Saturday, July 11, 2020

Deliver Us

He entered the world
with the universal cry
for food, for love.
Still a young man
his last breath
was brutally
pressed out of him
nine minutes of torture.
His last cry
was a whisper
heard by the world

Bridget Harwell

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Corona Spring

My daffodils
have made a poor choice.
By ignoring the bird bath
low to their heads
they have invited death.
Inch by stubborn inch
the stems push upward
smashing golden heads.

Bridget Harwell

Saturday, March 7, 2020


On a cold, gray day
I look for life in my winter garden.
Two sparrows converse
a frantic squirrel digs in flower graves
and a twig, quite resembling myself
taps, taps at the window pane.
I feel one with these threads
woven together in life's tapestry.
I yearn for naught
not pulled by past nor pushed by future.
But colors fade.
Stitches tatter.
And, bit by bit
as the story shifts
I disappear

Bridget Harwell