Monday, January 9, 2023


 Thought I would share a few poems I wrote.  Enjoy!

THOUGHTS by Rose Lefebvre


I gaze reflectively as moth thoughts

flutter against the light in my mind.

A billion stars dust the sky while

lunar silhouettes dance beneath the trees.


Silent shadows move about, specters in the dark.

Mist shifts across the moonlit field like spirits

drifting through to a mysterious destination.

A reed-thin echo of bird song drifts through the air.


The warm evening breeze licks my cheeks

as you swim through my thoughts.


Your name flutters from my lips.

Bucolic Beauty


Dappled light dances upon water

and ribbons spill through the trees.

Lilacs lend sweetness to the air,

as horsetail clouds wander overhead

adding a whimsical mystery.

Mist moves across the field

like spirits floating.


The lake is brushed by the breeze as

a swan, neck echoing graceful curves

of a willow bough draping from sky to water,

is wayward nonchalance.


Her mother-of-pearl breast a courtliness

of buoyancy, is slow-motion dignity

as she takes a slow ethereal ride,

her balance poised elegance,

an illusion of peace and perfection.


Stones huddle at the edge of the water

as the reed-thin echo of bird song

plays in the air.

Treasured butterfly moments.

I swim out of myself.

I WAIT by Rose Lefebvre©


Stars glitter like grunion running across the sky

while the pearl moon blooms between two grey-blue clouds.

Moonlight strums the undulating ripples across the lake,

its fluid energy an intoxicating sensuality.


Bullfrogs belch out a rumbling song as crickets add

their own rock and roll rhythm. On the edge of night,

I envision my youth hovering like a ghost.  A tapestry

of thoughts emerge, roam like smoke curling out of a fire.


I sense emptiness behind the stars

as I gaze down upon the distant moon-washed town.

Trees stretch their arms to the moon as I muse -

Are there stars beyond stars, other worlds never glimpsed?


My curves remember your tender hands that caress them,

honeyed words that drip from your tongue to my hungry ears.

Here in the throbbing night bathed in seductive light,

I wait, wait for you to call me in, into the cabin,

into your arms, into your heart.

Sunday, December 11, 2022


 Sharing two poems I wrote about memories of my childhood. Enjoy!!


Missouri Memories

We had no knowledge of exotic escapes enjoyed

by other families during the unencumbered summers

when freedom from school was our foremost delight.


Our travels each sweltering summer to the homes

of relatives in muggy Missouri seemed so foreign

to us, a step into another world dissimilar from our own,


A world where toilets were diminutive wooden structures

positioned a sufficient distance from the farmhouse

so that its undesirable aroma would not permeate.


Grubby stables and barns infected with intermingled odors

of farm animals, hay, oats and fetid excrement assailed

our noses as we embarked on our quest for adventure.


We swaggered barefoot in mucky pigsties unaware

of the manure/mud blend encrusted on our feet and legs,

as we mocked squealing piglets and their corpulent sows.


We explored secret, dark places where adults would not go,

journeyed dusty paths in anticipation of discovery

somewhere around the next turn along the rutted route.


 The trails led us through towering cornstalk giants whispering

secrets among themselves, beside a meandering stream

littered with crooning frogs and zipping dragonflies,


to fields where lethargic cows, unconcerned at our invasion

into their serene setting, nibbled grass, flicked ears and tails,

and shuddered muscles to displace bothersome flies.


In the velvet evenings we marveled at pinpoint stars,

laughed at playful patterns created by phosphorus flares of fireflies

sporadically signaled as we attempted to snare them.


We existed in the moment, not comprehending then that we

were constructing memories, moments to be evoked intermittently

like the flashing of fireflies on sweltering summer evenings.


Travelling from Southern California to Missouri and back      

in a station wagon with four rambunctious young children,

two boys and two girls, my parents were creative

in finding ways to occupy our time and avoid battles.


“Watch for jackalopes,” my father commanded as he drove.

We’d seen a stuffed jackalope in a tumbledown gas station-

 a large gray-brown jack rabbit adorned with antelope

antlers-and were bewildered by this unique animal.


We were ordered to count how many we spied frolicking

out in that dry wilderness among the tumbleweeds

and scrub brush.  Four vigilant children, eyes scrutinizing

the landscape for movement of these quick creatures.


So plentiful were these remarkable animals!

We detected hundreds as we travelled along,

engaged with this assignment, excitedly pointing

them out to each other, sharing in our success.


But each ensuing summer the jackalopes diminished

in number, their sightings less frequent.  I was the first

to discover that my interest and their appearances

simultaneously waned until I lost the vision altogether.


Gliding out of childhood, we slowly drifted away

from the magic and wonder youth held.

The jackalopes became extinct, a remembrance

of those travels, those shared experiences when we


took pleasure in observing the cavorting

of fantasy creatures, an experience

which bonded four siblings travelling

from Southern California to Missouri and back. 


Friday, December 9, 2022


 I just have to share this one funny memory that I wrote this poem about.


As I entered the house my husband announced

that he had seen a pink bird hopping around

in the soaring fir out back.

“What kind of bird is pink?” he questions.

“A flamingo,” I jest, “but I don’t think

you’d find those around here in our trees.”

It is too dark outside to verify his sighting.


The next morning, he anxiously points

saying “There it is! See it?”

High in the tree I view a flash of pink

bobbing around in the leaves.

Should I call Audubon?

I head out to the miniature forest

hoping for a better look, but I cannot see clearly,

my eyes only good for things up close.

Binoculars!  Once armed with them

I train the sight on the pink movement

dancing in the branches, focus upon my target,

and begin to laugh hysterically,

drawing quizzical looks.


Regaining composure, I hand off the binoculars

so that he may see his pink bird.

There, anchored in the tree by a green ribbon,

bobbing around with the wind’s breath,

is a slightly deflated pink mylar balloon.

Sunday, November 20, 2022


 I was so happy that the gardens was not crowded.  Next time we will have to go in spring as it would be less windy and warmer.

Here are more photos of this lovely, serene and captivating place.

You may notice that some shots are similar as I do try taking photos of a scene from various angles.  At different times, even just a few minutes apart, the light can also change and alter the scene!

There was an art exhibit in one area and here are shots of that.

I hope you enjoyed the little journey and maybe feel inspired to get out into nature!

Thursday, November 17, 2022


 Randy took me today to visit the Japanese gardens to see the fall colors.  The wind came up so it was also a bit chilly. My poor fingers got cold! I enjoyed the day so much and took way too many photographs! Nothing new for me!  Here are a few to share with you the beauty we enjoyed. I shall share them in 2 different posts.

They have art interspersed throughout the gardens, and this piece was at the entrance.

This is enough photos for part one!

I hope you enjoy taking this venture through the gardens with me.