Wednesday, April 27, 2011

A Real Gem

She is
brilliant, jewel-like
a bright and shining gem
sharp edged and many faceted
but she lacks regenerative powers;
her crystalline smile glittering,
a fault in the façade
threatens to break

Note: the picture is a writing prompt from Magpie Tales, a site to help inspire writers made by Tess Kincade. If you click on the title of my poem it will take you to that lovely site. I hightly recommend it, and Tess' Life at Willow Manor. The poetry form is called a Rictameter, which is characterized by each line having a set number of syllables: 2/4/6/8/10/8/6/4/2.

Friday, April 22, 2011


This is a poem I wrote awhile ago, about Wisconsin weather in March. This year though, spring is late and we have been getting some typical March weather in


She teases us with glimpses of spring,
toying with our affections;
one day all sunshine smiles
the next, throwing a snowy snit;
or she can be mysterious,
shrouding herself in fog.
buds and grasses green
at times in spite of her.

We see the sins winter has hidden
now laid bare before us:
November’s leavings,
with the flotsam and jetsam
of our own humanity.
the first flies buzz, sun-drunk
reminding us there are advantages
to the dead time.

The frozen ground softens.
a few brave Snowdrops
shoulder their way through;
resurrection is hard work.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


I have been playing with a new poetic form recently. This was created by Luke Prater at his blog Wordsalad, which I don't seem to be able to link here. Anyway, note the first word in the form name is 'stress' that's fitting in more ways than one. I found it very challenging, but ultimately worth it, if for no other reason that being part of the 'checkered sisterhood.' So, below are the parameters for the form, and below that is my poem. Hope you enjoy :o)

Stress Matrix Dectet/Stress Checkerboard Stanza -

10 lines, 10 syllables per line: a-B-a | B-c-B-c | D-c-D
where lowercase are iambic pentameter and uppercase are trochaic pentameter – they alternate the whole way, giving a perfect ‘checkerboard’ of stressed and unstressed syllables, ten lines down x ten syllables across (=100 syllables completely evenly distributed and the rhyme scheme also utterly even/symmetrical mathematically).

Our cotton sheet is flapping on the line;
breezes pull and finally blow through it,
a square of white: the flagged surrender sign.

Every evening, though you try to do it
I cannot really say our love life thrives.
Simultaneously we cry, ‘Oh screw it!’
Through this near miss no nuptial bliss derives.

Wind is hurried, blowing without caring
through tangled, twisted fabric of our lives,
love and dirty laundry without sparing.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Isn't it Ironic...

Snow has dropped
on my Snow Drops

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

My Offering

I had the most wonderful grandma ever. She was good and kind and white-haired, just like grandmas are supposed to be. But I swear in another time my Grandma McCauley would have been a shaman or a druid. Her pale, blue eyes saw so much, even after they were covered with cataracts; and she had a wisdom that was almost other-worldly, yet so connected to the earth. Actually, the first image of Grandma that comes to mind is in the garden; she was an organic farmer long before that was cool. But I also remember her making the most wonderful homemade bread, and when I recently made the loaf pictured below my thoughts went to her.

the warm
crusty bread
my offering
fresh from the oven
kneading, resting, rising
I become my grandmother
standing in her warm, safe kitchen
we are communion through time and space
generously passing out bread and love

Smell the warm crusty bread, my offering

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Shadorma - One Stop Poetry

Here is my second attempt at a the poetic from called Shadorma which Anne Welch describes so well at One Stop Poetry. And the photo inspiration for this is from Tess Kincade's Magpie Tales.

    Image from

deep panacea
reflecting a life misspent
enjoyed to the dregs

Monday, April 11, 2011

Magpie #61

There was so much


at the first



My muse deserted me for awhile. I'm trying to lure her back with short, little treats. Today I learned a new poetic form called the Shadorma, thanks to Anne Welch at One Stop Poetry. This form is, "...a 6 lined poem (sestet) of Spanish descent with no set rhyme scheme. The shadorma is a syllabic poem with the following structure: 3/5/3/3/7/5." So here is my first attempt:

Counting time
on the calendar
each day an
moving towards what?
I have become the waiting