Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Happy New Year from Me and Neil

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. 
  –Neil Gaiman

Sunday, December 29, 2013

Past Perfect?

    self-portrait, Francis Bacon

When I look back,
even then,
life was never
just black and white.
There have always
been grey areas.

Read more at The Mag.

Friday, December 27, 2013


     Image from magictobuy.com

I create what I speak.
The word made
and stone,
water and bone,
hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium
and so on…
the most elemental magic.

Before time began
it issued forth from the source
sent out over the abyss,
into the darkness
before there was darkness.
Then into the dark
a spark was spoke:


This week I learned Abracadabra, translated literally means, "I create what I speak."  I had a little fun playing around with this for G-man's FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah or Look out for that wall! 

If that makes no sense to you just read the following cimment from Dave Barry on the PC-ness of wishing people Merry Christmas:

In the old days, it was not called the Holiday Season; the Christians called it "Christmas" and went to church; the Jews called it "Hanukka" and went to synagogue; the atheists went to parties and drank. People passing each other on the street would say "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Hanukka!" or (to the atheists) "Look out for the wall!"  -Dave Barry

And, this Christmas and every other day I wish you PEACE.

Friday, December 13, 2013


     Image from latheofdreams.com

One year ago
26 souls fled the planet.
In Sandy Hook
Our innocents
paid for our policies
once again.

I asked google
to jog my memory
but it’s first response was:

Oh America,
I weep for you, and
for Truth
held hostage
at the point of a gun.
What has become of us?

I just googled "Sandy Hook" thinking there might be something on Anniversary/ memorail stuff and the first thing to come up was "Sandy Hook Hoax".  Really???  This makes me so very sad and also frightened.  
This is for G-man and his FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, December 6, 2013

On Why You May Want to Reconsider Growing Up

 As you age you may lose:
-joy from licking the sugar-dust off a stick of gum
-soles that can walk on gravel
-wishes from dandelion seeds
-your invisible friends
-the effects of fairy dust
-the ability to taste your dreams
                …or to even remember them.

This is for G-man at FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, November 29, 2013

Thanksgiving Thoughts

I’m not always thankful at appropriate times;
my rhythm is off and I’m not good with rhymes,
but somehow I can’t help think that Thanksgiving
might not look so lovely, viewed from reservation living.
I don’t mean to be difficult, rude or offensive
but it seems that our holiday is awfully expensive.

Please excuse my negative comments on Thanksgiving.  I do have a whole cartload of stuff I'm thankful for.  And I do think it's good to get together with family and friends and express this gratitude.  I just don't want to forget how I got here.  So I wish everyone all the best and  I'm really thankful for G-man, FF55 and this great online writing community.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Giving Thanks

   Image from Shine the Divine Laura Hegfield, designed and stitched by Sharon Mitchell

I'm grateful
for all the people
in my life, 
both present now
and gone.
I am grateful 
for the experiences I've had 
both dark and bright
that have led me to
this moment.  

This is my contribution to a great project called the Gratitude quilt.  Laura Hegfield started this annual project in 2009 to express her thanks for all the good in her life inspite of the challenges of illness.  You can read the full story on her blog  Shine the Divine.  

Friday, November 22, 2013

On Committing to Write a Poem a Day for November and Starting Poem #13 on the 20th of the Month

    Image: Calvin by Bill Watterson

Open your heart –
that’s where the love is.
Open your liver –
that’s where the bile is.
Open your mind –
that’s where the thoughts are.
Open your mouth –
that’s where the words are.
Open your damn notebook (or word document) -
that’s where those words go -
and they sure as hell aren’t going to write themselves.

Well, I think the title says it all.  Other than this is 55 total crap words torturously pulled from my faded brain for G-man and his FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, November 15, 2013


We drink dust through cracked lips
swallowing nosily.
Our skin hangs in loose folds,
dull, flaking,
bones ache, joints rub against one another
with soft, scraping sounds.
We stand lighting matches in the fire,
dreaming of rain.

For November PAD.

It Is What It Is...Not

I dream
and in my dream
things are cross-wise, wrong…
I scour the sink
with my toothbrush,
and tiny black bits of dirt
fall from the bristles.
Everything is off a bit,
like the reflection from the mirror
when the medicine cabinet door
is ajar, just a bit
Then I wake and find you gone.

This will be a poem one day.  For now though it's just 55 words for G-man and his FF55.  Click on the link and check it out!

Wednesday, November 13, 2013


   Image: A boy sits amid the ruins of a London bookshop following an air raid on October 8, 1940, reading a book titled “The History of London.” 

I once thought
I could solve any problem
if only I could find
the right

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

We Cling to the Familiar

     Image: People in Trees by Mikola Gnisyuk vis Baibakov Art Projects

We cling to the familiar,
to what we know,
long after we know
it no longer serves us,
no longer is true.

We cling to the familiar,
because we have done this
for so long,
to pry our fingers away is painful.
Our hands are adhered,
seared to the surface
of the obsolete.
And in tearing them away
we leave
raw, bloody layers
of ourselves 

We cling to the familiar,
because we do not know
what else to cling to,
and the thought
of empty hands,
of free falling,
with nothing to hold on to
terrifies us.

