Michael E. Middleton

Poetry Collection

Friendship, Faith, and the Changing Seasons.

Song Of October

Glass art of tree changing seasonally

I. As October crept o'er Novelty Hill, The fat moon blushed her fire, Morning wore a silver veil Above the dew-damp briar.

II. Geese above our quiet lane, Loud-honked complaints intone; Fields that rang with roots and grain, Lay still to sleep alone.

III. Snoqualmie's cold channel swept Bright willow leaves downstream; Row rowrow you tiny boats With summer's fading dream.

IV. Tree limbs bent low with russet fruit, The cider press was turned; Every fallen, fragrant orb Stored sunlight it had earned.

V. Proud parents smiled and waved goodbye: The big bus stopped, a door swung wide. Young scholars with their backpacks full Climbed confident inside.

VI. A lantern in the window burned For poets far and near; The ol' train station welcomed them To read and smile and share.

VII. Coyote tip-toe'd through the ferns, Hunting with silent feet; He paused outside the garden fence Where mint and mushrooms meet.

VIII. The market bid the park adieu, Halting harvest hopes; Old farmers counted back the change With hands like knotted ropes.

IX. The baker set his loaves to cool, Their crusts a burnished brown; As fog and daylight tug-o-warred Fresh bread smell roused the town.

X. The chimney awoke with the dawn, White smoke curled away; It brought a message to the clouds: “We'd love some sun today.”

XI. Sunday morning's spider webs Were jeweled with crystal rain; The smallest thread could hold the sun And make it shine again.

XII. Hot dogs cooked on skewer sticks, Warm cider smelled so sweet; Laughter rung around the fire That warmed our freezing feet.

XIII. At dusk, the distant churchyard gate Stood open once again; The names engraved on weathered stones Recalled what once had been.

XIV. Halfway through the amber month, Sunlight leaned away; Evening came before its time And lingered long to stay.

XV. A girl in boots of shining red Kicked leaves along the street; Each crackling heap became a stage Beneath her dancing feet.

XVI. The geese formed arrows in the sky And called above the pine; Their honking pulled listening hearts Toward seasons lost in time.

XVII. A storm invaded from the north, War drums on rooftops beat; The big trees bent, tried not to break, Old roots held strong and deep.

XVIII. The pumpkins on the porch were bright Farolitos in the night; Their carved and crooked smiles kept watch With candle-hearted light.

XIX. Red lights flashed and sirens wailed Paramedics soon arrive; They'll use their training, skills, and kit To keep good folks alive.

XX. An owl spoke once from cedar's shade, Then faded back to gloom; The stars shot threads of silver flame That warped the spiders' loom.

XXI. The scarecrow in the foggy field Wore dew upon his head; He kept his post through moonless hours And never went to bed.

XXII. Beneath the bridge, the river flowed With black and shining grace; It carried broken limbs to find Their final resting place.

XXIII. The hoar frost traced upon the glass Doilies white and fine; Tatting a pale funeral pall For August’s dying vine.

XXIV. The moon, a shining lantern shone Above the skeletal trees; Silvered fallow garden rows And calmed the restless breeze.

XXV. A soaking rain delayed the dawn, The morning moon set cold; They left behind some yellow leaves And red and brown and gold.

XXVI. The Hunter's moon so bright and round Aroused folks from their bed; Shined a spotlight ghostly white Where livestock once had fed.

XXVII. The graveyard grass was soaked with rain, Bells rang slow and low; Yet somehow 'neath that glistening shroud Life's roots found ways to grow.

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September 1 (Free Verse)

Gold leafed invitation

September arrives without knocking a gold-leafed invitation slipped beneath the door. Open it slowly, letting the year teach you again how to change.

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September 2 (Haiku)

Morning fence line steams Summer loosens his tight grip One leaf turns amber.

Steamy fence

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September 3 (Acrostic: HOPE)

Hold your head toward the light. Open the windows of your spirit. Plant your faith in patient soil. Even now, beauty is blooming.

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September 4 (Couplets)

The clouds may rain, the wind may blow Friends may come, friends may go The road may bend, big trees may sway but mercy still arrives today.

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September 5 (Tanka)

I carry summer in the salt upon my skin in the buzz of bees autumn calls from tomorrow soft as leaves' overnight change

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September 6 (Spoken Word)

I am learning that rest is not surrender. That pausing does not mean I have stopped growing. That even a field must lie still before it can feed our village.

I will not apologize for lying quiet. Lying fallow enough to hear the future sprout.

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September 7 (Prayer Poem)

God who makes all things new, meet us before our worries do help us to simply trust in you. May peace be our guiding light. May kindness be our heart's delight. May we love with all our might.

May it be so.

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September 8 (American Cinquain)

Golden leaves letting go gently.

Autumn is approaching on quiet gold footsteps encouraging trees to let go gently.

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September 9 (Simple Rhyme)

May your heart be a garden today, with room for fall flowers to stay. May your To Do list grow lighter somehow, Under clear skies here and now.

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September 10 (Three-Line Poem)

Not every ending is a closing door. Some are windows.

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September 11 (Elegy for the Ordinary)

Bless ordinary things: warm sun on a cool morning, the familiar greeting, that reaches back when you reach out. May we never forget to call a miracle miraculous.

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September 12 (Haiku)

Rain in the forecast Give the new perennials Time to put out roots

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September 13 (Acrostic: GRACE)

Gather in what is helpful. Release what isn't. Accept the gift of today. Choose forgiveness. Every breath is a new beginning.

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September 14 (Found-Style Poem)

Simple gifts : a little less hurry, a little more heaven, a song in my key, honest conversations, and enough faith to love boldly.

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September 15 (Villanelle)

Let peace sit down beside you for a while

Let peace sit down beside you for a while, not as a visitor, but as a friend. Let your cautious heart remember how to smile. The road has asked for more than one hard mile; still, love is a road that has no end. Let peace sit down beside you for a while. The world may offer noise of every style, but silence has a truth one can defend. Let your tired heart remember how to smile. You do not have to suffer every trial; some rifts were never ever yours to mend. Let peace sit down beside you for a while.

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September 16 (One-Sentence Poem)

Today I will bloom where I am planted, even if the soil is rocky and the weather unkind.

.

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September 17 (Prayer for Strength)

be my strength. be my compass. be the flame that vanquishes the dark. remind me that you created me for this place and time.

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September 18 (Riddle)

I arrive with the honking geese, paint green things yellow gold, wrapped in the fog of peace I make pensive poets bold, and ask "Are you ready to release?"

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September 19 (Short Spoken Word)

You have survived the season we worried might be the end. LOOK at you still here, still breathing, still beautiful, still beating, still bunny-eared, still getting stronger.

