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

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Night (A Nonet)

Like a cloak over her bare shoulders
Black night descends about the day
Pulling, shrugging, settling in
Day sighs in gratitude
Heaviness ,comfort
are to be hers
Night will rule
She will

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, Prompt 18, There's A Moon Out Tonight

The Kiss

image source
Practicing with her reflection
in the bedroom mirror
What if the lips don't align or the
head tilt is incorrect?
She studies the angles, features, dimensions
Such easy nonchalance takes much rehearsal
A flip of chestnut hair
a carefree laugh
and then
hold the gaze just long enough to let him
She leans in with lips
slightly parted
slightly quivering
Crashes into reality and
in the hard, cold glass.

I'm Honored

"I'd like to thank my 1st grade Language Arts teacher and Dr. Seuss and..."

Check it out! I'm featured on Poetic Blooming's Web Wednesday featured poet interview! Thanks to Marie Elena and Walt for selecting me and for the interesting interview questions. Check out the website Poetic Bloomings for a great place to encourage and nurture your poetic spirit!

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Red Umbrella

Red Umbrella, Christopher Shay

Red umbrella blooms
 hibiscus in the rain or
poisonous mushroom
You do not fear the wetness
thriving in these warm, damp pools

submitted for Magpie Tales 80

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Bright Side

Sometimes, my love, there is no silver lining
When one door closes
they all slam shut
You are a Mormon on a street of
Sometimes, my love, gray skies are gray
for such a long time you forget
what light is; it burns your eyes
And if you keep looking up
you get a stiff neck and
bird shit in your face

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Hurricanes and Other Disasters

First an earthquake
Now a hurricane
Prepare for more disasters!
(I was supposed to have a girls' night out)

Battle the grocery store masses of panic
Hoard the bread, milk, and tp
Water, water, water!
(cookies, chocolate, and wine)

Tie down the grill
Store the outdoor furniture
Should've fixed that leaky window

Smell of wet dog
Suspicious puddles on the kitchen floor
Clean up the mess
(what else is new?)

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Bedroom Wars

image source
Chaos all around
Nothing is where it should be
Trash and dust compete for space

Perfectly cozy
All my stuff within my reach
My room-my peaceful kingdom

submitted for Poetic Bloomings, In Form Poet: Sedoka

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Little Eve

art by Felicia Olin
Why'd you do what you did, Little Eve, Little Eve?
Why'd you go and do it, Little Eve?
Everything was perfect, Little Eve, Little Eve
Now you've gone and thrown it all away

Once we had it all
We were young and in love
Everything was good as good could be
Swimming in the streams,
climbing up our tree
I was made for you and you for me

We were gonna be together
You and me for life
We had a little garden we could share
Our world was full of beauty
There wasn't any strife
So happy, Eve
We didn't have a care

Why'd you do what you did, Little Eve, Little Eve?
Why'd you go and do it, Little Eve?
Everything was perfect, Little Eve, Little Eve
Now you've gone and thrown it all away

How many times I warned you
but you would not believe
guys out there are gonna tell you lies
When that snake came a callin'
you were so naive
He smiled at you and you looked in his eyes

Now Eve we're in a mess
This is really bad
Those promises he made to you were fake
I feel like we are fallin'
Should've listened to your Dad
God knows that you can never trust a snake


Evie, next time think twice
Oh Evie, we've lost our paradise.

submitted for Poetry Picnic, Week 1, Adam and Eve, at Gooseberry Garden

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Molly and Mark

Whatever happened to Molly and Mark?
Remember those rides in the car?
Cruising the streets every night after dark
We never did go very far

Just out for some bowling
or maybe a dance
sometimes sneaking a smoke if we dared
Backseats at drive-ins
the boys took a chance
on the girls with whom 
they had been paired

But Molly and Mark, they were not like the rest
Those two were in it to stay
He gave her his ring and most of the boys guessed
that he got her to go all the way

Molly left school during her senior year
Mark graduated that spring
Mol stayed with an aunt who lived not far from here
and never stopped wearing Mark's ring

Whatever happened to Molly and Mark?
and all of the kids from that day?
The memory of all of us in that old car
driving farther and farther away.

submitted for Magpie Tales 79

Sunday, August 21, 2011

The Last Time

image source
She wears long sleeves in August; laughs
about her fat arms. Sunglasses
hide her blue eyes. Please don't call the house
after six; her daughter may be sleeping.
She's taken to buying dark make-up and
waterproof mascara.

He swears he's going to change
This was the last time

The questions come more often
The looks, the whispers too
How many times can she say she
bumped into a door?
tripped on the stairs?
Besides it's not all his fault; she
has a temper too and
they both drink too much.