We cling to the familiar,
because we know it,
because imagining something else,
something new,
is hard,
and we are lazy.
We resist when we can simply cling
to the familiar.

So we do.
We cling to the familiar
long after
it has become

This is for the November PAD (Poem a Day).  The image is a prompt from Robert Brewer at Writers Digest.  Click on the link and check it out.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Exit Dancing

    Image: Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle, 1895096, Edgar Degas

Enter the closet
with boxes full of dreams,
excess baggage,
dirty laundry,
Close the door tight.
Open the door,
and come out

This image is provided by Tess Kincaid at The Mag creative writing group.  Click on the link and check it out.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Skipping Past Time

     Image by Mike Worrall

Next year,
when we were children
we loved
skipping time:

double Dutch forward,
peppers back,
criss-cross applesauce 
back and forth again.

Who could keep track
of when we are?
Not the jumper,
or swingers,
or those in line
waiting their turn.

This is for Grace in the Imaginary Garden.  She asked us to write about one of the many, delightful paintingsof Mike Worrall.  And it's also for Mary's prompt involving childhood toys or games over at dVerse Poets Pub.  Click on each of the links for more responses.  

Friday, November 8, 2013


push me
then entice me to
pull you
Again and again and again.
This is the game
we play.
And now
I am ready
for something new.
Yet I fear,
when I finally
 push you
you may not care to
pull me
to you.

For G-man and his FF-55.  And in keeping with the theme, just for fun here is a Brilliant youtube Doctor/River song.  Enjoy!
*Image from carolseatory.blogspot.com 

Tuesday, November 5, 2013


I’m a traveler
but I do not travel light.
I bring many bags
filled with heavy bricks I use
to build a circumscribed wall.

You unpack your bags
and set the bricks between us.
Eyes meet, and I place
 my hand on yours.  Together,
from the wall, we build a path.

This is for the  dVerse open link night. Click on the link and check out some of the many offerings there.  This poetry form is called a somonka.  It is comprised of two tankas ( 5/7/5/7/7 syllables per line)   written as love letters–each tanka from one of two lovers.  It’s the poetic prompt from yesterday for the November PAD (poen a day) at Writer's Digest Poetic Asides.  And I'm linking it to day so, yes, once again I’m fashionably late.  

Monday, November 4, 2013

Dona Nobis Pacem

Image from johnworldpeace.com

World Peace:
so much better than
a world in pieces

This post is a Blog4Peace, thanks to Kerry at IGRT for the suggestion for the open link day.  Please click on the link to check out a garden full of peace blogs.  Read and join us.  Let's all wage peace.

Sunday, November 3, 2013

Recurrection Reunion

     Resurrection Reunion 2 by Stanley Spencer

What the hell?
Here I am, back again;
dirt up my nose and in my ears,
amid all these crazy people
in woolen stockings.

When time bends over, double
and we step
across the fold
to back-here-again,
then dinosaur oil slicks
knit back
into shining, bone-hard whiteness
covered over in leather-flesh
filled with being.

Dusty tombs
fill with reconstituted blood and juices,
fresh flesh,
so succulent and tender,
lips again kissable
tongues speaking, shrieking
hands pulling aside
death shrouds.
And feet,
my feet,
in woolen stockings
amid all these crazy people;
dirt up my nose and in my ears.
Here I am, back again.
What the hell?

This is for the The Mag creative writing group and also the Nobember PAD prompt from Writer's Digest.  Click on the links and check them out.

Saturday, November 2, 2013

The Local News


Bananas on sale 39 cents a pound

Furniture BLOWOUT!  This weekend only!
*check out our expanded holiday hours

SWF seeking NS-SWM

Britney and Miley Raise Eyebrows at Karaoke Bar

The News peacefully passed away Tuesday, October 21 1997. 
No one noticed until last week. 
It is survived by advertising, personals, weather, happy ads and Celebrity quasi-news.

In lieu of flowers please send IQ points.

This is the post for Day 2 of PAD (poem a day for the month of November).  The prompt "news of the day" from Robert Brewer of Writers Digest.

Friday, November 1, 2013

And Then November

I don’t see you come
but I feel your cold breath
on my back.

Your gaze stoops my shoulders
and I wither
curling in
around the dark
like the petals of a flower.

A dozen shades
of brown and grey
fill my eyes.
A killing frost is coming;
I must prepare the ground.

This is for G-man and his FF55.  I missed you all the last couple weeks! 
And this is also for d'Verse where Claudia wants us to write about color, and for  Writers' Digest PAD (writing prompts for November's poem a day challenge).  Today's challenge was "appear" and I tried to do it without using the word itself.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Good Bye Dave

He jumped a passing songtrain,
with no reassurance
the plan's still on track...
The net is fragile --
there's the rub.

They were the first to catch
the note of grief
and the first to say
 'tis time to go at last! 
The wind is slowly rising
and will take you.

