• Carla

Rainbow's End

Butterfly Garden

There is magic in the air,

something lovely is en route.

I’m the pitcher on the table calling,

Come here and fill me up!

There is enough time.

Let the wings in your heart

stop fluttering, and shower

in the nectar that so readily flows.

The Death of the Mountaineer

Where the rolling knolls are sleek and green,

bedecked by dots of trees, a deep, reflective pool presides.

Pallbearers go in sable clothes, heads amassed with snow,

to mourn the rosy memory of the last real mountaineer.

“They were noble!” “They were brave!”

“They deserve a hero’s grave!” “A legend in their time!” the people cry.

But the crowd gathering at the base, stands looking up,

their mouths agape in disbelief that one could climb a face so sheer.

So, forgoing a procession, the mourners bowed quickly in succession,

abandoning their champion without so much as a goodbye.

Gnome Poem

With unkempt beards and flowing hair,

their mischievous eyes are belied by stoic stares.

They silently oversee the silly games we play

to raise up and maintain our good names.

Our names wither around us, we’re no better nor wiser,

despite generous amounts of fertilizer.

Those humble hobgoblins most certainly know

the reasons our gardens refuse to grow.


Three bears made a home in your closet,

a dragon sleeps under your bed,

scratches and roars fill up each of your drawers,

and a million more live in your head.

For now, they are quiet and sleeping;

for now, things are tidy and neat;

but the first sign of spring or some noisy old thing,

and those creatures will call for release.

Rainbow’s End

These fluid prisms

trailing ribbons color you

from the inside out,

charming your bright eyes,

reddened by courage, fringed with

violet wisdom.

Thank you for joining me. I am so glad you’re here!


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