Barbara Buxton Poems

Pumpkins growing in a field
by a South Carolina rural road
waiting for a steal.
...

When my father died I was glad.
His eyes had become windows
of pain.
...

In the span of the reach to the can for
the worm,
There's the dance of the Tern
To the music of the wave,
...

The first light of a Spring day is my favorite time.
Just enough light to guide the coffee to my lips.

A redwood deck, glider and lounge hold
...

Too Bad
We cannot show our face
without the mask,
we wear each day
...