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

Friday, April 29, 2011

Run, Rabbit

This is a poem I wrote for a very special friend. Please visit Photograph Prose to read it and see the accompanying photo by Diana Lee. You may leave comments on the Photograph Prose site. Thanks. -lolamouse

Run, Rabbit

also submitted for The Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Thursday, April 28, 2011


Childhood monsters 
image source
Can be vanquished
With a flashlight
A magic wand
Another glass of water

Some monsters are appeased
With rituals
No toes sticking out of the covers
And it won't nibble them off
Flush the toilet,count to ten, and run back to bed
It can't get you until eleven

Even the ones who dwell under the bed
Or in the closet
And have pointy teeth and yellow eyes
Won't cross the threshold
Of a parent's bedroom
Even they follow the rules

Then one day you overhear
A hushed conversation
While playing with Legos
Or coloring with your new crayons
You hear the word "monster"
And the grown-ups faces don't look quite right

One day a neighbor girl
Teases you and says 
"Better not go outside by yourself-you'll get raped."
And you ask your mother what that means
And then you wish you hadn't 
But you can't take it back now

It's 1974
The grown-ups have that look again
And you ask who Adam Walsh is anyway?
Then you learn
That the monsters are real
And they don't play by the rules now.

submitted for the Thursday Think Tank, #46, Monsters at Poets United

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Who Says I'm Not Stylish?

Shay, aka Fireblossom, from Shay's Word Garden , has graciously bestowed upon me this Stylish Blogger Award. Definitely check out Shay's poetry-it rocks hard! There is not a clunker to be found. This is poetry I would actually buy, were it for sale (hint, hint).

According to the rules of this here award, I have to scrape my psyche for another 7 fun facts to tell you about myself (chomping at the bit, are we?!!)
Let's play a game (another inspiration from Fireblossom)- 6 Truths and 1 Lie:
I'll list 7 things about myself. Six of them will be true and one of them will be a lie. You can guess which is the lie.

  1. I sucked my thumb until at least the age of 12.
  2. I have never smoked.
  3. I once had a story published in Playgirl magazine under the pseudonym "Lola."
  4. One of my good friends in high school is a Tony Award nominee.
  5. At this time I have bright fuchsia (Power to the Resistance, Doug!) strands of hair
  6. I have had some of my poems published
  7. I worked for one day as a telemarketer.
Okay, time to guess! Which is the lie? I'll post the answer in a few days.

    Me and the Beasts

    Each night I sleep with three furry beasts
    They snuffle, they tussle, they snore
    They covet the covers, they purloin the pillows
    I often get pushed to the floor!

    Each night I sleep with three furry beasts
    It's so cozy and warm when they're near
    But sometimes things get a little too close
    Which one is that licking my ear?!!

    Each night I sleep with three furry beasts
    One's big, and two are quite small
    But with three men and me in one little bed
    It's a wonder that I sleep at all!

    submitted for Thursday Poets Rally 42

    To fulfill my obligation for the Perfect Poet Award, I nominate M.A.S. at http://scribbledit.blogspot.com/   Check out his blog for some very interesting and cool poetry.

    Thank you to Thursday Poets Rally!!!

    Don't Forget to Feed the Cat, Dr. Schrödinger

    image courtesy of Magpie Tales

    Worlds divide
    With each decision we make
    Splintering fractals
    With each turn of the cylinder
    Left or right
    The kaleidoscope beads shift
    Morphing one pattern
    Into another
    A few degrees clockwise
    There's a bit more red
    And you're a suburban mom with three kids
    A few degrees counter
    And some blue appears
    You're a dancer struggling with an eating disorder
    Make a complete circle
    And now 
    You see more green
    You're the top telemarketer for credit card insurance
    And you still live with your mom 
    And a collection of comic books and porn
    When you see one pattern
    Where are the others?
    When a choice is made
    Are the others gone?
    Or are they just waiting elsewhere?

    submitted for Magpie Tales 63

    Sunday, April 24, 2011


    image courtesy of Greg Laychak
    The homes of old people smell
    Of cooked cabbage
    And decorative soaps
    But that's better than the stale urine
    And disinfectant smell
    Of nursing homes
    I wonder whether they can smell it on themselves
    The odor of decay
    Approaching death
    How does the peach tree judge
    When a peach has passed from lush to
    Overripe to
    Is the peach aware 
    Of the moment it will be dropped from the tree
    To the ground below?