He swears he's going to change
This was the last time

She thinks about leaving him when
her daughter starts to cower
But where would she go? Who would she tell?
So they drink too much and yell and it was
the last time; in a beautiful dress meant for a party
a little girl helps bury her mother.

He swears he's going to change
This was the last time

Saturday, August 20, 2011


image source
Imagine your child
The teasing he'd hear
Attacked and harassed
Taunts of "faggot" and "queer"

The teachers all know
but they'd just turn away
They'd say it's a problem
that he acts so gay

Imagine your daughter
won't wear a dress
short hair and no make-up
Is her beauty worth less?

Her choices are different
Which many don't like
Because they feel threatened
they call her a dyke

Imagine being hated
rejected, reviled
Would you still accept it
if this were your child?

Friday, August 19, 2011


image source
I am a La-Z-Boy
I am a lap
Lay your load on me
Lie down
Lean back
I'm L

submitted for Thursday Think Tank, #62, The Third Letter at Poets United

Til Death

image source
Endearing gestures
metastasize into traits
Loving embraces become
stiff, suffocating
Complementary viewpoints
Irreconcilable split

submitted for Theme Thursday, Split

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Happy Bad Poetry Day!

image source
Happy National Bad Poetry Day!!!
(scroll down for my poem)
For those of you who are not aware, August 18 has been designated National Bad Poetry Day. It is a day to think about everything you've learned about good poetry and do the complete opposite! It's a day to proudly produce your worst crap.

With this in mind, I've reprinted what has been identified as the "worst" poem in Houston this year. It was produced in response to a single line prompt:  "Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree"
The challenge was take the prompt and write the "worst" bad poem. Here is the winner:
(not my poem yet, keep scrolling...)
The Nightingale and the Other Bird
Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree
It saw a caterpillar on bended knee
Which was odd for caterpillars don't have knees you see
Slurppppppp...breakfast, says the bird with mouth full
Then a nightingale began serenading the satiated bird with her siren song
"You'll be dinner before much long"
Her etiquette was quite alarming as having given away her plans
She pulled off her mask, twittering "Ah HA"and mumbling curses about the high cost of living,
Eating mangoes, dancing tangoes, pelting passersby when ornery
they answered her with raised fists and twisted lips,
sour feelings growing in their tiny, hard hearts as sour and hard as taffy that's not so laughy
Yes, twas th bst uf tymes and th werst uf tymes, with in you and without ryhmes.

I challenge you darlings to take the prompt and do the same. I will also attempt my own bad poem. Please post your bad poems either in my Comments section or, if you have no shame like me, you may post them in your own blog and provide a link.  Extra points for bad spelling and grammar, pomposity, and adolescent humor.
(here it is! you may regret this...)
My Own Poetic Dreck
Once upon a time, a bird flew to the top of a tree
I gazed up at the bird; he gazed down at me
Oh little bird! How I wish I could fly!
But alas! I cannot! Why, God? Why?
My heart felt as heavy as the heaviest thing
But then that bird began to sing
It's song was like syrup to my ear (s)
The sweetest song I could ever here
He said to fly you don't need a wing
Like Spongebob said "Imagination" is king!
The words I heard from the bird assured me so
much that I didn't want to let him go
So I caught that bird in a great big net
Now he's always with me in a cage as my pet.
image source

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

For Rabbit

In a field of wheat I search for
you, my friend
You are a cagey creature
The minute I think
I have a grasp of you, you
only to emerge, the tip of your ear
waving from behind a stalk of wheat
saying, "Follow me!" or
"Don't. I don't much care."
I always follow
Like Alice's White Rabbit, I
follow you
and we play in your magical
beautiful Wonderland; then
you slip away
and I learn how
to make some wonders myself
But don't you ever think
that I've forgotten you, my friend
I've come to this field of wheat
looking for that jaunty ear
waiting for you to

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Sounds of Silence

Too long silent
Lips sewn shut 
with threads spun of shame
locked away
never to speak the name
But the silence screams louder
than the screams in my nightmares
and the words fight to escape 
their cages, hurling themselves 
against prison bars
I gag them back down
swallow hard
Speak now or
hold your tongue.

inspired by The Sounds of Silence (1965) by Simon and Garfunkel


image courtesy of Magpie Tales
If I could paint over
all of your hurt
whitewash your wounds
that still smart even after so
many years
when rubbed the wrong way
where would I start?
With the empty spaces 
left in your spirit from
cutting words?
What color would fill them in?
With the mistrust from
told straight to your eyes?
What hue would do for that?
And what brush
would ever be soft enough to
stroke the cheek that's been stung
by too many harsh slaps?
your very walls stained
with splatters of shame
Would I ever have enough paint
to erase the damage 
inflicted by a critic 
who was blind to
your beauty?

