Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

Hornby Park: Alignment




A favorite hiking destination of mine … quiet, usually secluded, except during hunting season, a great place to just listen and take everything in. Hornby Park.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , | Leave a comment

Washing Dishes

29 April 2005

washing dishes


I light a few candles,

wafting scents of vanilla and lavender

smooth jazz on the stereo

soft and mellow


Turning on,

running cool, tepid, then hot

I settle the plunger in the hole

as I slowly fill you up

adding soap with a gentle squeeze


we settle into our routine,

start off with the little things,

like knives, forks, spoons

soaking in the heat …


before the water cools

we go through the motions,

plates, bowls, and cups …

pausing to rinse,

to breathe,

we air dry.


refilled, rejuvenated

we tackle the pots and pans

and go for the big finish


draining slowly —

messy residue left behind

wipe off the stove and countertops

and rinse the sink clean


satisfied —

a job well done,

until we’re hungry again.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

and he wonders why

26 April 2005 

… and he wonders why


“Beauty is only skin deep.” so you say,

if that’s true, I’d say you need thicker skin.


“Curves don’t make the woman.” you try to claim,

but why take a chance, too fat or too thin?


“You can’t judge a book by its cover.” right?

“What really counts is what’s on the inside.”


but some bargains should be kept out of sight,

even when it is almost closing time.


So, let me have just one more for the road,

something stronger to dull my loneliness.


No princess to rescue this princely toad,

another night home all alone I guess.


You’d think that someone as honest as I

would be rewarded for how hard I try.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Used to be

25 April 2005

Used to be


It used to be enough to walk hand in hand

beneath the ever-watchful eyes above

and by those stars we wished, we made our plans

too innocent to not believe in love.


It used to be enough to share our words

as we discovered we had so much to say

ignoring the cage like contented birds

who sing together, come whatever may.


It used to be enough to just be with you

to touch the silence where even words fail

forget for a moment life can be cruel

and two hearts joined in love can be so frail.


It used to be enough …

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

I climbed a tree

24 April 2005


I climbed a tree –

(it wasn’t quite as easy as I remembered

but I managed.)

I paused to catch my breath,

to slow my racing heartbeat,

to relax…


I sat on a branch –

one arm circling the trunk,

grasping a bit too tightly

as I fought the urge

to look down.


In the shifting wind, I caught

the scent of hemlock,

stronger, purer than

candles I burn

on quiet evenings alone.


Coaxed by music unheard by many,

the tree and I began to sway,

murmuring softly whispered secrets

only lovers share –

and we danced, until

I had to say goodbye.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Eight basic colors

24 April 2005


eight basic colors in a tray

a cup of water, paper, and a brush

imagination paints another Saturday


displaying each masterpiece with pride

telling my first stories without words

I wonder when that part of me died?


I’ve forgotten how to play

burdened by life’s seriousness

watercolors fade like stories unclaimed

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Every year

24 April 2005


Every year

I watch and wait

anticipating the moment


Once again

I somehow missed

the greening of spring

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

Remembering Emily

22 April 2005

Remembering Emily


in solitude –

she explored so many worlds

and never ventured forth


in imitation –

I try to get alone

and hope

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

By the squeaky swing

22 April 2005


by the squeaky swing

that dangles from the elm,


a stone’s throw beyond

the weathered split-rail,


almost hidden beneath

neglected grass,


railroad tracks

leading nowhere.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment