Friday, September 2, 2016

Autumnus opus

Autumn doesn't always promise that Winter will come, but she works hard until every colored leaf has reached its destination.

—Terri Guillemets

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Window poems

The best rainy evening dilemma: chamomile or earl grey.

—Terri Guillemets

Dancing in August rain

It was a messy, whipping, every-which-direction, cold drops in warm air, big-splattered summer rain.

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, August 22, 2016

Morning solitude

To me, an open window is good company, like the burning candle of Lichtenberg.

—Terri Guillemets

"Man loves company even if it is only that of a small burning candle." ~Georg Christoph Lichtenberg (1742–1799)

Monday, August 8, 2016

The falling is mutual

Light understands the colors of Autumn, and she loves him for it.

—Terri Guillemets

In the autumn wood

green-veined leaves suddenly blushing copper
bronze-edged trees swaying in autumn breezes
gold foliage drifting past pewter branches baring all
brass-hued leaflets dying in beauty, falling in grace

—Terri Guillemets

{summer petals to autumnal metals}

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Counting Up

First three decades time's a hero
Then stops suddenly all the fun
Forty-two is a stranger new
But life is like a grand old tree
Strong yet flexible at the core
Roots ever deepening to stay alive
At this age there's no real fix
Just patches is all, 'til heaven
Although it still be not too late
So let the autumn soul shine
Breathe and let thy life go zen.

—Terri Guillemets

Summation: Aging is integral to life.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

You are your own gold star

Life doesn't hand out ribbons for best-lived. It's an internal decoration.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Weight of wings

If all a bird knows is flying
But one day on the edge of a rooftop
Realizes he's afraid of heights
Do his wings feel heavier
Does his brain swirl around
With the vertigo of fear—
And if all I've ever known
Is fear,
When I find inner peace
Will my soul grow wings?

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, June 4, 2016

A rough life is a real life

Life is rough. If it were smooth, we'd probably slide right through it without noticing. A bumpy ride teaches us gratitude and perspective.

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, May 16, 2016

Sweeping changes

I'll use my broom as a paintbrush and as I try to clean up my life, beautify it too.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, March 12, 2016

Well cried

Poetry cries melodic tears of verse.

—Terri Guillemets

Jovial vernal verse

Spring is the green
     is the peace
     is the breeze
     and the blossoms
     and the blues
     past the buds
     to the pinks
     on the brink
     and the warmth
     and the warbles
     and the weeds
     all the yellows
     and the bees
     and the buzzing
     living branches
     and the grasses
     and the gardens
     and the growing
     and the blowing
     of the pollens
     oh! the purples
     and the chirples
     of the birds
     and the beauty
     and the butterflies
     in the skies
     and the sun—
Springtime's fun!

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, March 11, 2016


Soldiers in the war of poetry
Bleed silky rose petals and glittering thorns
And leave behind beautiful inked destruction—
Embattled souls wounded, and healed.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Late morning sun & breeze

the cawing of a crow
black graceful wings
against a spring blue sky
a call of life in nature's quietude

—Terri Guillemets

An escape to silence no longer seems possible

I've finally accepted that it just can't be escaped: This country is full of people who want to make their noise and, worse, make you listen.

—Terri Guillemets

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Abandoned treasure

Beneath fear, a bit of poetry always escapes. Sometimes, a ready soul picks it up and transforms it into beautiful verses of courage.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, February 25, 2016

Love, life, poetry

Poetry mends a broken arrow then shoots us in the heart with it.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Springtime distractions

Spring-excitement has entered my body, my mind, the yard!
Love vibes everywhere, bees buzz in every color of blossom.
Winter stillness ceased, idle grass is greening, trees are leafing,
The hummingbirds and geckos are back, renewed life abounds.
Warmth magics the earth, little sweet-song'd birds chirp and fly
In a playground of budding branches with a deep blue sky elixir.
Desert's mild morning chill invigorates our souls, beckons vigor,
And begs sweater or bare-arm decisions—if coffee's on, go bare!
Freshly brewed, its steam through cool air hails springtime morn!
Earlier dawns light us awake with artful serenades of pink clouds;
Gorgeous late-afternoon sunshine is Octoberesque and calming
But with air golden'd by warming fervor, not Fall's cooling swelter.
Evening breezes perfume heavenly of passion & newborn blooms.
We've been waiting all winter for open windows—yay & yippee!

