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The Drought Breaks


The Rains Return


The sky weeps;

Bent low,

Hills soak to refill rills.

Upon the porch, we sit still.


The rain – snow in the high ground – has finally returned to much of Spain, bringing some relief to the drought we’ve been experiencing this year.

The spring that supplies our village in the Valdorba is still flowing at a trickle, though. It will take much more rain to raise the water table and refill the reservoirs.


the spring last week above, the same spring in September below…








But everyone has been happy to see the rain, despite the need for umbrellas instead of sunglasses.

This is a photo of one of the beaches in San Sebastian, aka Donostia, taken when I was there last week.


I sat on the beach and wrote this poem.


Donostia, December 2017


On the breakwater, as tide rises,

Shielding eyes to see gleaming mountain

Snowmelt trickle by.



We shouldn’t be able to see the mountain from the beach at this time of year, for the blanket of cloud that normally shrouds the city.

But what is normal anymore?


Anyway, I wrote a few poems that afternoon. It reminded me of another poem I wrote a few weeks ago, which describes a little of why I’ve written so little recently, and posted less.

But maybe we’ll get back to normal sometime soon…


Words Come Forth


They say our words won’t be kept down;

They bubble up, under pressure, like lava

Pushing through a fissure,

Bursting forth if they can’t flow.


But instead, they are drawn

Under empty sky,

Sucked out by silence,

Pulled forth by the vacuum

Of open space,

Giving them a place to emerge

Timidly into tranquilly

Like deer from the thicket at twilight.




The Snow Must Melt

I understand that this might be a bit soon for some people – mostly those living in the Eastern US – but here in Pamplona, as the last lumps of former snowmen vanish from the parks, I was reminded of this poem I wrote some years ago, and actually sent with some others to the Atlantic Monthly. It didn’t make it in, but my rejection letter said I did get to the last round. I’d like to see it in a magazine some day – as I would all my poems, of course – but it might reach a few people right here.20150201_171312

Meanwhile, back to editing my new YA paranormal novel, The Soul of Adam Short….


The Snow Must Melt


She picked the boy up and sat him on her lap

His long legs gently tapping her shins

As she smoothed his unruly hair and

He tried to brush away her hand,

Leaning back against her breasts.

“Why won’t it stay forever?” he asked.

“I like it like it is.”

She smiled unseen and told him

She was sorry, but the snow must melt.

“But why? Why can’t it stay?”

“Because everything must go away:

It’s like leaves falling off the trees.

You like kicking them around, but

They don’t always stay there on the ground.”

“Where do they go?”

“They disappear,” she told him, “But don’t worry

Because next year there are always more.

They have to fall and go so that more can grow.”

“Will there be more snow?”

“Maybe, my dear. We’ll see. But tomorrow

It will probably be all gone.”

“And I can go back out on my bike?”

“Yes. You see – if it was always snowy

You wouldn’t be able to ride your bike.”

All gone!” he shrugged greatly against her.

“All gone, love,” she replied and hugged him.