    The Critic

    image source
    The critic gives a bad review
    Another play won't get its due
    "The leading actor tried too hard
    He isn't worthy of the Bard!"
    The actor's back on waitstaff crew.

    The painter unveils his new work
    Our man critiques "It has a quirk!
    "His recent work is amateurish!"
    Dismisses it with a flip flourish
    Walks away with a smug smirk.

    The critic loves to boldly bash
    The new composer's piece-"It's trash!
    I couldn't stand a single note!
    The woodwinds bleated like a goat!
    I'd prefer to hear cars crash!"

    The singer gives it all she's got
    The critic says, "Her voice is shot!
    She shouldn't be up on the stage
    At her geriatric age!
    Bring on a girl who's young and hot!"

    The writer publishes his book
    Reviewer barely takes a look
    "The plot is dull, the language stale
    This author's work will surely fail!
    One more word I cannot brook!"

    Others' work the critic judges
    Their successes he begrudges
    He lives only to berate
    For his own art he can't create
    Through such a hollow life he trudges.

    submitted for Poetry Potluck-Muse, Art, Music, and Poetry at Jingle Poetry

    Thank you Jingle for all of these awards!!!       

    Friday, April 22, 2011

    Demons of the Night

    image source
    Beware the demons of the night
    They come to haunt the faded blooms
    They whisper curses in your ear
    You can't escape when the demons are near

    Beware the demons of the night
    They're long of tooth and white of hair
    They wear your scars as their costume
    Long buried secrets they cruelly exhume

    Beware the demons of the night
    They know what scares you most of all
    Affairs, divorce, their eyes can see
    Perhaps it's middle age ennui?

    Beware the demons of the night
    Lock them in the closet tight
    Be a good wife, don't make a fuss
    Brew up the coffee, put the kids on the bus.

    If a Teardrop

     This week at Friday Poetically, we were challenged by Brian to compose a poem from a list of words used in Shel Silverstein's poem One Inch Tall.

    If a teardrop were a balloon
    Carried to school, loved, a blue friend
    Whispered to before you go to sleep tonight
    From blue to green, yellow, sunny
    Only a dream?
    Go try!

    Remember When?

    image courtesy of Theme Thursday
    Remember when the TV said goodnight?
    The anthem played then all was static white?
    We had the volume turned down really low
    'Twas past our bedtime; parents didn't know
    We giggled with excitement and with fright.

    Remember  when we wished with all our might
    To find ice cream in the milk box shining bright?
    But most weeks only eggs and milk you know
    Remember when?

    Remember when the days were pure delight?
    Running to the field to fly our kite?
    Your back was to the wind you hoped would blow
    As the string spun through your fingers like a pro
    And we soared up there with it taking flight
    Remember when?

    submitted for Theme Thursday, April 21, 2011

    Wednesday, April 20, 2011

    Migraine 2

    image source
    Little girl holds her head and cries but the crying makes the hurt worse and she can't stop and she cries and she cries and she cries and she vomits and she sleeps
                   Ad nauseum
    And she knows now to keep an old pot by her bed just in case she can't make it to the toilet and her mother laughs and calls it the puke pot which only makes her feel worse because how many kids have one of these?

    And then there are the doctors who say it's just nerves it's just all in her head because she's too high strung for a kid and here's some pills to calm her down but they don't help and she flushes them
                   The toilet

    She learns to live with pain like it's the weather and sometimes it's just there in the background and sometimes it's not noticeable at all and sometimes it's all she can think about like a hurricane in her brain wiping out everything in its path
                   Coming up for air

    Then there are the meds and their promises of redemption if only she'd add one more pill, one more vitamin, up the dosage, go off-label, stick with the brand name, stick it up your ass

    And no major side effects to speak of so we won't speak of them

    dizziness fainting abnormal body temperature glaucoma weight gain anxiety tingling odd taste weight loss poor concentration cognitive impairment numbness decreased libido depression poor concentration  poor concentration poor concentration

    Grown woman holds her head and cries and her daughter has the same damn disease and that makes her cry more and yes it is all in her head and she just wants it to

    submitted for The Poetry Bus hosted by NanU at Have genes will travel
    also submitted for One Shot Wednesday, Week 42 at One Stop Poetry 
    and Poetry Month Clambake, Week Three
    Thanks Luna!