I know the crow
has to eat
but I also have to
bang my broom
against the gutters
waking the brave juncos
sitting guard over
fragile eggs

we can hear so much better
than we can see
we can hear around corners
or behind us
I can hear your heart beating
with my eyes closed

we can hear faint whispers
and loud cries
over the sounds of the city,
I hear tiny birds in the trees

~ Robin J. Phillips, May 2025

Sorry
Mom said that a lot during her final weeks
Sorry you have to help me
Sorry I’m such a bother
Sorry I made a mess

Being from the ‘I’m-so-much-more -evolved-emotionally’ next generation
I suggested
Maybe you could just say
‘Thank you’
That might feel more positive, Mom
Thank you for taking care of me
Thank you for helping me
Thank you for cleaning up this mess
Thank you for loving me

Although she didn’t say it out loud,
I’m sure she was thinking to herself
‘You don’t have to be
such a smart aleck’

Because she was sorry
Sorry to need a hand
Sorry to lose her independence
Sorry to be aware enough to know
she was confused
And a little bit sorry to have me
see her like this

To you, my Mom
I say ‘Thank you’
Thank you for the memories
Thank you for letting me help
Thank you for riding out
your final days with us

Thank you for raising a smart aleck
Thank you for loving me

~ Robin J Phillips May 18, 2020

 Copyright © 2025 by Robin J. Phillips

short poems and haiku inspired by prompts, which are in italics

~
~

‪RobinJP‬ ‪@robinjp.bsky.social‬

workhorse of flowers
weighed down by expectations
who gives a rose a rose

.

the family graveyard
under an apple orchard
ripe with history
.

such subtle movement
your head turns as I walk by
after all these years

.

jealous of shorebirds
salty air water’s rhythm
dream of foreign shores

.

how old can this shell be
fits in the cup of my hand
rest.. I’ll carry you now

.

at birth I received
a box of magic spices
instructions: sprinkle liberally forever

.

mist hangs like sweat or
debt on fresh water ponds
the heron stands tall

.

PERFECT FALL DAY
warm sun shade so cool
leaves turning red and crisp
the air smells like love

.

this is just to say
I have eaten the cold plums
I’m telling the world

h/t William Carlos Williams

.

glow of tractor light
creates an eerie image
farmer harvests her fields

.

look close at pigs, deer
both eat clover, walk on hooves
just one loves the mud

.

in the morning field
the dew lifts later each day
bunny checks his watch

.

silent V of geese
stirring humid summer air
fly low above my head

.

well-read she said
versatile as a carrot
the perfect dinner guest

.

bright white silence
as I slip out the backdoor
head into the field by the bay

.

alone in my car
winding along the road north
coming or going .. not sure

.

after three days of rain
the river now owns the fields
the land drowns in silence

.

passing verdant landscapes
specks of red on the green hills
rusted cars or Christmas lights

.

roses for the table
green peas to sweeten our stew
heart and soul climb the trellis

a wish
a hope
a fleeting dream
…. desire 💜

.

flutters between us
a tiny blue butterfly
as we hike down the path

.

a wave of malaise
as I turn off the news
time to wade out to the real world

.

we flirt with gardening
planting seeds for new beginnings 
the deer lick their lips

.

lost crows and Barbie dolls
scrabbling round the garbage heap
jewels in the refuse

.

glare from the TV
comes from the big screen outside
Solstice please I must sleep

PARTY’S OVER

napkins blow in the wind
fox cubs snack on chicken wings
abandoned water bottle stands tall

.

there’s a term in poker
we’re there … all of us on tilt
angry as a bee

.

thinking about war
walking through a peace garden 
cloying smell of roses

.

why are you so lucky
each month, my moon, you begin again
all eyes on your fresh start

.

time to make a pie
cherries, mango, some banana
then this day will have everything

.

STAND PROUD

claiming my own space
no need to weasel my way in
I run forward … fast

.

MAUKA MAKAI 
shifting in the stern
I glance back at mighty mountains
blowing me out to sea

.

3 A.M.
me, our dog, my love
three logs on a winter’s beach
snoring mimics the tide

.

this early foggy morn
mist has made us hot and cold
footprints fill with water

.

ATLANTA FLIGHT
sunset breaks days end
surprising comfort of night flights
nowhere else to be

.

SHELLS
tiny shells a memory
no weight at all in my palm 
still smell like the ocean

.

bright blue dragonflies
like tiny helicopter
come to guide me home

.

new moon brings fresh start 
clear the path to find yourself
walk in its darkness

.

pecan sits atop
bite of silky goodness
memories of Mom flood me

.

a flurry of thoughts
turns to a slurry of fear
my heart gasps for breath

.

you are who you are
the greatest you of all time
why you wanna change

.

I am the ocean
so full of whale water
sloshing toward high tide 

.

TOLLHOUSE MEMORIES
nutmeg hits the nose
pinch of salt sits on my tongue
blend of spice and magic

.

upstream .. swim upstream
even if you’re all alone
salmon heading home

.

turn the sound up 
on your morning sunrise 
Hallelujah choir

.

frog on a log says 
wait for me my family
without you I might croak 

.

like magic they appear
mushroom villages praising rain
tiny elves hiding in the woods

.

.

like sardines packed in the
streets across America
we showed them 
… we will not 
…….. be squashed

.

EASTER
Mom loved a holiday
chocolate and spring outfits
ham picnic under clear sky