“Sweating the small stuff”

November 2026, Day 11

Hydrangea, Vancouver British Columbia Temple

“Sweating the small stuff”

I am good at sweating the small stuff
to the point of not even worrying
about the big stuff because the small stuff
takes up so much of my time
and energy that I never get beyond that.

My vision and thoughts are clouded
with this and that, which leads
to more this and that,
even to the point of commenting
on everyone’s driving,
except my own.

Seeing faults in others
and forgetting my own mote—
maybe more motes than I care to think about—
in my own life.

I even sweat
about whether the dishes
are done before we go to bed.

In my mind’s eye,

I know I need to look
beyond the small stuff,
seek the more elevated view.

I worry, though, about much effort
it will take and wonder
whether it is worth it.

Deep down, I know it is worth it.

So, I will try tomorrow to start anew,
after I make my bed, shave, comb my hair,
read, have a bit of breakfast,
do the laundry from the day before,
brush my teeth, 

and even polish my shoes
that got a little muddy 

when I was out picking up
the few leaves that fell
on my lawn last night.

Firecracker plant, Vancouver British Columbia Temple

“A Generosity of Colors”

November Poetry Month, Day 10

Church and cow in front of a generosity of color

“A Generosity of Colors”

Fall comes naturally
when the weather grows colder
and mornings are brisk and quiet.
There’s a generosity of color
that Fall creates to bestow a stunning

and magnificent array of beauty
to overshadow the demise of summer.
The trees and plants seem to know
their time has come to release
their leaves and blossoms

and send a message to their roots
to let them go to become
something different
than they were in the summer.
But before winter can claim its soul,

fall clamors onto the stage
with a vibrant flourish of reds,
browns, yellows, oranges, golds
and a mixture of all colors—
all a magnification perfectly aligned

with the sun as it stretches from the east
to west, easing its way during the early morning,
loitering and basking into the afternoon glow
amplifying its exquisite beauty
until it seeps, reluctantly yet resplendently,

behind the western mountains
into utter darkness while we wait expectantly
for morning when fall emerges again, flourishing
and dancing, touting its generosity of colors,
not believing its demise is imminent.

“I am at that age now”

November 2026 Poetry Month, Day 9

A field of fabulous flowers

“I am at that age now”

I am at that now when I can eat
as many eggs as I want to in any configuration;
or eat pork chops anytime I want;
or eat red licorice every minute of the day;
or eat ice cream morning, noon, and night;
or race my car down the road as fast as I can;
or read until the wee hours of the morning;
or stay in bed and never get up;
or buy whatever I want at the grocery store;
or wear whatever style of clothing;
or act out in public, deigning surprise
that I really am sane at that moment;
or do so many other things
that I used to feel that I wanted
or needed to do.

But I don’t do any of those things.

I know better. I learned the hard way
that simplicity and a modicum of self-restraint
and respect are much better than hurling
yourself pell-mell into the fray of life
without thought of any consequences.

The anecdote to all this hinges
on living life in a sensible and pragmatic way
so that trouble follows you at a distance
and never catches you unless you allow it.

I happen to not allow it most of the time—

All that has something to do
with gaining a bit of wisdom and knowledge
along the way while swimming
in the froth of life with my head
just above water and trying to dodge
the floating debris of life.

At least I hope so.

“Leaven”

November 2026 Poetry Month, Day 8

*“Leaven”

We put leaven in bread to make it rise.

Just a small amount of leaven can influence
a large loaf of bread, making it full
and pleasing to both eye and tastebuds,
enhancing what the other ingredients
cannot do by themselves.

It is this leaven, our ability to add to
and enhance our surroundings
and make us pleasing unto the Lord and others.

It is the leaven that propels us to do simple acts
of service in the lives of those around us.

Often, these simple acts turn to heroic acts
as people grow and develop and become
what they need to be, what they can become,
what they must become, today and tomorrow
because of who and whose they are.

Along the way, the leaven we share enhances
our own lives, elevating us to be able to see
beyond ourselves and to heaven above
where the spiritual leaven will let us rise
and spend eternity with Him who created us all.

*Inspired by Sister Lauralie Morales, Sunset Stake RS 2nd Counselor (Provo, Utah)

Seven Haiku

November 2026 Poetry Month, Day 7

Bigelow Gulch, Spokane, Washington

Seven Haiku

Bulging clouds linger
on the horizon beyond
staring back at me.

Purple clematis
Climb trellises on the fence
Clinging for dear life.

The morning sun oozes
over the younger mountain
for a moment’s stretch.

Turkeys, young and old,
roll red apples down the street,
peck holes in each one.

Lurking red skies paint
disappearing evening light
with highlights and hues.

Primordial giants
stretching beyond heaven’s gates
whisper somber cries.

Pedals of pure white
a canopy of daises

dancing at sunset.

Red Sky Loop, Cheyenne, Wyoming

“It’s going to be okay”

November 2026 Poetry Month, Day 6

Hydrangea, Vancouver British Columbia Temple

“It’s going to be okay”

We wait sometimes
for a long time
for a shout out
that everything is going to be okay.
Yet the shout out
doesn’t appear immediately.
In fact, it may never happen.
Our hearts digress.
Our minds float onto other things.
Our ears strain to hear
the refrain from others.
Our souls shudder.
But within ourselves,
we can see and feel
that it’s going to be okay
because we think it,
we will it,
we sing it,
we do it,
we move it along
as we trundle
forward, ever forward,
stopping along the way
to rest, reinvent ourselves.
Our thoughts and actions,
respond in positive ways
by ganging up
on the negative,
shoving it to the side,
chasing it away
out of sight
out of mind,
seldom looking back,
lessening its weight
on our psyche
and our doing
what we need to become.

Yes, it’s going to be okay.

Ketchup and Mustard Dahlia

“Morass of Life”

Hammon November 2026 Poetry Month, Day 5

“Morass of Life”

Challenges arise during our lives,
most of them not requested,
not invited, and not appreciated,
at least at the very moment,
when they appear before our eyes,
blind us, perhaps, blindside us
when we least expect it.

With great effort and a daily dose
of Heavenly Father’s spirit and push,
and friends who surround us,
waiting anxiously to help us,
we can climb out of any abyss
or any challenge that might come our way.

Often, we want to be done with it
immediately, but we discover—
much to our chagrin—
we have to learn something
that does not emerge straightway
and definitely not on our timeline.

Often it is drawn out,
tediously, miserably,
and we moan and groan
and then thrash about some more
for extra measure and an added dose
of grief, self-affrication, elongating
our wondrous escape.

When we do learn, we look back,
take a deep breath, sometimes roll our eyes,
and wonder why it took us so long
to point ourselves in the right direction.

Fortunately, we do acknowledge, sometimes
begrudgingly, belatedly, thankfully,
and gain knowledge and great wisdom,
and continue to plow vigilantly forward
through the mountains of morass
that we fondly call life at its finest.