Baby Sunflowers

baby sunflowers

Sunflower Seeds Meet The Full Moon

They sprout from safe darkness
dirty heads wearing remnants
of the seeds that birthed them

for now they are but inconsequential stalks
living on my window sill

While the pompously bright but barren moon
ogles them (I imagine enviously)
– these springy suns to be.

© photo and poem by caf


So She Planted Sunflowers




It’s 25 degrees outside
cold as January is, biting winds
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Helianthus with the brown faces
and bright yellow rays
will soon atone for absent sun.

Lonely fields empty, frozen
garden life suspended
so today she planted Sunflower seeds.

Mostly a defiant act
their growth to be offered as proof
that winter and death do not control her heart.

© poem and photo by caf

Honeysuckle in the Evening


Honeysuckle in the Evening

The sweet scent of
wild honeysuckle
and a gaggle of newborn geese
plodding back to their home in the pond.

Deep throated croaks.
My relations,
some flying,
others singing in my ears,
some blessing my nose
with sweet smells,
or tormenting my skin,
a dense thicket of mosquitoes.

A barking goose,
a carpet of red pine needles.
Forget me nots
not seen,
still there,
things pulled too soon
or not soon enough.
I ask what makes the oak leaves red in the fall?

I see you standing on a hill
waving, smiling,
I call to you, “Put out the lights so I can see the stars”.

The sun out shown a little star until the clouds
eclipsed the sun,
and when the earth eclipsed the moon, the sun again
ascended until new moon darkness
when the little star again shown brightly.

I felt the sun stroking the earth
as he set behind the mountains
and the moon rose over the trees,
her touch the cooler and softer.

lover of day (sun)
mistress of night (moon)
exploring (finding) you on the hill.

© Poem and photo by caf


The Day Fear Slept


One day Fear relaxed for a moment
let go
fell asleep
and dreamed of
and hope.

When Fear awoke
she was changed forever
into a multi colored river
uniting all the earth
and her new name was Love.

by caf

©photo and poem by Carole Fults


Angel of the Labyrinth

Labyrinth Angel 1

I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”


©Carole Fults photo and poem


You Are Sky And You Are Beautiful

not my clouds with caption

And the sun said……

“You are sky and you are beautiful
You are trees, birds, soil
Your name is Water and Stone
Grasses speak in whispers when they hear your voice
Wind howls with anticipation of your approach
You are the maiden of darkness
wearing the wise moon on your head
and wrapped in magical starlight.
You are sky and you are beautiful.”


©Carole Fults photo and poem




A Perfect Storm

Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.

As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.

In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.

©Carole Fults photo and poem