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September 20 (Sonnet)

The evening lays its cheek against the hill, while golden light gathers in the trees; the world inhales by slowly breathing still, and teaches restless hearts the art of ease. The maples confetti copper in the air, like small, bright secrets drifting from the bough; a cooler hand unfastened summer’s glare and soothed the fevered forehead of the now. The geese write widening questions o'er the gray, the fields grow rich with silence, straw, and seed; each fading thing becomes a shining way God has provided for our every need. Let our years grow dim without regret: the saints who fell to earth are with us yet.

All Saints' Graveyard

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September 21 (Equinox Poem)

Today, light and dark share the sky. May I learn from them not to fear shadows, not to worship brightness, but to welcome the balance.

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September 22 (Haiku)

Equinox evening day and night briefly held hands. Quarter moon kept watch.

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September 23 (List Poem)

May your life contain: a table with room for one more, a song you know by heart, a friend who tells the truth gently, a window facing the sunrise, and a hope too stubborn to give up.

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September 24 (ABC Poem)

always be carried deeply even from grief into joy keep loving moving no one path quiets resurrection stars twinkle under vastness where xanadu yet zeniths

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September 25 (Limerick)

There once was a man full of fear who thought Winter's dark was too near; Autumn trees said, “Take heart! Just create life's bright art.” Calm acceptance arrived then and there.

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September 26 (Gentle Reminder)

You are allowed to breathe the air without exhaling your pain. You are allowed to heal without explaining your scars. You are allowed to be loved without feeling worthy.

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September 27 (Prayer of the People)

Make us people who notice the lonely, feed the hungry, speak for the silenced. Give us courage not fearlessness, but the courage to act in spite of fear. Teach us to love not only in word, but in deed. Amen.

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September 28 (Haiku)

Geese stitch the clear sky. Somewhere above the cold breeze, Southern warmth calls them.

Geese flying in a V formation

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September 29 (Refrain Poem)

Begin again. With the broken relationship. With the To Do list. With the resolutions you made. With the prayer you have not prayed in a long time. Begin again. With the apology. With the dream. With the blank page. With the prayer you have not prayed in a long time. Begin again.

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September 30 (September Closing)

September, You showed us how to soften To become bright yellow gold Without giving up on life Without growing less bold. Take what now should fall away. Leave what must still grow. Then deposit us all gently In October's darkening flow.

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August - Alphabetic Haiku

After winter’s gloom Arid Earth appreciates April, always wet

Breezes bend brown grass Clouds drift above fields of bronze Summer barely breathes

Cabbage and carrots Cruciferous concoction Chicken broth? Canned?

Daily showers drip Dark earth drinks every bright drop Robins dance at dawn

Early buds emerge Eager rains on emerald sprouts Easing Spring awake

Fog folds the forest Fresh coffee, favorite mug First light warms my face

Golden heat glistens Gardens growing green goodness Go away, gophers

Hail hits the roof hard Heavy clouds hide happiness Hope for sunshine gone

Icy stars glimmer Illuminating new snow Inhale sharp cold air

June rains scent roses Just as bees seek open blooms Jasmine owns the night

Kite climbs the spring wind Kissing the blue sky above Kids squint to find it

Late snow whitens lawns Daffodils and tulips laugh At little snowmen

Morning mist rises Meadows shine with jeweled dew Mockingbirds tune up

November wind knows No one escapes what's coming Night time falls too soon

Bright October moon Over orange-red maples Wakes owls from slumber

Puddles mirror clouds Petals drip the morning light Pansies pray for peace

Quiet snowflakes fall Quilting the lawn frosty white Quickly seasons change

Red maples let go Release whirligig copters Ready leaf cover

Sunlight warms new shoots Splashes of rain wet tulips Spring greets courtesans

Thunder shook windows Turmoil darkened the morning The clean air smells sweet

Unseen roots quench thirst Umbrellas finally open Under thick rain clouds

Morning dawns verdant Velvet rain vanquished Winter Violets, wake up!

White frost veils the lawn Wrens gather high on bare limbs Waiting for dawn's warmth

Xeric winds blow hard Xanthic leaves divorce xylem Cover the xystus

Yowling winds blow hard Hickory sheds yellow leaves Cover our yard-path

Zesty zephyrs zig Zinnia, Zabelia, and Zygocacti

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The Piebald Deer

The cautious deer enjoyed one fallen apple then looked around nervously feeling vulnerable and unable to defend the sweet juicy abundance she had happened upon, so ate quickly as if the apple was not hers to eat. This solitary deer was different, not like her parents or siblings wearing calf-high white stockings, a white muffler around her throat and a spotted white coat over her piebald back as if she was not theirs to accept. The observant watcher noted all these things before the strange doe disappeared down the hill to whatever food, safety, companionship, hunger, danger or isolation awaited her there. The hopeful watcher imagined himself a Cherokee elder being visited by the spirit of a doe he had killed with an arrow before trickster rabbit lost the race and was condemned to eat weeds and sharp antlers were awarded to fast deer. The thoughtful watcher pondered what awaits when the cheaters and tricksters get their comeuppance and the beautiful unique and gentle ones discover how special they are and accept the free sweet blessings intended for them.

Piebald Deer under an Apple tree

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Western Red Cedar

Where parent trees once stood, a century past, Where sharp-edged steel claimed our forest's prize, From ravaged earth, a novel growth, holds fast. Red cedar rises to rain-gray skies. No single shaft, ordained by ancient seed, Clustered stems ascend in verdant throng, A team of trunks from dead-fall freed To branch and flourish where the felled stood strong. Each trunk too small to mill for wood, Each swaying branch bemoans the vanished might. This new grove in shadowed grace has stood, Drawing strength from the returning light; Life reborn from loss and greed-soaked years, In fractured form, a vital strength appears.

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The Whirling Dance of Maples

In our suburban yard two maples stand, Their leafy crowns in springtime splendor thrive, With emerald arms that stretch across our land, They bask in sunlit joy; lush, alive. When autumn whispers secrets dark and cold, Those greens transform to hues of rich delight; Vibrant orange flames in red and gold Flag the sky. From reaching limbs upright. Whirlagigs swirl October's chilly breeze, Twirl laughing from their boughs with playful grace, Each spins a memory of ancestral trees, Giving winter's heart a warm embrace. Thus nature paints a scene of change, bright In maple's glow, honoring the summer light.

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The Garden

April's striving seedlings reach for daylight while daylight was not yet saved, hear disdain toward unborn aphids slug babies from last year are ready to arise like vampires. Recall May's longing each yellow bud a potential red, each leaf soaking in sweet sunlight to store in bulb or root or tuber or explode in chin-wetting slurp. I don't mind the time poured out, brew compost tea, spread worm casings, pinch notch-growers, prune suckers. train stems to grow in frames, pray for warm nights and gentle showers. How happy harvest hope, how lovely, that she and the soil and the water and the sunlight and the green will provide more and better than a farmers' market. October tells a different truth, cool nights refuse the reddening, something's filled a hungry belly, leaves are shriveling as sunlight fades. clean the soil and discard the dead. Dreams buried beneath November's fallen leaves where bulbs wait lift brave shoulders to the cold send out roots to gather the juice that wets Spring's longing.

