Showing posts with label Ruth Harper. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ruth Harper. Show all posts

Sunday, October 25, 2026

Valentine’s Day Sky by Ruth Harper

Szabó Viktor

Valentine’s Day Sky

My grandson’s drone soars ninety feet into the air,

projects fuzzy images onto the Earth-bound iPad.

We are trying to capture this spectacular sunset.

My iPhone camera does a better job,

and soon the drone rests on the deck with us.

In these final moments of Valentine’s Day,

we stand in silence,

as the layer of darkening clouds to the west

separates into blobs of biscuit dough 

thrown against a flat baking sheet of prairie sky.

Gradually, lit from below,

the clouds take on only pale pinks,

shunning the oranges and yellows

that glow along the flat horizon.

We watch as colors deepen—

pink becomes mauve, becomes magenta—

before this dazzling dusk is overtaken by nightfall.

A waning crescent moon rises in the southeast,

its dim wattage no impediment

to our view of emerging stars and planets.

Directly overhead in the twilight,

Jupiter’s bright eye gazes as

my best valentine, age nine, takes my hand in the dark.

© Ruth Harper

Enjoy more posts by Ruth Harper HERE.

Ruth Harper

Ruth Harper is a retired counseling professor who began writing poetry during the pandemic lockdown. She has published two chapbooks: (Uncertain Seasons, Finishing Line Press, 2023, and Dreaming the Sturgeon Moon, South Dakota State Poetry Society, 2025).

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Wednesday, September 23, 2026

Last Morning in the Old House by Ruth Harper

Olavi Anttila

Last Morning in the Old House

The first tentative chirps of the day

summon me to the dark porch 

with my coffee. Daylight appears, 

making softly lit candles of the treetops.

The leafless birch is adorned,

a mobile collage of perfect cedar waxwings,

their crests backlit in the brightening dawn.

A slowly expanding spotlight, the sun 

advances through the branches,

revealing tiny black masks across their eyes,

the pale yellow and silky gray of their graceful bodies.

They flit from limb to limb, 

a game of trading places,

flashing their bright red wax spots.

The birds’ soft whistles rise, 

a collective sigh;

the small blessings they bestow sweeten what is left in my cup.

© Ruth Harper

Enjoy more posts by Ruth Harper HERE.

Ruth Harper

Ruth Harper is a retired counseling professor who began writing poetry during the pandemic lockdown. She has published two chapbooks: (Uncertain Seasons, Finishing Line Press, 2023, and Dreaming the Sturgeon Moon, South Dakota State Poetry Society, 2025).

Follow Feed the Holy

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