Poetry Divine Posts

I strive to be grateful for all 

that has survived, content to listen

to the sound of heaven releasing

as the first fall rain turns drought-drained 

dying grasses slightly red;

quickly now, another change

occurs, and a long held beige

begins to green.


(C) Gudrun Mouw


These Santa Barbara County mountains,
east facing, their backs to the ocean, stand
like monster waves about to fall onto the land.
Beach parks fill with weekenders
even though pandemic cases have doubled.
How long has it been since we were able 
to take breaths of gratitude and now
another mass shooting of innocents?

Copyright Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

A calm, overcast morning casts
a welcome change. Alas, no needed rain
only a hint of moisture, yet I linger
over a second warm cup.

This is the world of my life:
quiet, grateful and old. May all be
greater than less. May all be kinder
than unkind.

A Poem

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Wind has seeded spring with Lupine, Poppies,
and Purple Sage. The sun is warm, but cold breezes
bring anxious news of the world’s worst,
current and violent dictator. April flies in every direction.
Be ready….May impatience flip to mercy.

-Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

March, 2022

Courage! A big north wind has
invaded our land. Chill attacks
my bones. The world crashes
into conflict. Humans die;
many more injured
for life.

(c) Gudrun Mouw

A Poem

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January 6, 2022

Walking towards winter sun, facing
the old growth, oak forest,
I meditate; a memory arises
of that man in a shirt with the name
of a place the Gestapo had decided
to send my grandfather so long ago.
Shocked that this fresh new year should display
such a shirt once more, along with violence and hate.
My shoes are soaked with tears
glistening in the grass.
(c) Gudrun Mouw