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Old Pear Tree

In our backyard, a pear tree stands alone, Its age a tale of decades softly told, With every spring, she dons a gown of white, And autumn marks her harvest's fruitful weight. Her blossom's kiss, the air is sweet perfumed, A promise of the warmth that soon will come, Bumblebees with yellow pollen filled, And happy hummingbirds find their tranquil home. Let not your solace be in vain, old tree, Your pride displayed in every fruit you bear, The strength within to live, to bloom, to be, In every heart that passes, let them share. For in your boughs, the whispers of the breeze, Speak volumes of provision without cease.

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Seven Cedars' Secret

Western Red Cedars tower tall, In the southern corner of our place. Not one trunk but seven form the base. Green in Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall. Guarding secrets beyond recall. Its red bark harbors tales untold, Indigenous rites from days of old Sacred survival where-with-all; Ropes, clothes and food; prehistory. Grey squirrels who chased away the red Now chatter, “Cedars, tell your mystery?” The wind stirs boughs, but not a word is said. I listen to the cedars sigh as branches sway. And only hear, “My secrets never fade away.”

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Owl Medicine

Not with thunder not with a sermon, not with a finger pointed. Owl comes silently. Wings wide enough to hold the dark. Eyes bright enough to find the truth. Owl whispers to you: Shhhh. Be still. Not every shadow is a danger. Not every shadow is a stranger. There are things dressed up like certainty that are but a wisp of fear wearing a good coat. There are voices that sound like truth until you listen with the whole of your true self. So listen past the loud and angry Listen past the rumors. Listen past the self-serving story you have started to believe. Owl does not ask, “Who has deceived you?” Owl asks, “What have you refused to see?” What truth has been knocking at the window while you slumber? What warning is whispering beneath all the noise? Owl is not here to make you suspicious. Owl is here to make you wise. To teach you that discernment is not fear, that intuition is not weakness, that the bravest thing might be waiting. Let the silence tell you what the shouting never could, what the angry never would. Stand still in the dark long enough for your eyes to adjust to the shadows' dusk. Truth has not disappeared. It is waiting quiet as noiseless feathers, sharp as moonlight; Waiting for you to finally see it and grasp it.

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Blue Spruce

In winter's chill, beneath the steel-gray sky, Blue Spruce stands tall, adorned with glistening snow, Branches welcome nests; the birds draw nigh, Fat squirrels scurry swift with nuts to stow Beneath green carpet knit by ivy's weave. Tree frogs sing sweet songs of Springtime grace; The staunch spruce whispers back: Believe That beauty dwells deep each hidden place, Every treasure placed in nature’s care, Cradled by her needles blue and green; Life thrives anew baby birds peep there, Each moment cherished—fragile yet unseen A home for creatures, both the small and wise, Blue Spruce - a sight for our sore eyes.

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Becoming Butterfly

Butterfly comes to teach that becoming is messy not beautiful itself, it is transforming into beauty. Sometimes becoming looks like hunger like leaves chewed down to their bare skeletal veins, like inching forward unaware of the sky. There is a time to crawl. A time to consume lessons, to make a meal of every hard thing that you find in front of you. There is a time for retreat, close the door. draw the curtains on a world that asks, “are you dead inside there?”

There is a time to tuck yourself away, to unplug from the noise, to let the world spin while you quietly spin soft silk around your dissolving self. Quiet is not empty. Quiet is a workshop. Quiet is the darkroom where your soul develops old photographs. There is a time to break open. a time to launch. to step out of the small name you gave yourself in the quiet dark. Do not mistake distance as failure to love. Do not eschew your need for people Flowers need visitors. Love is a butterfly resting on the edge of your open palm. Do not close your fist on it. Do not demand it stay. Do not crush love's colors trying to make certainty out of something tender and free by design. Butterfly does not seek permission from the wind. Butterfly does not wait until it finally understands the whole sky. Butterfly rises because transformation has made real the difference between prison and infinite grace.

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The Rain Singer

One does not hold back from calling thunder by its true name, from calling us to metamorphize from calling down wet blessings.

Frog carries cleansing in her throat, a song poured out until dry places recall they were made for water.

She sinks into mud's dark baptism and rises with webbed feet, with eyes that have learned how to see above the murk. She does not ask the mud to become slate, nor you to harden your parched heart.

She croaks "release old grief, borrowed fear, the stories you repeat to weave your cage." Let them all go. Let the tears come. Let the rain come.

There is no shame in being freed by a shower of mercy. The pond does not call itself weak because it receives the sky. The earth does not call itself broken because it opens to the weight of rain.

Cleansing is not punishment. It is preparation. It is making room for your next brave leap out of your old skin.

When Frog sings, she sings in the moonlight, sings with her brothers and sisters, Do not fear the storm she summons. Stand in it.

Let its holy water change everything you were into a voice calling for rain for every thirsty heart waiting to remember how to bloom.

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Honest as Driftwood

Long Beach stretches north, Sandy miles occupied only by shorebirds and driftwood. Tangled tree trunks tossed by storms, Now immovable, bleached white as truth. Walking there is walking in beauty The cold Pacific Ocean to our left. The adamant driftwood to our right. The honest unspoiled beach before and behind us. Me and dozens of busy little killdeer. We would not run so confidently along a row of lies. The ocean never apologizes.

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Old Pear

In our backyard, a pear tree stands alone, Its age a tale of decades softly told, With every spring, she dons a gown of white, And autumn marks her harvest's fruitful weight. Her blossom's kiss, the air is sweet perfumed, A promise of the warmth that soon will come, Bumblebees with yellow pollen filled, And happy hummingbirds find their tranquil home. Let not your solace be in vain, old tree, Your pride displayed in every fruit you bear, The strength within to live, to bloom, to be, In every heart that passes, let them share. For in your boughs, the whispers of the breeze, Speak volumes of provision without cease.

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Apple Tree

“Compose your poems out loud”, she said, "Recite them to the listening trees." Our tree stands silent as if dead, Waiting to unfurl this new year’s leaves Waiting for warm sun to dry the breeze And feed the blossoms that feed the bees. Then Mason mommies will gather pollen-food, Happy Honeybees will wiggle their dancing mood. This Spring, silently listen for an hour And hear bees buzz from flower to flower. As our generous tree takes note by forming A ring to mark the growing season’s passing. All these ensure sweet apples will appear To fall this Fall and feed the feral deer.

