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

Friday, July 29, 2011

Nursery Rhyme Royal

When Goldilocks awoke she saw the bear
and started to get up to run away
but saw upon Bear's face such raw despair

"I promise not to bite you if you'll stay.
I've never had a friend to come and play."

So Goldie and the Bear stayed up all night
with movies, popcorn, pizza til the light.

Waiting for Petrichor

The July heat has burned
the grass to pale, dry straw
It crackles
as we step
scratching our ankles
pricking our toes
Sweat stung eyes squint
at the air
the heat
a palpable presence
stubborn and lazy
Even the dog stays
Too hot
to fight properly
we gnaw on eachother's words
choking on the chalky dust of
waiting for petrichor.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011


image from ColinJong.com
go by
You and I
smile and laugh
at each new gray hair
how we can't see small print
the wrinkles that have moved in
and  we  don't   bother  to   evict
Half   a   century   of   loving  you
yet every day feels like something new

submitted for In-Form Poet, Etheree, at Poetic Bloomings
and Poetry Jam, Life at Age 67 (That Jam Isn't Moldy!)

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Country Nights with Dog and Elephant by ManicD Daily at
Sometimes we must let go and trust
Give someone else the lead
We'd rather not admit we must
Although we do concede

We can not always go alone
The roadway often bends
To see around the corners well
We must place trust in friends

For someone used to being in charge
The hardest part of all
Is letting someone else feel large
Without you feeling small

At times it seems the toughest deed
Is to admit we have a need.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Wild Child

image courtesy of Magpie Tales
She is a daughter of the wild
Artemis's playmate
She lives to shed her bindings
and run with the wild horses,
catch dandelion seeds
in her thick mane
Her love is fierce, feral
Do not try to tame her, for
she will fade away
like the brightest star
in the morning light.

submitted for Magpie Tales, 75 
and Poetry Potluck Week 45: Nature and Life, at Jingle Poetry

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Gray on Gray

image source
Lizard on a rock
Studies his shadow below
Shades of gray on gray


I never could wear high heeled shoes
I'm too much of a klutz
They make my legs look sexy but
I look like such a yutz!

I waver and I wobble
I stagger and I stumble
And if by chance I take the stairs
I'm sure to take a tumble!

I know they'd make me stylish
And they sure look perty
But I'm not built for high heeled shoes
My ankles are not sturdy!

But still I keep a pair or two
In my closet on the floor
Because they come in handy
For a certain type of chore

A popped nail in the drywall
And I don't look for a hammer
I grab a high heeled shoe 
And bang that sucker in with glamour!

Friday, July 22, 2011

When the Nighttime

When the nighttime comes
do not love me gently
I want to know
you ache for me

When the nighttime comes
do not seek permission
enter without knocking
steal like a thief

I want to wear the nighttime
on my skin

breath you
from my pores

taste the moon
on your tongue.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, #58 Nighttime, at Poets United
and We Write Poems, #64 Parallel Lines
and Meeting the Bar: Crit Friday at dVerse Poets Pub

Wednesday, July 20, 2011


photo by lolamouse
The web of temptation has you ensnared
You say it is woven of beautiful thread
Enticed by the scent of her silky soft lair
She marks you as willing prey ripe for her bed

You didn't think she could have such an allure
You thought you were too smart and too strong to tempt
But she played you so well when she acted demure
You fell like the others; you were not exempt

Despite your regret, she still does captivate
As you're spun tight in lies, she goes in for the bite
You curse yourself for being seduced by her bait
You wish for escape, but it's too late, goodnight.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Temptation
One Shot Wednesday at One Shot Poetry

Tuesday, July 19, 2011


image courtesy of Magpie Tales
What lies beneath the mask you wear?
What awful truths you cannot tell?
Some fearful secret you can't bear?
What lies beneath the mask you wear?
A pact made in the Devil's lair
You seem a phantom sent from Hell
What lies beneath the mask you wear!
What awful truths you cannot tell!

submitted for Magpie Tales, 74
dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night
One Single Impression, 177, Phantom

Not Quite Still Life

Little Girl In a Blue Armchair by Mary Cassatt
This is Miss Cassatt, Child
She has brought her paints
She's here to do your portrait so
There best be no complaints

Sit upon this wooden stool
Do not make a fuss
Be a little angel and
Do not embarrass us

But Mother, dear, this stool, I fear
Is really much too hard
I'm tired and I'm bored
I want to go play in the yard

Don't be so fresh! You listen now
Or else I'm going to scold
Get yourself up on that stool
And do just what you're told

Perhaps that big, blue armchair
Might be a better fit
I'll even let my doggie come
To be in your portrait

Okay, I'll try to sit still but
This dress, it makes me itch
It's stiff and hot and pokes me
I can feel its every stitch

Stop slouching, Child, you've wrinkled
Your lovely little dress
And get that pout off of your face
This portrait's such a mess!

submitted for Poetry Potluck 44, Painting Whispers, at Jingle Poetry

Monday, July 18, 2011


photo courtesy Rosie Hardy

He called her a delicate flower
And pressed her petals between pages of the Bible to preserve her
He compared her skin to fine porcelain
And wrapped her in garments so she would not break
He spoke of her beauty as a work of art
And set her behind glass to protect and display her
He said she was his beautiful and rare butterfly
And he tried to pin her wings to always possess her
But the book covers flew open
And the garments rent
And the glass shattered
And she
Floated out the door
And flew away

dVerse Poets Pub, New Beginnings

Sunday, July 17, 2011

White Mice

photo courtesy of Rosie Hardy
...and then they led her back to her cell. Her eyes burned; her skin itched. Yellow pus oozed out of a hastily sewn incision on her abdomen. As they locked the door behind her and crawled off, she thought she heard them say, "Don't worry. Their brains are so tiny, they can't feel any pain."

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

Lolita's Revenge

image source

Hey, Mister, come on by
I may even flash some thigh
Hey, baby, look at me
I know what you want to see
I can play the innocent
Until all your money's spent
I don't think you'll call my bluff
Because you can't get enough
Little school girl's really hot
You think you might have a shot
Ha!, you're older than my dad
How pathetic, really sad
I might even call your wife
Go f--- off now, get a life!

submitted for Poetry Jam, Photos

Friday, July 15, 2011

Sonnet For Living

For the last Friday Poetically, Brian has asked us to write a poem about an organization or cause that has meaning to us. This poem is about hospice, where I volunteer. It's a wonderful organization that assists individuals and families who are dealing with an incurable illness or injury. Hospice believes that people have the right to die pain-free and with dignity and ensures that families will receive the necessary support to allow patients to do so. They also provide bereavement services to grieving individuals and families. Go volunteer!
We need not fear to speak Death's name
She pays no heed to our affairs
For speaking of Death holds no blame
And doing so may ease our cares

We come together in our pain
With grief that one alone can't bear
And pray to feel some hope again
Our burdens lift when we can share

Remind us there is life to live
Although Death follows close behind
We each give all we have to give
To make this Hell a bit more kind

On journeys we can't understand
Sometimes it helps to hold a hand

Thursday, July 14, 2011


She felt more lonely with him
Than she felt being alone
Love given but not returned
A gift unopened

*This poetic form is called a Dodoitsu. It is a fixed folk song form of Japanese origin, often about love. There are 26 syllables in 4 unrhymed, non-metrical lines containing 7, 7, 7, and 5 syllables each.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, 57,Loneliness, at Poets United
and In-Form Poet: Dodoitsu at Poetic Bloomings