untangling the web

poetry about and photography of everyday happenings and sights

Author Archives: BHW


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A Small Patch of Green

A small patch of green

in a reflection mostly

of dead leaves and clouds

reminds us that there

will come a time when

change is in the air and

new growth bursts forth.

While people are hungry

and aid has been squashed,

billionaires’ wealth increases.

While some no longer have jobs

a garish addition is added to

the People’s house without

their permission. When citizens’

health care is at stake, politicians

shut down the government.

To survive, we must hold on to

that small patch of green 

hope. We must hold on. 

(Photo taken by me on a walk around a nearby pond)


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Staying Sane

A heron standing at

the edge of the pond

motionless as a 

sculpture as we came 

out of the woods.

We stopped, watched,

crept closer and closer.

With a sharp cry it

lifted its wings and

flew across the water

not wanting its

peace invaded by

us, the trespassers.

When each day brings

a new insult, a new

meanness, even attempts

to change our history,

I must lose myself

in the beauty of this

world, shield myself

from all the ugly actions,

even if for one brief moment.


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A Trip to Goodwill

the sweet-voiced young 

man, cap on backwards, 

body covered in tattoos, 

came to the car, carried

in my donation. when I

told him I liked his tats, 

he smiled and revealed

they told a story, his

story. a superhero on his 

calf and a baby angel on his 

biceps. first letters of his 

brothers and sisters and 

nieces and nephews on 

his knuckles and more 

stories on his neck. 

the ankle monitor told 

another tale, but I didn’t

inquire. we all have stories 

that make us who we are. 

some we share and some 

we do not. before I left, 

he said “I appreciate you.” 

as I drove off, I sent an 

appeal to the universe that 

the remainder of his story 

be as sweet as his voice.


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A Tender Moment

For the first time ever,

he asked her to play

just for him. She began

with Chopin. Stretched

out on the sofa, he

listened to the music.

As her fingers danced

on the keys, fluid and 

efficient, gentle and 

powerful, tears began

to flow down his cheeks. 

That beautiful moment,

when a grandmother

evoked such vulnerability

in her 30+ grandson, that

moment suffused with 

exquisite tenderness and 

joy, must be held tightly, 

an antidote to a world 

where violence and meanness 

has become the norm.

(This is for my friend Carol, an accomplished pianist and wonderful woman, wife, counselor, friend, mother, grandmother, and great grandmother.)


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The Last Lily

In the morning, when

I open the door to see

what delights the day brings,

there you are, pale peach,

peeping up through pink 

and yellow coneflowers

swaying in the soft breeze.

You are the last lily of summer,

not as delicate as the 

graceful, lacy-edged one

or the one whose sunny

gold warmed my heart

or the one with fire-engine

red petals shouting for attention.

But now, there you are

bidding me farewell as your

leaves and stalk turn brown,

reminding me that beauty is

fleeting and that what lives

must always come to an end. 

I would like to have one last

cycle of blooming before 

my time is up, and then I will

make way for those who

will grow from my roots

and discover the beauty

that will sustain them

during their own lives.