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Ornamental Plum

In gardens where the plum's pink blossoms sway, Their fragrant petals kindle spring's delight, A tender blush against the dawn’s soft gray, Awakening from dark winter's freezing night. Each bloom a smile, each branch a gentle dance, As sunlight weaves new leaves with golden thread, In this sweet season, nature finds its chance, To paint the world in hues of love - thick-spread. The whispering breeze rekindles joy anew, While bees hum softly in their sacred flight; With every glance, the heavens seem to woo, Awakening our dreams in warm daylight. And quiet moments spent ‘neath Easter skies, A rain of blooms inspire deep soulful sighs.

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Spell

Softly on a wet spring day, I paused to ponder Nature's way, Breathed the scent of her fresh air, Felt her light rain on my hair.

Her grass poked soft between my toes, Her flower perfume filled my nose, Clouds formed caps in Rainier's skies, Warm sunlight caused fence-steam to rise.

I looked across green meadow's way, Watched young deer with mothers play. I took a moment to inhale, As I slipped under Nature's spell.

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The Tree Chorus

“How goes it with the Humans?” Asked Minnehaha the Giant Douglas Fir From her safe Old Growth enclave in the Mount Rainier National Forest.

The question vibrated from her miles of roots picked up by the thick mesh of fungal mycelium. “The Humans?!” echoed back the Giant Sequoias “Those fools who killed a million of our kind And silenced the thousand-year old Tree Chorus?”

“I know the Autumn Solo, like my grandparents,” Bragged a large Rocky Mountain Maple. “Not so fast! We were backup singers,” the Sugar and Broadleaf sisters announced.

“It was the Pines that the Humans were after” said the Black Hawthorn, pointing accusingly at the Evergreens. “It’s not their fault they make good lumber,” the Cascara came to the rescue as the Hooker’s Willows relaxed and bent with the breeze and the Cottonwoods grew a foot taller but no bigger around.

The Madrona were too busy watching the waves and tides to get involved in this discussion, but the Cedars and Blue Spruce remembered hearing about the chorus. “Our ancestors all had parts in the song and opened their roots wide to sing. Some sang all year, others joined in the Summer. Tall thickets sung hushed low notes. Alder and Ash carried the melody. A million trees sang that ancient chorus; Roots hummed underground. The ice melted and the singing started.

Humans were here and seemed to feel the chorus with their bare feet.”

“How goes it with the boot-wearing Humans?” asked Minnehaha again. Her question spread out across the Northwest from tree to tree.

“Maybe they are growing up, ” suggested the Dogwoods after weeks of silence. “They want to plant 1,000,000 sapling trees. The air we cleaned for them has gotten full of delicious carbon.” “Some are learning” offered a Birch standing unprotected at the edge of a parking lot.

The Bitter Cherry just sighed, closed her eyes, strained and strained, and popped out a million blossoms for thankful bees.

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Thee Haiku on February

1. Its the shortest month Even with an extra leap Oh February!

2. Birth month for babies Conceived 'neath June's Springtime moon Washington, Lincoln

3. The featured reader will be our Sandy Ivey. Be my Valentine?

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Whence Cometh Grace

When shadows stretch and hide the path I tread, And clouds of doubt obscure the brightest skies, I lift my gaze. My hopeful heart is led To find dawn shine in glistening eyes. For every thorn that guards a budding rose, There blooms a truth that evil can’t confine; Each trial sows seeds that courage knows, And harvests joy from struggle’s ugly vine. For every loss doeth teach the soul to grow, And sorrow plants compassion in its stead; What still glows is brighter than we know Joy springs from every tear we shed. For blessings sprout from deep within Where kindness and charity begin.

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Reaching

I. they woke up with a feeling that their heart was a compass, that their ribs were a road map, something in them pointing to a place they’d never been.

II. call them Anyone, which is to say call them You. they woke up one morning the ceiling too low. the mirror too small. the questions too loud. they said: “we’re done with shrinking to fit a place that wasn’t built for the size of our dreams.”

III. That’s how it started. Not with trumpets, With a soft sentence. That refused to remain silent.

IV. they packed light: a pocket full of “almosts”. a backpack full of “somedays.” a fist closed tight around a single, stubborn intention “it’s my time” is a walking stick. the road did what roads do; pretend to be endless just to see if you’ll turn back. the gravel spoke. you know the voice: “Don’t expect much.” “You were not built for this.”

V. first hill, trip. second hill, fall. third hill, down too long imagining the count of humiliation.

VI. the road insisted, “we match you and I. you’re made of dust, same as me! why keep getting up just to go down again?” they almost believed they were out. but inside their rib-map beat a compass not a drum. still here. still here. still here. they stood and answered back: “i’m not finished.”

VII. the middle. the grind. the ungentle in-between. no montage music just a calendar full of days that don’t care how tired you are.

VIII. a goal is not a wish. a wish is what you throw into fountains. a goal is the fountain you throw yourself into.

IX. on the worst nights, when the muddy road is nothing but fog and slippery questions, look up. overcomings are not trophies. they’re teachers. we don’t climb to own the mountain. we climb so the climb will declare our new name.

X. you are allowed to want things. you are allowed to outgrow your doubts. you are allowed to be a work in progress and a masterpiece at the same time. take one step then one more then one more. you do not have to be there to be going there. In fact, you can’t be.

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Defiant Souls Arise!

Awake, arise, let not your heart grow chill, For dawn bestows its light upon our fate, A call to arms within the silence still, Each shock ignites — our passions resonate From shadows deep, journey forth with pride, A chorus bold that shakes the very skies, With every step, our dear friends will confide— In unity. Our fear is to NOT arise As heroes. Rise 'gainst tyranny's cruel dark. The flames of hope alight within this night; Embrace the path that leads us to embark, With hearts aflame and voices ringing bright. So heed my call; let your spirits soar! In action bold — we'll stand forevermore!

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The Best Poem Ever Written

In the best poem ever writ by me or anyone besides the first sweet couplet brings tear drops to sooth dry eyes awed by the awesome alliteration folks forward it to Facebook friends they'll all agree with little hearts loving the best poem ever seen gone viral as an online meme.

The words become an urban myth the rhymes put greeting cards to shame preteen girls write it in passed notes politicians stump with misapplied quotes to introduce fund-raising URLs it's on resisters' protest signs bumper stickers and billboard heights anthologies begin and end with it rap artists trade their bling for rights.

The best poem cuts through fake news like an ever-sharp QVC butcher knife after reading it together, divorcing celebrities unite reciting it out loud can change an unhappy life college professors write theses and more relating it to every poem gone before it is the best poem ever writ and I must admit, this isn't it.

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Haiku Week

Monday Weight loss check-in day 267 El Bees 17 to go.

Monday Evening More rain is forecast Its a Pineapple Express Thank you, Hawaii

Tuesday Morning High protein waffle Sugar-free maple syrup Pouring rain outside.

