One Fragrance

around us, so much dying

still, it’s inevitable, falling in love

with one yellow rose

and exhausted from pushing and not getting anywhere?

Today, a fabulous poetry site, “A Year of Being Here,” published a poem of mine about just this experience.

I love this site, love reading the poems daily and going back through the archives. You can find it here: A Year of Being Here: Trommer

Two Foolishnesses

two hands holding

a vase, even the loveliest vase,

can’t open a door


trying to contain

the sea in a cup—

it’s not been done before, but …

I thread song through night—

silence follows each note,

unstitches every one

How it Might Happen

The baby black swift is born behind a waterfall.
It never leaves its nest until one autumn day
it leaves the damp familiar and starts to fly.

Though it has never flown before, it will not land
until it reaches Brazil, thousands of miles away.

There is, perhaps, a wing inside forgiveness.
Just because it has never flown before,
just because it’s never seen beyond the watery veil
does not mean that it won’t instantly learn
what it can do.

Like the baby black swift, it has no idea
what it’s flying toward. It only knows
that it must fly and not stop until it is time to stop.

It sounds so miraculous, so nearly impossible.

It is not a matter of courage. It is simply
what rises up to be done, the urge to follow
some inaudible call that says now, now.

Doesn’t matter if you’ve written one or ten-thousand poems–I hope you can join me in a class devoted to the pure pleasure of writing, reading and sharing poetry.

The class, Just Playing With Words, will be held in Ridgway, CO, on October 18 from 10-4.

To register, go to the link above or call 970-318-0150 for more information.

Three Humblings

lost in the corn maze

for hours, always knowing

exactly where I am not


acutely aware

of a much larger dance—

blood moon


the young magician

made the coins disappear—

longing to hand him my guilt


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