Cycles and Seasons


A cry, she’s born, and then she’s grown,

flown from the nest, and yet, my child

beguiled, I remain, her loving parent,

transparent, apparent to all.

Walls cannot separate, or part,

heart to heart we stand united,

delighted. Yet I’m daughter, too,

whose mother ages. Round and round

bound in time, the seasons go, and

grand is life, though quick it passes.

Grasses turn green, then brown. A sigh,

a cry, she’s born, and then she’s grown.


This is a circular poem in response to Jane Dougherty’s poetry challenge. The theme was cycles and circles. The prompt was the photo at the top, but perhaps my photos express it better.







Space was the final frontier,

so we aimed for the moon,

moved, watching in awe

as Neil Armstrong took a small step

and a giant leap,

watching the event in grainy black and white,

shiny shadows glowing against the lunar surface.

We hoped to travel with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock

voyaging to new worlds

spreading love and logic, and

making love, not war.

Perhaps, my friends, it is our manifest destiny

to explore, to seek out new life and boldly go—


a galaxy far away, or closer, within

our own DNA.

The invisible world, large and small, made visible

through microscopes and spectrographs,

the depths of the sea, and the depths of our beings

And so,

I gaze at the moon, and I wonder if

space was the final frontier.


The Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt 32

Words: space/friend/event/move/aim

I wrote a circular poem.