Tuesday Afternoon Big drops on my hat. Apple watch glows on my wrist. Counting every step.

Tuesday Evening Cauliflower crust Makes a passable pizza With the right toppings.

Wednesday Morning Rain moved East and South Idaho and Oregon Please use umbrellas.

Wednesday Afternoon Engaged-Connie's Pho Hot, spicy, and delicious. Like a Thai wedding.

Thursday Morning “Winter Wonderland” Isn’t a Christmas carol Neither is Christmas.

Thursday Evening Orange roast chicken On a mound of fresh veggies 450 ‘till done.

Thursday Night The warm fireplace Is fake, remote controlled Electric, still nice.

Friday Morning Along the flood’s edge We stepped around big puddles Avoiding slick mud.

Friday Evening Wine tasting room, Live music, artistic friends. A Happy Birthday.

Saturday Early Morning Sudo apt update 9 apps can be upgraded Reboot required.

Saturday Morning Addressing our cards It's why stamps were invented Linn can feel the love.

Saturday Noon Half a Green Goddess, One thousand steps at Whole Foods, Lunch at Agave.

Saturday Evening Local Art Salon Creative people share I read these Haiku.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Spectrum of The Possible

There is a rainbow in the Sky of Possibilities. It glows from highest reaches of actuality: Always, Often, Usually, Frequently, Half the time, Just Sometimes, Once in a while, Occasionally, Rarely, Never As it bends the light of Eternity through drops of Infinite Moments.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Those Who Stay

When the beat drops and the world stops cheering when the spotlight burns out and the noise slides into silence, who’s still here? Not the fickle fans, Not the weekend warriors. Loyalty is not fireworks, It’s a steady flame. It’s the friend — who sees the storm It’s the friend — who shows up anyway umbrella, boots, corny jokes to help you breathe again.

Friendship is not founded on judgment nor on condemnation. It’s found in tears and emails and texts and that look that says, “I know — but I've got you.” Friendship is an invitation.

It stays when the room gets uncomfortable, when truth gets heavy, when you’re hard to love but you're loved anyway. That’s real gold. Not the fool’s kind that only shines, Loyalty mines the kind that holds you tight when the world goes mute and all you can hear is your own desperate heartbeat, those voices — those arms reach out and pull you back into the dance. Because in a world of missteps,

friendship is the music of human hearts.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Windmill

1 Wrapped in a blanket Standing silent motionless Windmill in the fog. 2 Cows come for water Their tank always fresh and full Windmill on the job. 3 Big storm is brewing Powerful winds are howling Windmill squeals for joy. 4 Afternoon sunshine Light breeze squeaks a lazy day Windmill needs a-grease. 5 Toothless, overgrown Abandoned and neglected Windmill remembers.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

In the Shadows

In darkness clad, wild whispers rise anew, United voices hushed by heavy stone. Against the tide, can weary hearts break through When every step is met with scornful groan? To plain the ground supremacy has claimed, With fervent Spirit, shall they strive and fight? Chains of hatred choked out their names, Each victory tasted turned to bitter blight. Dreams deferred turned swiftly into dust, The hopes that Hope ignited died in pain; A world designed on deep mistrust, Yet still they push against that crushing weight, To end injustice, bravely tempting fate.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Acquainted

When first bare limbs burst forth newest green Bright finches claim a sunny spot to sing Gray clouds part, blue sky’s finally seen. A sense of hope shines forth from everything Red robins dance the fresh-worm breakfast hop. Warm breeze makes the big wind chime ring. Survival's stressful sounds just stop Replaced by gentle psalms of placid peace. Life is good, the bottom to the top. Winter's worries agree their war to cease. Beauty everywhere in everything is seen. Life's joy, magic, smiles and love increase. Clouds scatter, deep blue skies are seen When bare limbs burst forth newly sprouted green.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Gratitude Ritual

My day unwinds in whispers a sigh from the west, Warmth from the lamp that refuses to sleep before I do. I drop the weight of hours and miles. My shoes remember every road I’ve trusted, and I thank shoes and roads that carried me through. The birds sing like they believe in peace. Their songs rising like prayers I meant to say. Hope swirls in an imperfect world. I list them, not for show, not for virtue, but for grounding. Gratitude for: The neighbor who smiled me back to here and now the sky has painted itself between the clouds. The breath that arrived without asking. I say, thank you. Thank you. Once for the day that came. Twice for the night that’s coming. And in that small, easy rhythm the room exhales with me, soft, and human, and home.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Bus Stop

Bring your old guitar Miz’zle practice a new lick Waiting for the bus. Waiting for the bus It’s good to be anywhere But he's leaving here. Yes he's leaving here. Waiting for the last day-train. You know the story. It's the old story, Mexico, Costa Rico? Future ex-pats' dream. I dreamt of right here. I only take round-trip rides That bring me back home.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Ten Haiku

One Round green buds of March Unfurled Camilla flowers April wasn't fooling

Two Sunset cawing crows Plentiful food’s been spotted Today's hunger past

Three Honking geese above Unseen in the gray-pink mist Tighten up their V

Four Sitting in the sun The neighbor does not hurry To plant her pea starts

Five Pacific Daylight I know its 7

Six In isolation The greatest gift of all Learn to love yourself

Seven The plural of Haiku Is Haiku one or many Like Koi in the pond

Eight Yellow daffodil Tulips in many colors Oh to be a bee

Nine Walk the quiet trail Where iron steam locomotives Once broke the silence

Ten Too many weeds grow Where old apple trees once stood Rake the new bare soil

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Memorial

They gave their tomorrows so we'd be free today. Not just names on graves, but sacrifices that paved the way. We remember— this Memorial Day— not just in passing. Our gratitude will stay.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Whispers of a Chai Latte



Once cradled by morning hands, in rushed commute, a paper vessel, unassuming, offered lost sleep's substitute. 
“Enjoy the Day,” scribbled sentiment, morning mantra, perhaps sincere where steam mingled with fading dreams, and chai spice danced like sparks on air. 
Here it lies on pavement’s edge, Starbuck's corporate logo-face, sunlight burned, fading print, while folks sail past her resting place. 
No conversations brew. Must hustle. Did stories once flow warm within heartbeats steeped, a steamy time, shared smiles and swirls of cinnamon? 
Now, it's but a fragile shell spat upon by raindrops wet, its message but an empty echo; does anyone still hear it yet? 
"Enjoy the day" as it passes find life's sweet contentment, even as I approach empty; with my usefulness all spent. 
 In every discard lies a story: of lives entwined, steeped with delight, teaching us to cherish joy and recycle remnants of the light.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Did I mean it?

Sisters do their best, Brothers also do their best. Everyone's trying. Roots push branches down Limbs root up before the sky Love measures through us. She keeps odd treasures In her bowl of soft moonstone. She says “They're magic.” Pure coincidence? Is there something we missed here? A prime director? Can we start over? How do I say I'm sorry; And really mean it?

