The Placebo

The Placebo’s effectiveness is based on the belief of the patient.

If the patient believes in its curative powers, the patient feels relief.

The belief caused the relief.

The Placebo alone has no power. There must be belief for it to work.

Once the patient believes in the Placebo his suffering diminishes.

Symptoms are ignored because the Placebo is “working.”

The sickness spreads as the Placebo is religiously taken.

The Placebo claims to cure everything as the peddled snake oils of the past.

The cancer claims more space as the Placebo stands guard.

Blindly believing is dangerous and deadly.

It’s time for some REAL medicine.

We are sick. We are dying.

The Placebo is a fake.


The Humans are Driving me Crazy

My own species is making me feel like an alien.

I may have to pull in, tune out and hide in my shell.


My nature friends may be pesky eating my flowers and trash,

but I can forgive them. They are just trying to survive.

Who am I to hoard yummy trash and delicious flowers and all this space?

Humans will not get my forgiveness for their hateful behavior.

So I will be sharing all my nonhuman friends today.

They make me smile.

They make me laugh.

They keep me company.

They warm my heart.

I am thankful for them.

I will protect them.

Because I love them.


The Phoebes and I are No Longer Friends

The Phoebes and I are no longer friends.

They picked a bad spot for their nest again.

They chose our front porch with a hanging light fixture.

They’ve attempted to cover the top with their mixture.

The moss and mud mix fall down on the mat.

I used a small ladder to try to end that.


My head got a buzz and my ear got a filling.

To tell you the truth the attack was quite thrilling.

The light is now topped with a circle of wire.


I will watch and report the events that transpire.

I was very supportive during their last brood.

but these mess-making Phoebes have ruined my mood.




Sun Substitute

It is another dreary day here,

so I am posting a sun substitute


to brighten this day

to remind me that

there are many sources of light


some shine, others reflect

Look for the light.

Look for the bright.


Choose joy.



Tricky Ricky

I have always welcomed wildlife to my yard.

It belonged to nature long before it belonged to me.

But I am being tested by a young raccoon.

The problems started months ago when my planter box became a latrine.

I fixed that problem with ammonia soaked rags.

The latrine moved around the corner to in front of the kitchen door.

I fenced off the entrance to the deck so that nothing can enter. (including me)

Then the raccoon fell through the roof of the bunny pen and broke out through the gate. Both had to be repaired.

Now it climbs my vines and poops in front of the library door


after raiding and ruining my trash cans.


I have had enough of Tricky Ricky.

I hope his future involves a trap instead of a gun.

Sometimes nurturing nature bites.

I cannot allow raccoon destruction and diseases to enter my environment.

Game Warden Flow

When Sarah Blooms

Peony season ends with Sarah, Sarah Bernhardt that is.

Her buds appear as large marbles on the ends of long stems.


The blooms open as delicate pink which makes me think of ballerinas.


The blooms are heavy and must be supported in case of a shower.


Sarah’s performance in the garden is last,


ending peony season with a flourish of pink.

A good actress always ends with a flourish!


My Morning Visitor

It climbs up on our deck and looks in the windows.

It knows where to find me. I am at my desk every morning.

It comes to visit.


I have never fed it or put out food.

That is not nature’s way.

It watches me work and poses for my camera.


Sometimes angels have fur instead of feathers.

Sometimes they climb instead of fly.


God will always be in nature.

That’s where I find him.



Who Will We Be?

Tough times are coming for my sweet family.

Inevitable changes are seeping into our lives.

We have fought the good fight. We have done our best.

Every person has his own portion of time.

My daddy’s is ending in his eighty-eighth year here.

I am coming undone at the thought of it.

We have always been we.

My daddy, my mama, my sister and me.

Who will we be?

Daddy's Garden 086
Sisters, two peas

He taught me to tie a figure eight knot this week.

I have been tying granny knots my whole life.

“A figure-eight doesn’t come loose like a granny.” daddy says.

Maybe I need to tie a big figure-eight knot around myself.

Maybe I should tie myself to a tomato stake too; so I won’t blow over or break down.

He has been busy building his planes and directing garden maintenance from his chair.

Those planes, that chair, the shop, the garden, the mountains.

He is everywhere. I cannot imagine him not being there.

Who will we be, we three?

I do not want to know, but we shall see.

Daddy's Garden 076
Mama and Daddy

Scared Flower

Garden Clowns

I love big, bright, blooming Amaryllis inside during the winter, but they seem comical outside in spring.

These poor Beauty Queens did not ask to be hybridized into showy giants.

‘Monte Carlo’ Amaryllis

They would probably rather be tall, ugly weeds than painted, potted flowers.

But they did not get to make the choice of whether to be wild or tame.

‘Charisma’ Amaryllis

So here they are, comically colorful clowns in the garden.

Too big and too bright to be taken seriously.

‘Minerva’ Amaryllis

Just as man intended, not as nature recommended.

‘Half-and-Half’ Amaryllis

Manipulated for man’s enjoyment.

I am and will continue to be a tall, ugly weed.

(‘Identity’ poem by Julio Naboa Polanco)



Stay safe, Stay Home, Wear a Mask (even if you are a man)