Tuttle Dreams

Tuttle dreams

of climbing trees

and soaring with flights

of bumble bees,

stalking clouds and

shooting stars and

talking to the man from Mars.

But when he wakes

(and it’s not fair)

he’s on the ground, not

in the air.

He looks left and

then looks right

noticing it’s

Almost night.

He yawns and stretches

thinks, what the hell,

and pulls back

inside his shell.

Tuttle the turtle

nods off once more.

Being a turtle is

such a bore.

Sweetie Pie

Sweetie Pie sashayed through the restaurant. She knew she was looking good. Heads turned to follow her progress and, she’d swear to it, she even witnessed a well-dressed couple drool at the thought of just a few minutes alone with her. But she had other plans.

Throughout her life Sweetie Pie had been oohed and aahed over. There was something about her that promised deep satisfaction to all who saw her. But she knew she was so much more than just a tasty piece. It might sound cheesy, but she was determined to make something of herself before life could get stale and boring and her looks melted away.

Sweetie Pie pushed through the door to the sidewalk. Temporarily blinded by the setting sun glinting off a passing car, she didn’t even see the man camped out near the corner. Before she had time to slip her sunglasses on she went tumbling, frothy hair flying, and landed in his lap. His warm touch melted her brittle shell and she knew fate had found her at last.

Photo copyright Irene MacFarland.

Curtain Call

Swirl of velvet, freshly dropped

and topped by

remaining strains

of music and ideas

mixed with magic...

Applause met by bows

recalls the splendor of

performance.

Walking in Muir Woods

Tall red sentinels line the path,
surround the spot where
UN delegates met to honor
conservation and
FDR.
My hands itch to run across
trunks gnarled and ridged
to read their history
with my finger tips.