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Morning Hum

Morning hum, a sleepy start, Kettle sings soprano part. Single serve, an easy pour, Or drip drip drip that I adore. Pour-over blooms a fragrant cloud, Soft and slow to make me proud. French press plunges, bold and deep, Shatter dreams that troubled sleep. Moka dancing o'er the flame, Gargle gurgles so untamed. Drip machine drums steady beat, Simple comfort, warm and sweet. Percolator perks with cheer, Old-school joy we hold so dear. Espresso steam to come alive, Tiny cup that sparks our vibe. However brewed, the day feels bright, Each sip sparking deep delight. Coffee warms in every way A happy cup to start this day.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Sunset

In youthful days of stress-free cheer, I trod a path so bright and clear, Where sunsets kissed the sandy shore, Wrapped in salty sultry air. My road of life, so fresh and new, Seemed never-ending in my view, With every step, confidence grew, I walked forth, with hope my guide.

The blooms of youth adorned my way, And laughter danced through every day, Each night brought me sweet relief, Where dreams could never go astray. But time, that silent, stealthy thief, Stole in with whispered hints of grief, Blossoms fell, the sky turned grey, And shadows stretched across my way.

The gentle slope grew steep enough, The stones, once soft, turned cold and rough, With every step a growing load, 'Till I began to question much. I've climbed the peaks of victory, Where eagles fly and rivers flee, Yet in the valley low I found Peaceful soft tranquility.

The journey long, my days grow few, The path is worn, the colors flew, But richer far than gold or fame, Is wisdom bought by sad miscue. For in the tread of weary feet, The road has taught me lessons sweet, That joy and pain often embrace, In them life's wisdom we can greet.

Now aged eyes look back with grace, Upon the road I've traveled so, The joys and sorrows, every face, A facet in my life's tableau. My journey's end is drawing near, The twilight whispers soft yet clear, As I near the final bend, I find the path that led me here.

To a place where love doth grow, As hearts entwine, forever so, And all the roads of life converge, Into a single, endless glow. The road of life, though fraught with care, Has led me to a place so fair, Where age is but a memory, And love the treasure we find there.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Story of the Storyteller’s Story

Once upon a time there was a kindly old Storyteller... Gentle people Hungry for a story Massed in peaceful times On soft cool grass Under Summer-blue To hear his story Told in the best way he knew. His stories, perhaps with slight variation, always started thus: “Once upon a time there was a kindly old Storyteller…”

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Lauds

You have drawn back night’s quiet veil, and wrapped us in the gold of morning. If shadows linger in our hearts, send them fleeing with the dawn. Let hope rise bright within our chests, a steady flame, unafraid of dark, until its light spills outward— gentle, strong—into the world we share. May it be so.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Frost

white veins in frost almost language almost a voice the words collapse as the frozen rain pelts was something written there? she is certain the way one is certain of a dream already dissolving blink away the tears it becomes water blink again nothing lasts

the empty house fills with weather's dirge ice pellets counting time against the glass the chimney swallowing wind and moaning it back as a wounded animal where a voice used to return two weeks missing from these walls two weeks of earth closing over names said in past tense over memories shared in past tense over a casket the firewood diminished like breath in winter she picks a split dry pine log or the idea of one sets it into the flames or the memory of flames yellow light flickers or pretends to be light

she listens: to ice drumming to wind wailing is someone calling somewhere a voice repeats itself "any time" "for any reason" "call any time" time is not whole anymore it fractured it belongs elsewhere the phone waits like an unanswered question almost a language what shape does reaching out take when distance is not miles but excuses, hesitation and uncertainty?

she listens: to ice drumming to wind wailing someone calling or was it the dark empty room leaning inward? her hand lifts the phone or the habit of the phone the frost refuses meaning the glass keeps its silence the light dances with the shadow of the phone only the storm speaks only the fire consumes what remains

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Bright Souls Awake

The bright souls, they say, are coming coming The correction come - is their big anew That sees the future in the past's purview; Present in tissue. The thinnest wrapping. Mitered corners, smooth, no tape showing; Is monofilament time's one-way rule Cradling crystal present's priceless jewel. The apocalypse! is! now! No wait-ting. Eleven string dimensions vibrat-ting. Elementary chron-puscles explod-ding! Do not wait for knights in armor shin-ning Come beautiful bright souls wait-ting With Timeless Light bathe this reality Shine now! Now is not soon enough for me!

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Isha

The slate gray sky was red above the western edge of town Wrapping the day before it heads to bed with soft nightgown. A single sweet glowing gift for those who cared to look Before Aurora’s lamp was lift above the day forsook. Ring ring the bells of evening. Ring slowly deep. Ring steady-sure, Ring ring the sevens proudly pealing. Ring completion of the day’s deeds pure. May the eighth ring be shalom above our silent town,

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Five Reflections

We pause before our meal in this quiet, gentle space, And sense the infinite universe in our simple grace. The earth, the sky, the sun, the rain, the labor, love, and care, All gathered in this food we hold and with each other share.. May we receive in gratitude, attentive, calm, aware, With mindful hearts that honor all the work that brought it here. May we be worthy of this gift, in thought and word and deed, And cherish every humble bite that satisfies our need. May we look deep within ourselves before we start to eat, Transforming seeds of greed and hate to thoughts both kind and sweet. With moderation as our guide, not driven to excess, We know that true contentment lives in mindful thankfulness. May compassion shape the choices we make from day to day, May our strength bring life and care, not suffering or dismay. So we can serve all living beings with steady hearts and true, With strength, with peace, with clarity in everything we do. Sādhu

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Ballad of Bernie and Blue

Bernie wakes up like he’s late for something important. Blueboy’s already plotting mischief, Head tilted, eyes bright, Like he invented the pure joy of destroying a toy. They chatter like two radios picking up wild static A debate about seeds? A scandal involving millet? It sounds urgent. Suddenly yellow and blue streak the living room, Bank right into the kitchen, loop the impossible space Tiny feathered acrobats Bernie leads (or thinks he does), Blueboy agrees (or pretends he does), they write their names in the air never the same twice. They land like nothing happened. Innocent. Composed. Little statues of calm atop their open cage Planning their next adventure. The house is their sky, And the day is their playground, And best friends, as it turns out, Are two parakeets flying together.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Time's clock wears two faces:

one slow as sap, one bored in microseconds. In the hush of the forest, time is a river that forgets its own speed. A tree does not count seconds it counts seasons, the quiet thickening of rings, the patient stretch of roots through dank soil. Spring is a whisper, summer a long deep breath, autumn a letting go, winter a dream without haste. Trees know incremental growth. They do not rush toward tomorrow They become tomorrow, one ring at a time. Our time is a metronome set to alarm clocks and deadlines. demanding now, now, now. We measure life in minutes saved. Squeeze time into multitasking, in the race to fill every gap with noise, with motion, with the illusion of progress. Our time is never simply lived. We run fast to stand still, chasing a future that arrives already obsolete. Trees stand in time’s deep current, rooted in the present, unhurried by the future, unburdened by the past. We dart in time’s shallow rapids, forgetting that time's river, was never meant to be held only witnessed. The wisdom of trees is this: let time pass through you like light through leaves, as a season to inhabit.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

It's Not Always Black and White

Skunks don’t scrap, don’t snap, don’t sting they just let their stinky stigma swing. Walk with their warning worn like skin, inked in instinct: don’t come closer in.

