THE HUMBLE APPLE
There should be a decree when apples arrive,
or maybe a round of applause
for the annual debut of this wondrous fruit,
so humble in origin, so bold in fruition,

a tiny seed,
unassuming,
decidedly modest,
nary a hint of what it will become,

we wait for the great unveiling
after soil, light, rain, sun and bees
coalesce in a wondrous alchemy,

how can it be
that a simple seed brings
such perfection,

bravo, bravo, dear apple,
we applaud this gift
that we don’t deserve,
but are happy to serve
in a hundred different ways each fall.

Art by my cousin, Kathleen Garvey Quinn

GOODNIGHT HOUSE
(This is a poem by Rita Bourland using the template of Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown)
In a warm, brick house,
there is a fireplace
in a cozy room,
and a wooden dog
with a red balloon,
and there are three little boys
playing with toys,
and a pair of cats,
and a ball of yarn,
and a mom and dad
holding back a yawn,
goodnight house,
goodnight room,
goodnight dog with a red balloon,
goodnight toys, goodnight boys,
goodnight bicycles, goodnight popsicles,
goodnight crickets, goodnight fireflies,
goodnight, goodbye,
I’ve a tear in my eye,
goodnight, goodbye
our strong, sweet house,
remember our dreams
remember our love,
remember the balloon
and the wooden dog,
remember to turn out the lights
when we’re gone.

OUR HEART AND OUR HOME

A turtle’s home is on its back,
with no room for a coffee pot or phone,

all alone in its shell, it ambles about
facing life without postal address,

unlike humans who hold on to so much,
weighed down by the things we possess,
we long to find more with much less,

we know in our hearts where that is,

with the people we depend on
through thick and through thin,
the people we laugh with,
the people we cry with,

the ones who stay close
wherever we roam,
no matter how far we go,
they will forever be part of
our heart and our home.

INSIDE THE GATE

You’re safe inside this space,
safe to talk of who you are,
where you’ve been,
and what you’ve learned
of life beyond the gate,

safe to cry, to sigh,
to tell a tale of love and lies,
of truth and daring days gone by,
or maybe tales of what might be
if dreams could just come true,

We’ll sip our tea and wish this wish:

for days like this to last and last,
for friendship true to never pass,
and garden gates to keep us safe,
at least this day,

and that’s enough
for now.

STARS INSIST ON SHINING

The sun rises, the sun sets,
stars insist on shining,
the moon enlists the tides
through highs and lows
while continuing to wane and wax,

we pay our taxes,
we’re born,
we die,
we tell at least one lie
in the course of our lives.

it’s time to acknowledge
divisions are lies
by those who wish to misguide,

shall we decide to be kind
despite finger pointing,
blaming and shaming,

may we accept rather than reject,
mend rather than offend,
make it a season to love
rather than hate
for no reason,

concede that even on our best days,
we have highs and lows,
and still look to the sky for answers.

WE WILL SEE WHAT CAN BE
Today a flower will bloom,
tomorrow another,

then more and more
until the earth is covered
in a blanket of vibrant hues,

the soot and rust
of tarnished regrets
and harmful human choices
for a time forgotten,

colorful vistas and luscious scents
will stretch across the lands,

inviting us to see what can be
when everything we cherish
is nourished,
when every human
is fed,
when every leader
is filled
with compassion,

we will see what can be
when nature guides our steps,
when our hearts join together
for a more loving, caring
and just world,

today a flower will bloom,
tomorrow we will see what can be.

BEING GOOD IS WHAT HE WILL BE

No one has told him yet
that a red sky at night or in the morning
can change delight into a warning,

or explained the exact
forces that create the ebb and flow
of waves lapping at the shore,

he sits in awe
without worrying about
ozone holes or all the souls
who’ve been lost at sea,

he hasn’t started collecting losses
or crossing wishes off a list he’s just begun,

he trusts the power of the sun,
the power of the sea,
knowing that man doesn’t rule such wonders,

that a sunset sits without lessons or judgment,

disappearing each day
after striating the dimming sky
with breathless hues,
allowing him to choose a wish to close the day,

he believes this is good,

that we are good,

and that being good is what he will be.

Photo of Kathy Garvey Quinn’s grandson taken in Hawaii by Sean Quinn

THIS POEM IS FOR YOU

This poem is for you, for your new year.

I pray you will have good days and good moments,
but I can’t promise they’ll all be good.

We know life doesn’t give that generously.

There will be days when everything goes wrong.

You might feel defeated. You won’t be.

You’ll get up the next day and try again.

You might feel you’re not worthy. You are.

You might feel you have nothing to offer. You do.

You might believe everyone else is doing better. They aren’t.

We’re all imperfect humans just doing the best we can.

So be kind to yourself.

You deserve love and respect, give that in return.

Life is a big circle of giving and receiving, but it isn’t always fair.

Just do the best you can and then do the same the next day.

I promise I’ll be here rooting for you.

Photo by Eliza Ingram of her daughter with Banjo