Re-working old poems


Because I can.

Because I am indeed feeling bold.

Because the opportunity presents itself

And I would be a fool to let it pass.

Because I have always written

Will always write

But don’t always learn.

Because friends, feedback, teachers and editors

Don’t appear every day.

And so I begin.

Re-working old poems.

In hopes of seeing words anew.

Or rather

New uses for old words?





The water lures me

As she has so many times before


Now emerging




As a delicate muse in the woods


Her hollow voice tempting

In a distant primordial song

Of silver coins tossed from teasing fingers


Her sweet smell and silky sway and wave

Taunting down the mountainside


Am I no more than a voyeur

Standing safely out of reach

Dry on her precarious banks




While she takes no heed of me




I am but a hunched form

A leaning tree

Casting shade across her face


As her struggle to keep fluid


Ebbs and flows


In thickening waters below




And if I stand here long enough

Will I see her freeze

Watch her facade relinquish

To the static state of


Solid water