I miss 'em like hell.

These 55 words are for G-man at FF55, but they are also for fellow poet Dave King.  Over at dVerse Brian told us of Dave’s death, and of the friendship that had developed between the two of them even though they had never met.  And then he went on to talk about friendship in general and suggested we write about either Dave specifically, or friendship, particularly the friendships that have grown through writing and blogging.  I chose to write my 55 words about Dave King.  In fact these words belong to Dave King.  In some previous prompt somewhere (yes, I’m too lazy to look it up for you – please just take my word for it) there was a challenge to combine lines and parts of lines from other poets’ works to create something new and original.  And, as Dave was a better, more thoughtful poet than I, that’s what I did here.  This poem is pieced together with bits of the following poems written by Dave King:

“A Silly Little Nonsense Poem”, "I Miss Me Hot Flushes!", “Where To?”, “The Great Exchange”, "The Trees Are Pulling Up Their Roots" and “Fishing” (not in that order).

I’m pretty sure there is a name for this other than plagiarism, but I can’t remember that either.  And I may have changed a pronoun or a tense here or there.   And as for Dave King, even though I’d never met him in person, “I miss ‘em like hell.”

Monday, October 7, 2013

On Time

     Image by crilleb50

“We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and mystery.”  -H.G. Wells

I wait for the 12:15 miracle.
It’s late,
but still I sit and wait.
How else will I get to Schenectady?

Written for The Mag creative writing group.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, October 4, 2013

Sorted Book Poetry

Walk on the ledge
to the lighthouse.
a circle of quiet.
The other wind
the sum of our days.

Samuel Peralta has at dVerse Poets Pub has challenged us to find hidden poetry.  Using book titles select and group them so the titles can be read in sequence.  This is also called sorted-book poetry.  It brings an entirely new meaning to the phrase "poetry books!"  Click on the link and check it out for yourself.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Dark Circus

     Image from Yagurete System

In my dreams
you wait for me
in dark, secret places,
welcoming me
to the midnight circus.

The Ring Master bows;
the show begins.
“In the center ring we have…”

I smell
sawdust and dung and cotton candy.

Then the Ring Master asks
for a volunteer,
and I realize
I’m being shot from the cannon.

This is for G-man's FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Sunday, September 15, 2013


Fingers reach
to collect
coral, shells,
stones and bones
littered across
memory’s beach.

Sands collect,
water disburses,
air feeds fire.
We stir the cauldron,
and reflect.

Bury your treasure deep -
golden moments,
silvery seconds -
no matter the lock,
they will not keep.

This is for both IGRT and The Mag.  The first image, via Grace, is by the very talented artist Kathryn Dyche Dechairo and the map is provided by the also very talented Tess Kincaid.  Clink on the links and check out both of these writing sites. 

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Sky Flowers

Sky flower melody
sings me back home.
I breathe deep the sweet perfume
of hope.

Written for IGRT where Hannah has provided some gorgeous inspiration and asked us to write that is somehow haunted and/or hungry.  Click on the link and check it out!

Friday, September 13, 2013

Wishing Well

I carry secrets
like stones in my pockets
They click together, heavy,
as I move forward.

One day
I will take my
secret stones,
smooth and worn,
and throw them
in a deep well,
never to be

And when I look down
I will see one sparkling,
gem among the stones.

This is for G-man's FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, September 6, 2013


Sun bids a lavish good bye, and
paints the entire sky.

In her wake, trailing dusk,
I scatter dreamseeds,
germ and husk,

that bloom into stars over your head.
Now close your eyes,
go to bed.

I’ll wait for you in the curve of the moon,
so let sleep carry you
back to me soon.

    by Sir Edward Poynter

This si for G-man's FF55.  Click on the link and check it out!

Thursday, September 5, 2013


I carry a sackful of words
down to the river,
then string each one
on a line
and cast them in.

They flash and bob,
such jaunty bait;
I wonder what
I will catch.

This is for IGRT where Peggy asked us to write about the things we carry.  Click on the link and check it out. 

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Night Vision

Do you remember
the secret language 
of trees?
They sing to me
as I gather stars
high above the moon.

So send me your kisses
by carrier pigeon,
then step away from the window;
for I can only fly
when no one is looking. 

Image by Jeanie Tomanek via Tess Kinkaid's The Mag.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, August 30, 2013

Speaking in Tongues

Do you remember when we spoke
in the language of gods;
in the old tongue,
tender and true?

Whisper to me, again,
of your days and nights,
of fruit ripening in the sun.
Tell me the secrets of the stars.

Hold me in your song;
swing me on a promise.
Teach me, again, to hope.

This is for G-man's FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Friday, August 23, 2013


     Image from IGRT

She melts,
on the floor
at the foot of your bed.

Her thoughtful light
is measured, mapped, portioned out,
named and known;
yet, do you hear her song?

Down at the shore,
her reflection 
ripples across the water,
into a thousand bits
as the surface is disturbed.

Do you know what she hides?

This is for G-man's FF55 and IGRT, both wonderful, yet different, sites.  You should check them out.