Black-white back like a battle flag, fact proclaims in a whispered brag no need to chase, no need to prove, they let belief make every move.

The woods don’t wonder, they know that smell, don’t test that tale, you know it well. Reputation travels fast, a caution built from experience past.

We do the same to stake our claim in a tale, casting shade, in a given name. Let it precede. Let it protect, or bleed us dry through self-neglect.

Some stay scentless, soft, unseen, too clean-cut, too easily gleaned hands come quick, take what they can, think self-doubt means a free handout.

That’s the trick in the script we spin: what keeps harm out keeps pain in. What reads as real gets shaped, gets spent, bent by the weight of assumption lent.

Protection, projection, same infection, different direction of social reflection. A myth can shield, or a myth can stain, can build your name or brand your pain.

What do you spray? Sweet air or threat? A trace, a taste they won’t forget? Because power ain’t always loud or shown sometimes it’s perfume proudly your own.

Skunk knows this; don’t waste the strike, let them think they know what you’re like. Because truth don’t travel half as far as the smell of lies about who you are.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

They Say Iron Can't Breathe

Listen... 4014 Big Boy! Heartbeat on steel. You feel it before you see it Low rumble rising. Tracks start talking. Ground starts shaking. Time itself quaking. Then! Oh My! Steam in the sky, Black thunder whistles by. Not quiet. Not soft. Alive! Crowds lined the miles. Phones high. Big smiles. Old hands salute. Kids want a better view.. History does not stand still. He calls longloud loudlong touches hearts.coast to coast threading us together mile post by mile.post And when it’s gone Our questions answered Iron doesn’t breathe Unless it’s remembered.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

A-Z

Argue argue loving couple; In a pointless power struggle. End stressful disagreements By using honest "I" statements.

Believe believe: Love exists Not an abstract synthesis. We are not Love's springing source We were made by Love, of course.

Collide Collide neutron fast Reveal secrets small and vast; Don't split Uranium's core Else we're blown to Hades door.

Drizzle drizzle winter sky My fleece hoodie keeps me dry. Bumbershoot's inside my door Banned in Seattle evermore.

Erase erase rubber nub Blast mistakes with just a rub This poem gave me a fright 'Til you helped me get it right.

Fiddle fiddle horse-hair bow Magic music fast and slow Sometimes makes us step and dance, Weep for loss, or make romance.

Giggle giggle teen-aged child You're both innocent and wild. Yes, to your own self be true (Safely so nothing can hurt you).

Haggle haggle yard sale gal How about free, take it all? If it's not worth fifty cents 'Tis worthless for all intents.

Inject inject vaccine shot Give me all the juice you got I don't like how sickness ends I love wife, family, friends.

Juggle juggle money flow Match income with bills you owe This tiny check will not go far Pay the rent or pack your car.

Kindle kindle spark of love Fill my heart from up above Honor others, patient, kind Grant to me a hopeful mind.

Listen listen lend an ear I have news that's good to hear God's not out there keeping score. Love walks beside us evermore.

Mingle mingle socialize Your glow's balm for lonely eyes. Your sweet spirit's heart can hold Many friends both new and old.

Nibble nibble salty snack. Corn syrup, fried, bad trans-fat Air-puffed, robot baker Addictive profit-maker.

Open open big box store Sales-freaks lined up at your door Discounts sing a Siren song Start the stampede, ring the gong!

Paddle paddle kayak light Glide across the water bright Sun is warm, blue sky above Life is sweet and full of love.

Question question who what where? Why's the hard one, to be fair. Curiosity kills cats, Maybe Schrodinger? perhaps.

Ramble ramble all around; Are you lost or are you found? Is this a road trip vacation? Journey's the destination?

Slither slither silent snake Not even a rustle make. Hunt in trees or on the ground Stealthily, don't make a sound.

Thunder thunder boom so loud Ho! yonder blackening cloud. Your lightning bolts make us fear Cold rain, howling wind draw near.

Undo undo command-Z Highlight; press the delete key. Grant to me a second chance. Unlike in a failed romance.

Vanish vanish disappear. Were you ever really here? I saw you, or so I thought. Now I look and you are not.

Wiggle wiggle wet earthworm. In the bird’s beak twist and squirm. That’s quite a dance, left and right. You’ll feed baby birds despite.

X-ray x-ray teeth and bones Absorb energy's photons Which penetrate flesh just fine. Thus the Doc can see my spine.

Zigzag zigzag back and forth You adorn a goddess' porch. Pinking shears make your cut. As does Charlie Brown's only shirt.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Amen

Where does Ohm come from? When did Amen start?
Who first heard the Ameen chant? The Sadhu, or Native Ho? Where does Sadhu go, if Nirvana is nothingness? Can I get an Amen? ...vibrating into the Eternal Ohmm?

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

And Finally

She recited her poems to me through tears that wet her pillow, great soaring tragic poignant crying, that I did not hear in my world; here, she didn’t care for poetry or me. Eyes dry, poets forget, but choices made remain great soaring tragic poignant regretted choices here in my world where years revealed the real excuses in my tears and poetry.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Benediction

Peace of the flowing river to you. Peace of plenty to you. Peace of kindness to you. Peace of caring neighbors to you. Lead us from falsehood to truth, Lead us from despair to hope. Lead us from fear to trust, Lead us from hate to love, May love fill our hearts, our town, our world. beginning with our spoken words. May peaceful poems be heard, replacing darkness with light. beginning with us tonight.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Lullaby

The slate gray sky blazed red above the northwest edge of town Wrapping the day before it heads to bed with a oft nightgown A single sweet bright glowing gift for those who care to look Before Aurora’s lamp is lift above the day forsook. Ring the bell of evening ring slowly deep and steady sure Ring the sevens proud pealing the hours of the day’s deeds pure May the eighth ring decay in peace above our town An Amen as we pray safe passage through the night profound.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Poetry Society

1. Quiet restaurant Often too loud to converse. But it is closed now.

2. Poets huddle close Float the dark in a light-boat Eating others' words.

3. Full of happiness, Full of shared concerns Feeling poetic.

4. Buoyed by the beauty, Beauty shared with thoughtful words In our glowing craft.

5. Yet not satisfied Wanting more; to write, to read. Sail on, inspired.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

They're Magic

Sisters... do their best, Brothers... also do their best. Everyone's trying.

