A short poem rings out was a poetry newsletter run during 2020. It was sent out every Monday and Friday at 9:00am. The poems were mostly haiku's although occasionally they strayed into other forms. All published poems can be found below, listed in published order.

The city knows rain
I know a small breeze over head
looking up outside

Pass into daylight
slate column, now reflecting
is warm; just know that

Days without focus:
fixing the brakes of a car
with only three wheels

Hair caught in the drain
contemplating dignity
standing in bathwater

Left-on a burner,
The pan is put into snow
hisssss; it melts right through

Spending my money
on this pen better deliver
better poetry

A cruel laughter
Gets swept up in the seasons
to come back later

The trajectory
of this, many falling leaves -
I can't comprehend

A thin mountain air
slows to a stop at a lake:
sips glacier water

A once clear footpath
is now covered in a fog
no foot nor path, here

Memory floods back
unearthing my foundation
and washes my thoughts

The house and whistle
do not come bound together;
they become friends.

The dust of the day
settles with no complaint
and I can now rest

A heavy footstep
in an unopen forest glade
muffles and thumps

I am not counting
syllables on my fingers
anymore; it is nice

Who so knowable
beyond our casual greeting
a heart, a handshake

Dart of the finite
meets the infinite target
hanging all around

Coin of energy
how will I spend you today?
I cannot bank you

Swear by the candle
or the broken hourglass
not sure which hurts more

Carefully loud bird
ready to be heard in spring
I am glad you're here

Tie down the awning!
Here come the bellows of spring
lifting at the roof

Muffled bird chirping
by two panes of window glass
heralding what next?

The sloshing mind reels:
one big, uneven tree standing
tall, in the backyard

Hundreds of houses
connected to each other
all very quiet

Sitting on a log
sharing lunches, sharing time
looking at the trees

Big book on the sill
waiting to be read out loud
to myself; out loud.

The dim lap
of a single wave against
a beached, smooth log.

So many poems escaped
from the barn at 2 a.m.
Now I round them up.

No studied masters
not many years in school
still, the pen does move.

A thought about hope
quietly folded and stored
for a later date.

Circulating dust
above a glowing marshland
a "pop" from the bog

Sometimes I am stone
but the kind that can move
when no one is watching.

I hear a piano
like the light of a lantern
in a quiet field.

Returning to writing
may be to come to nature
words trickling out.

From a tiny seedling
at least I can imagine
the yellow sunflower

Hundreds of pictures
before my eyes, every day
no wonder I'm tired.

Tried doing nothing
the experts say "be bored again"
twiddling their thumbs

Subtlety might be
for the smart, quiet, and those
who can laugh alone.

Alone with my thoughts
I haven't seen a billboard
in thirty minutes

Delightful idea
The seed meets rainwater, and thinks:
I might just stand up.

A curl of rope burn
temporarily marks me:
person who holds on

Dipping wing to wind
a swallow veers out of sight
just beyond the rocks

Don't need so many words
to only say so little:
what was said already

I hear teeth grinding
at the salt of the ages
sunrise horizon

Heaving shopping carts
from polluted city creeks
I grow strong and fierce.

Puddles everywhere
I jump in with hope for
another world

Things need doing
Things need wanting to be done
done until undone

Letter from nature:
not written, not shown either:
just heard, bird at night