a life
free from fears that stalk
and monsters that masquerade.
My hope is that you always look
and find beauty in this world,
take note and celebrate
the blessings in your lives.

Birth of a Poem

Birth of a poem comes

slowly even when the idea

is inspired. The labor

to find the right word

line breaks, and stanzas

does not come quickly

or easily. The pain

of editing is different

with each poem.

There are changes

some rearranged, then

critique groups or editors

are called to solve

problems I don't even see.

With this push, I finally

have a finished poem.

Don't read it again...submit!

 

Color Change

My hair was white and curly when I was young,
turned shades darker until it was chestnut --
a color in-between my dad’s and mom's.

These facts I know:  Reduction of pigment

makes hair gray .No pigment turns it white. 
Heredity plays a part, so does age. 

What I’m not sure of is what color

my hair is now.  After ten years of highlights,
the true color is unknown. I’m sure it’s changed
from brown to gray, or hopefully white. 

Mom took her time turning gray

and I assume I’ll be the same.
My paternal grandparents were white haired

at an early age; beautiful silky white hair.

The maternal genes are the ugly yellow gray
that I would hide.  When I get older--

say sixty-six or so,  I think I will stop dying
my hair so I’ll know, whether I’ve covered up something
beautiful, or if I'll continue to enhance.