—Terri Guillemets

Carnation pink & atomic tangerine

I can tell it's probably not going to be much of a productive day when I spend ten minutes over morning coffee trying to match each color of the sunrise to its corresponding crayon.

—Terri Guillemets

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Saturday, January 16, 2016


My natural giddiness has been drearified by a society that has lost its way, but I will not get lost!... I will not let the rushed, sickened world knock me over.... I walk the wellest paths of life. It is difficult, but they are beautiful.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, January 7, 2016

In the empty spaces

Our best view of age is from a winter afternoon, between bare branches of the trees.

—Terri Guillemets

Coffee sipping, rain watching

It's a rare, good morning when the most difficult thing I have to do is sip my coffee and decide which I like better — a steady, lulling winter rain, or a big-drop, splattery-plopping summer's rain.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Ad infinitum

Unlike other deaths,
years do not die from sickness
or murder,
their time just comes—
perhaps a little weary
from a twelvemonth of toil
but neither sad nor glad to go;
'Tis been a pleasure to be of service,
the faithful companion old year says
with a bow as he parts
And seamlessly the new is born
with experience somehow already in hand
to begin the first January morn.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Chilly bedtime thoughts

Winter is the slow-down
Winter is the search for self
Winter gives the silence you need to listen
Winter goes gray so you can see your own colors...

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, December 28, 2015

And I don't think it's just the winter talking

I've found a comfortable spot in life,
And I want to stay here.
Hopefully that doesn't hasten my demise.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, December 26, 2015

On the wings & wages of winter

Poetry blazons sexy words
with lusty, charming rhymes—
Prose is a sensible lover
who's always done at the stop.

—Terri Guillemets

3pm sunbeams, palms, winter wind

Some days my soul is windy,
blowing the dying leaves
off my aging bones.
My heart aches,
but it's winter pains —
nothing a little spring won't cure.
Sometimes a dandelion blows my way
from a neighboring soul
and makes me wonder —
what of mine drifts through life
to strangers or kin
going through their own
inclement weather?
If the clouds blow away
and the skies become blue again
and the sun gets a little too harsh
and my hair instead turns gray,
would I yearn for another storm?
And should I be thankful for clothes
to protect my naked body
or has too much protection
prevented me from the full potential
of my skittish and unclothed mind?

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, November 13, 2015

How suddenly it turns

The quiet of October is refreshing
The quiet of November, oppressing

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, October 30, 2015

Rhymesters are people too

Yes, I write in cliché rhyme
For elaborate words
I've got no time—
But if what's in my soul
The words do unleash,
Matters not to me how droll.

—Terri Guillemets

Thursday, October 22, 2015

October's porch

October sun —
October air —
October quiet —
October birds —

October trees —
October light —
October colours —
October flowers —

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, October 19, 2015

Only bruises

Poetry allows my soul to age gracefully,
my mind to land softly amongst the new gray hairs—
without it I'd have thunked into my 40s with tail bone & funny bone broken.

—Terri Guillemets

Friday, October 9, 2015

Autumn whispers October into my ear

the light is gorgeous
there is football
the smell of crackling wood
in evening fireplaces
spices in the ale
gentle dawns
chilly, and breezes
afternoon oft' warm
O', those october breezes!
full-breath deep serenity
pleasures of company
before the year gets lonely
pumpkin pie, pumpkin everything
squash—butternut, kabocha, delicata!
a mellow heart, slowing pace
middling between
regular motion & slow motion
the air lighter yet heavier
betwixt, in the midst of—
something unnamable
not either and yet both
spirit more, veiled less
green at its most beautiful
although not spring-like
but a little of spring, i dissent
the angle of Sun makes a new colour
we don't have in any other month
comfy sweaters, thicker socks
thunder, clouds, big raindrops
clear crisp nights, sweeter stars
cozy cuddling, autumn-taste kisses
earlier bed reading, more books!
a fear—vague thoughts, of
what might not make it out from winter
but a chance we are forced to take
life risk, being alive
in autumn is true life

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Friday, September 11, 2015


In the desert, the slow quiet entrance of autumn is like breathing a sigh of relief — exhaling all the hot, stifling air built up over summer.

—Terri Guillemets