Roots grow branches down Limbs branch up before the sky Love branches through us.

She keeps odd treasures In her bowl of soft moonstone. She says “They're Magic.”

Pure coincidence? Is there something we missed here? A kind Director?

Can we start over? How can we say we’re sorry; We didn't mean it.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

National Candle Day

Retailers say its National Candle Day. I love candles, what a great invention. A lit beeswax candle is atmospheric perfection. My office feels warmer when the day is grey.

I see scented candles on display. My mother loved them this time of year. Yankee candles, colored jars, remind me of her. Evergreen or potpourri or zesty holiday.

If I want that now, I'll use a cut a pine bough Or simmer potpourri; cloves, cinnamon, and an orange slice. That makes the house smell seasonal and nice. Whatever you prefer; enjoy a candle anyhow.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Poetry

He opened his mouth to speak not one voice, Or two, but thousands streamed forth At once from his single tongue. Passersby stopped at the marvel And invited friends to witness A great cloud of hearers heard clearly just one Voice; The one needed to Comfort their pain, Encourage them to try again, Heal the cause of their effect. Shakespeare ne'er such sonnets spoke Nor the great Ovid rhyme such scheme. Aztec chieftains did often dream Of extracting beating hearts with words like his. Yet not one who heard was wondering What was it that he was hearing.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Seeing Good

When shadows stretch and hide the path I tread, And clouds of doubt obscure the brightest skies, I lift my gaze. My hopeful heart is led To find dawn shining in seeking eyes.

For every thorn that guards a budding rose, There blooms a truth that evil can’t confine; Each trial sows a seed that courage knows, And harvests joy from struggle’s ugly vine.

For every loss doeth teach the soul to grow, And sorrow plants compassion in its stead; What shines within is brighter than we know Happiness springs from every tear we shed.

For blessings sprout from deep in you and me When we share kindness spiced with charity.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Sandblast

Along the flood’s edge We jumped over big puddles Gathering soft sand.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Healing

It is folly to name the stars, recording size, color, coordinates as watchers do bird sightings in Spring. See yourself from the birds’ point of view. Map your location relative to the Big Bang. May a flock of unnamed spiraling spirits spin around your inner core, remove the blinders from your eyes, turn it all into sweet medicine, then release you to soar.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Skeleton Woman

In silence, let the ticking clocks dissolve, No mirrors recast yesterday’s ague; Close shutters tight, invite dawn's filtered hue, Embrace new worlds where whispered dreams evolve. With every breath, a seed of hope resolves To break the ground where shadows overgrew. Beneath the weight of promises — pastdue — A tender heart dances and revolves In fragrant winds. The promise of the day, Each moment, a chance to start afresh. With patient hands, she shapes new clay, Pasting 'round her bones protective flesh. From this cocoon hatch butterflies — from strife — As Skeleton Woman births her truest life

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Slug Riders

Take heart my good people, The Slug Riders are coming Slowly, astride their slithering steeds Red pointy hats, white beards in a row, They are coming, glazed and fine. Trouble comes quickly, unexpected woe. But balm will come quietly, colorfully, slowly Inexorable, by threes or by sevens. Unstoppable Slug Riders, Gnomes for a Cause, they come, Day or night, rain or shine, They come. Good, Bad, and Ugly they come. Take heart people, The Slug Riders are coming!

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

Love Boldly

We know Love not because we climbed the mountain to find it, not because we earned a place at Love’s table, but because Love came for us.

Those who make a home in Love make a home in God Love makes a home in them as God makes a home in their heart.

Let fear step down from where it has been naming strangers, drawing borders, counting risks and warning us to pass by on the other side.

Perfect love walks over to the ditch. Perfect love kneels beside the wounded. Perfect love sees the person others dismiss. Perfect love bears the cost.

A lawyer asked “Who is my neighbor?” But Jesus describes our road, and a disposable person beaten and sore. Oh, they saw him. They knew that downhill road was dangerous. But they had pretty prayers to pray, and assigned duties to perform.

So they passed by they laissez-faired by on the right they sashayed blithely by on the left they scurried quickly by down the center.

Then came the outsider, the unexpected face, the one without a place in their story of grace.

He stopped when stopping was inconvenient. He crossed when crossing was unexpected. He poured out oil and wine. He stepped over the cultural line.

He lifted a broken body in his own arms, onto his own animal, opened his own purse, and promised from his own lips.

Love boldly! Love doesn’t stay clean. Love doesn’t keep safe distance. Love doesn’t say, “Oh, I hope someone else will help.”

Love says, “Here I am!” Love says, “Your pain has interrupted my plan I do not call that a burden. I call that an honor.”

Beloveds, we can not claim to love the God whom we can’t see while withholding love from the siblings we can see.

When the world asks us, “Who is your neighbor?” May this be our answer: “Everyone God loves.”

Jesus wrote the last line of this poem Speaking words loving and bold. Go, he said simply, Go and do likewise.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

All Day

The landowner called the early ones before the sun had found its heat. “Come,” he said, "Come" And they went with eager feet.

At nine and noon, more worked the grapes. At three, more shared the task. At five as daylight slowly fades he still saw people standing slack, unhired, unseen, wondering if usefulness was really what they lack.

“Why are you standing here?” he loudly asked. “No one hired us, Sir,” they softly gasped.

Grace invites, invites again. Not, “Prove that you deserve it.” Not, “Explain where you have been.” Just “Come on. Let's get to it.”

The last indeed were paid first. They walked happily home with bread for their children and dignity as their own.

The morning workers looked around down at their promised pay and suddenly it felt too small because they'd worked all day.

Envy makes full hands seem light when another's hand is blessed. It stands beside abundance complaining, “No fair! Where's the rest?”

The cross is not a scoreboard. Grace was never wages not limited to the strongest, earliest, nor the wisest sages.

Let’s not measure mercy with sad and tight-clenched fists. There is grace more than enough. God’s generous love persists.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents

The Road

Insects sing a melody accompanied: by the sun! The birds come in in harmony. Wind noise joins the fun. Nature plays a symphony, sweeter than we know, This road’s a little shorter every time I go.

Darkness sometimes hides the road Each bend's a mystery deep The only sound a lonesome toad and the plodding of my feet Which pauses when I shift my load you know - This roads a little longer every time I go.

This morning ruts are lined with frost And mud weighs down my shoes. I've time to wonder what is lost ‘tween laughter and the blues And time to mourn the useless cost For all too well I know - This road’s a little older every time I go.

© Michael E. Middleton 2026  ↑ Back to contents