submitted for Magpie Tales 78

Monday, August 15, 2011

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Thursday, August 11, 2011


image source
I once tried to climb my family tree
I didn't get very far
The bottom branches were sturdy enough
(although I'm not sure that I'd entrust a treehouse to them)
Then I looked outward
and upward
I noticed a
To the left 
branches were scrawny, frail
mere twigs really
To the right
brittle, leafless, budless
pale with melancholy
As I climbed higher, they
thinned even more
Sun rushed in through scant leaves
no hiding place here
Above me
I could climb no further so I climbed
as I sat by the fireplace watching
the logs burn
I thought about trees and
my family
and the trains that
took them away.

written for Theme Thursday, Tree

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Evening Song

image source
The evening sings for us
Mourning doves coo their couplings
Crickets trill mating songs
The barred owl searches out his partner
and the chaos of the day is quelled

The evening paints the sky for us
A watercolor tableau of
crimson bleeding into gold
azure into indigo
The fading light softening the edges of the day 
The evening air is perfumed for us
Late summer jasmine
mingles with rose petals and anticipation
We inhale the intoxicating balm
and let it seep into our pores

The evening sings for us, then
quiets to a hush and
makes its graceful exit; for
the night's song
is ours to sing.

written for Poetry Jam, Evening

Monday, August 8, 2011

August Is Not

 Summer Evening, Edward Hopper, 1947

August is not a month for the meek
The incessant song of the cicadas has been known
to drive the weak of will to drink
and the weak of mind to madness
The pavonine petals of the proud tulips
have already succumbed
as have the other giddy blooms of spring
Only the most hardy, least demanding remain
to suck on the dust
and pretend it's rain
August is not a month for equivocation
There is no time for ambiguity; patience
ebbs as days grow shorter,
and the nights press down, heavy
with meaning and sweat.

submitted for Magpie Tales 77

Late Afternoon

Melancholy of an Afternoon (1913) by de Chirico
Late afternoon
is the loneliest time
Sun going down, casting
long shadows
Day not yet over but
dying slowly
Commuter train whistles, carrying
moms, dads, lovers 
back home 
Everything partnered up
in late afternoon
has no place here
Loneliness must wait 
for the night's embrace.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night #4

Saturday, August 6, 2011


 *This one is in honor of all the kids at Camp Phoenix, the hospice camp where I volunteered this week. They've all had someone close to them recently die.

image source
Balloons aloft are lifted to the sky
Up to the clouds above they rise to meet
those who've passed from this life on to die
and left us here bereft and incomplete

The wind will get them where they need to go
with messages and wishes we have sent
to those we'll always love with hope they'll know
just how much they're missed and what they meant

From sun, from sadness tears are in our eyes
We watch as our balloons sail higher still
Vanishing, we whisper our goodbyes
Like bright hued birds they fly away; yet still

Our gazes linger after they have gone
knowing we will soon have to move on.
submitted for Poetry Jam, Elegies

Monday, August 1, 2011


image by Skip Hunt
I used to be afraid 
to love you too much
that should you leave, I would long 
for your return
I didn't want 
to miss you so badly 
it hurt
to whisper your name
to remember your smell
I held a part of myself back
for myself
so you couldn't take it all with you
when you left
If only I had known
that hoarding food makes you hungrier
unquaffed water evaporates
and all the windmills in the world
won't bring the wind.

submitted for Magpie Tales, 76

Baltimore, Late July

photo by DJOtaku
Every year in late July/early August, Baltimore is home to Otakon, a weekend convention of anime fans from across the US and abroad. Thousands of "otaku" flood the Convention Center for a weekend of panels, role playing, interviews, video premiers, and meeting fellow fans.
photos by greenijo

What strange sort of creatures invaded this city?
They're causing us quite an alarm
Some are quite scary, while others are pretty
I hope that they mean us no harm!

We came to the harbor to visit the fish
to take in the views from the pier
but now we're beginning to wonder and wish
about getting the heck out of here!

We expected some birds-Orioles and a raven
but what greeted us gave us a shock-
Weirdos with weapons who made us feel craven
and costumes more fit for the "Block!"*

We really just wanted a quiet vacation
We wanted our lives to be calmer
but we landed in some neon, gothic space station-
Oh why did we go visit Balmer?

* an area of downtown Baltimore that is known for strip clubs and prostitution