Category Archives: Rictameter

A rictameter is a nine-line poem. Its pattern of syllables goes 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2. The first line and the nineth line must be the same.

Heat Advisory

One more day of intense heat and humidity. Temperatures this hot are not typical for this part of the country. But here people take it in stride. They get work done early then brace for yet one more.

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The Age of Winter

Winter just does not want to leave us, its cold chill lingering past spring’s equinox. The seasons of our lives are not rhythmic. We won’t know when our seasons change until spring does not come and it remains winter.

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A Thief in the Night

Secrets hide among us like thieves in the night who pedal their wares in dark corners. There is a time and a place for secrets. Where the is intent to deceive or to hide the truth, we have too many … Continue reading

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Spring Revival

New growth happens each spring. A rose pruned in the fall revives when the sun’s warmth returns. It is time for me to shed winter’s gloom and to embrace with open arms opportunities to experience new growth.

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Snow Day

God knows when we need rest. An unexpected gift. The smell of cold is in the air. God lays down a blanket of fresh white snow. For a brief respite, all is still. We have to take it slow. Just … Continue reading

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Serendipity

Nature is amazing. An early spring snow storm A hidden field of daffodils Breathtaking views just around the corner A kaleidoscope of colors A resplendent sunrise God revealed in nature.

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The Eyes Have It

Our eyes speak more than words when we are reluctant to be completely honest to say what is in our hearts and on our mind. Thoughts we are unable to voice without warning betrayed like secrets by our eyes.

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My Favorite Cup

Shattered. Here one minute yet with one careless brush of a hand in needless hurry crashed to the floor without forgiveness, in fragments now, beyond repair. But its sweet memory in time was not shattered.

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Nothing but Grey Skies

Dreary. Another day of grey clouds and no sun. Constant drizzle falls from the skies. February is not my favorite. A stray warm day imitates spring. Why not have one last snow to make things less dreary.

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The Monster Under My Bed

Worry. My worst nightmare. It creeps into my head planting seeds of doubt and despair; gut-wrenching, heart-pounding, and disabling. Such a destructive state of mind. My fervent prayer is to let go of worry.

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