Adas Poetry Alcove

Poetry and Haiku



Her Gentle Spirit

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #68 Tan Renga With Jane Reichhold “her gentle spirit”

Haiku © Jane Reichhold

the hour silent
before the birds awake
waves on sand

sunrise peaks above the horizon
warm water laps at my feet

flat seas
with the butterfly’s flight
a certain calm

in the heat of the day
finding rest under a tree

a certain calm
n summer’s passing

yellow leaf  drifts from a branch
a taste of autumn wind

Sparkling Stars #40

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #40 Sparkling Stars … “the autumn full moon”


autumn moon rising
reflects beauty of her heart –
nature’s song calling





Weeping for an Old Friend



In the storm’s aftermath
we search for candles
and check for damage.
The venerable oak came down
in slow agony,
rattling the windows
and our nerves.

I weep in silence
for the loss of my friend:
mute reminder
of my children climbing
and laughing
among leafy branches.

I am left with an ache
as when my best friend
moved away.
Grieving is useless,
but I still grieve.
The tree is gone
only a hole remains.

Revised 1996

Popsicle Kisses

Popsicle Kisses


We sit in the shade
side by side.
Your popsicle dripping
down your belly.
Watching the heat
rise from the road
in continuous transparent waves.
You lean up close
and kiss me,
Your face wet and sticky

First Love


pic 0271

He straggles along
shyly behind her
hands shoved in pockets deep
hair unkempt, shoes scuffed
lost in thought

She is his princess fair
a good foot taller
in her wobbly high heels
and tee-shirt
impeccable braids

Wondering what he can give her
He strokes the wriggling bullfrog
he carries in his overalls
Dismissing the thought
digging deeper he withdrawals
a crumpled stick of gum

She takes it gingerly
lost in her own fantasy
Childhood sweethearts
unconcerned with the world
Encompassed in innocence



Intangible Friendship


My ceramic mug may not have worth, yet…
when filled the warmth flows through my hands
transporting me through a revolving past.
I behold the potter’s wheel turning endlessly,
and remember cold lumps of clay molded into beautiful vessels.
The artist’s face I can no longer perceive.
I am inundated with memories of strangers,
discussions of politics and strife,
quiet moments, lingering melodies.
A time when possessions were not of importance,
large drafty houses desired lodging;
guitars almost a necessity.
I recall folk not to be considered successful by today’s beau ideal;
yet full of ideas and eloquence, rich in knowledge and compassion.
This old mug was a reject given by the artist as a memento.
In the solitude of evening it overflows with memories
that intertwine throughout my life.
It is a lingering fragment of my past
A familiar friend during uncertainty.


Blog at

Up ↑