Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, January 30, 2013


The day is done now; comes the gloaming
Creatures of the dark are roaming
Wings of leather, bodies warm
Gracefulness of function, form
Like two hands inside of gloves
Circling the sky above 
Clicks and echoes in the night
Shadowed hunters take to flight
Blackness ends now; sunrise soon
Hide again, birds of the moon.

Moon Bats by RichO

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, Prompt 92, Gone To the Birds (I know bats are not birds, but they fly and they're cool!)

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

December Sun (a collaboration w/Peggy Goetz)

The following post appears today, 1/29 in the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads poetry site. I wrote this Haiki in collaboration with Peggy Goetz, a fellow poet.

Thanks so much Peggy!

photo source

December sun
peeks through gray smiling
for late roses damp with dew

Petals of faded velvet
recall their glory days

She stands at the window
remembering, sighs
as soup pot boils over

Red cardinal alights
upon rusted sled

Scarlet melody wakes
summer memories
lovers walk entwined

Hearts naked dancing
with electric hunger

Fingertips buzzing
Each touch a playful sting,
kindling sleeping skin

August blaze lingers as owl
moon lights dark eastern sky

Silent, wolf moon stalks
owl among stars 
Plaintive howls in the snow

Soon pups will play in spring bright
dales as all begins again.

by lolamouse and Peggy Goetz

Monday, January 28, 2013

The Mix Tape of Us

Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther

The other day 
I found myself singing
one of those songs
Do you remember?
We were freshmen
I played my records 
window open
for you to swim by
I cast out notes as bait
to draw you to me
"I love that one!" you'd say
 I'd act nonchalant- "Really? Cool."
Really cool
Playlist as love potion
I remember
my heart flip flopping
 like a fish on the deck of a boat
when you noticed
and sinking like the Titanic
when you didn't
Sometimes even now
a beat sneaks up on me
and I find myself singing
(despite myself)
from the mix tape of us.

submitted for The Mag, Mag153

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Girl Who Loved Winter Sleeps

image by Rosie Hardy, self-portrait
The girl who loved winter
knew warmth
Kissed by a dream
Morpheus seduced
She slept

Snowflakes fell
like sand in her eyes
The wind rocked her
in its icy arms
and sang to her a haunting lullaby

She slept
a deep and primal sleep
A she-bear in her cave
Embraced by long black hair
A blanket of herself
thick and sweet-smelling

The girl who loved winter
cossetted by the cold
felt warm
The winter sheltered her 
like a puppy wrapped in an eiderdown quilt
A small beating heart
within the vast whiteness.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, First and Last Lines (in which we are to take a last line from a previous poem and make it the first line of a new one.  I used two last lines: The Girl Who Loves Winter III and The Longing and made them my first three lines of this one.

Friday, January 25, 2013

His Bouquet

Human Bodies Artwork by Cecelia Webber

 Girl, he saw you in the sun
looking fresh and sweet
Upturned the earth right where you stood
Plucked you off your feet
He fed you lies like water
and he was the air you breathed
Didn’t treat you like he oughtta
Cut you off below the knees
He swore that you were pretty
so you thought it was okay
Girl, it's such a pity
You’re a bloom in his bouquet

You’re addicted to his gentleness
You love it when he’s rough
The sky is bluer when you kiss
You just can’t get enough
But you can’t see you’re dying
There is less of you each day
Better heed what I’m implying
You’re a bloom in his bouquet

Now you’re bound to his deceptions
Too late for seeds of doubt
You pay for self-deception
Your bright petals are plucked out
You cannot stem the withering
Your color fades away
It’s past time for considering

Human Bodies Artwork by Cecelia Webber

The Girl Who Loves Winter III

Winter breeze by Pure-Poison 89

The girl who loves winter
feels lonely
in her snow globe
She talks
to the ghosts of her breaths
and dances alone
to the music of icicles dripping
and windsong

One night she prays
to her favorite snow angel
for someone to love
Come morning
she finds frozen earth
a sodden feather
and puddles of angel tears

The girl who loves winter
feels cold
in a way that she doesn’t like
This scares her

She grabs
fistfuls of snow
She builds
and builds
The girl who loves winter
builds a snow lover
with branches for arms
stones for eyes
holly berries for a mouth
ready to receive her lips

The girl who loves winter
kisses her lover
Lips blue upon blue
Cold upon cold
She is embraced
by arms just born
Caressed by hands
new to touch
The girl who loves winter
knows warmth.

Thursday, January 24, 2013


Like a tapestry
we knit ourselves together
hand over hand
word over word
Even the odd strands that hang
loosely, fraying
Tucked adeptly into the weft
to form texture, pattern
Time is a patient weaver
its cloth strong

submitted for The Mag, Mag152

Sunday, January 20, 2013

The Longing

image by Rosie Hardy
Slide under my window
Go to my bed, where I wait
Unsated but for your touch

Such is my fate; such is my luck
Succubus, I live for night
Fight the day's start

Heartbeats double for your lack
Blackness covers me, soft and deep
Keep me wrapped in your spell
Quell the thirst in me

Tea of night, thick and dark, I drink
Blink back the awakening
Cling to you, though only mist
Kissed by a dream.

Remembering Dr. Z

Each year I looked into his face.

Gracious always, he knew what to say,

allayed my fears repeatedly,

greeted me like a friend.

Spending a moment

meant everything.

Bringing warmth to cold,

holding my shaking hand,

standing taller because he knew.

True survivor,

pure voice strong and deep,

keeping hope, he lived

giving it too.

Truly a good man

and a rare physician.

Note: I wrote this poem for Guillermo Zambrano, M.D. He was a radiologist who faithfully read my mammograms every year for over 15 years. He survived his own battle with throat cancer but tragically died in an automobile accident this past Friday. He will be missed.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Chained Rhyme