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

Monday, July 30, 2012

She Makes the Flowers Bloom at Night

She makes the flowers bloom at night
She borrows magic from the moon
Collecting stars, she holds their light
and makes the midnight shine like noon.
Pale luna moth from dark cocoon
seeks out her flaming auburn hair.
Enchanted girl with shoulders bare,
unnamed goddess, who can she be?
I would be lifted from despair
if she would shine her light on me.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, A Mini Challenge for Sunday, The Prince (Dizain)

Friday, July 27, 2012

Elixir of Summer Rain

The buzzing of cicadas in the night
As bats begin to circle through the air
The song of the spring peepers trills so light
When day's frenetic pace turns laissez-faire

Black crickets chirrup secrets we can't share
A barred owl calls "Who cooks for you?" unseen
An echo seems to answer from somewhere
On silent wings they fly off to convene

In pools of water plunk proud frogs of green
Shy deer emboldened rustle through the wet
Leaves in the summer rain glow with a sheen
And darkest nights shine as if polished jet

This magic fills each drop of summer rain
An anodyne to ease the winter's pain

submitted for Think Tank Thursday, #107 Sound, at Poets United
and Poetry Jam, Do You Believe in Magic?


I, Mouse (Redux)

I am just a mouse
But cross me at your own risk
Quiet but deadly
Persistent as a toothache
Scritch, scritch, I'll gnaw down your walls

Monday, July 23, 2012

Black and White

Franz Kline, Figure Eight, 1952
You lay the strokes with confidence
a master calligrapher
I watch as you create the piece
I think I know where the next brushstroke will land
but you change course
following a sketch that only you can see
(or is it all improvisation?)
You say questions of perception versus reality are pointless
that we can argue endlessly about interpretation
but it really comes down to black and white:
Either I believe you 
or I don't

I don't.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 127

Friday, July 20, 2012


Eve and Lilith by favoritecolour
You can tempt me with the apple
You can tempt me with the core
Cause once I've had a taste of you
You leave me wanting more

I swallow down a mouthful
While most spit out the seeds
Your forked tongue beside my ear
Bespeaks most evil deeds

When I hear the hell hounds howl
I dress myself in night
I climb into your bed while
Their dark eyes glow like whores' lights

You can tempt me with the bones
Or with the blood or with the skin
Cause it don't take much tempting
For this wicked child to sin.

submitted for Fireblossom Friday, The Devil, You Say! at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

In the Red

Monday, July 16, 2012

Yesterday's Dreams

Yesterday's Dreams by Jack Vettriano
Fine cracks form
in the porcelain of your face
as you suck on another cigarette
Already the ashtray is full of pink stained blooms
ground in the dirt and squashed underfoot
You have only a few more good years left
to find someone to love you
So it's the black dress and heels again
and out the door for drinks
Turning your back on the one 
who has loved you all along
and cries himself to sleep.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 126

Wednesday, July 11, 2012


photo by Rosie Hardy
Come to the forest
Come when your heart is as full as the moon
and your desire blazes like a shooting star
Do not fear the sentries;
 they observe your entry
but ignore trespass
when intent is pure
Search out the message that I have written for you
in the trivialities of veins in the leaves
Read its significance
with your fingertips
You have always touched wood
I am waiting 
with your answer.

Wild Woman Poet

2012 featured poet at
my heart’s love songs

I am so honored to be included this month as a featured poet on one of my favorite poetry blogs. Dani, at My Heart's Love Songs, has been diligently working to showcase some wonderful women poets, and she has graciously included my mouseness with these other rockin' ladies! Check out my entry as well as the entire series so far. You'll be glad you did!

And a big thank you and hug to dani!!!

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Broken Glass

cigarettes and broken glass by viewfinder
I have learned to walk on broken glass
how to step lightly and quietly
I no longer cry out
when the pieces slice my feet
Quiet now
I use the blood to paint
my nails a happy crimson for you
Watch me dance on
the shards
How useful are the scars
I can pirouette
as slivers burrow
into my toes
and I feel nothing.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night Week #52

Monday, July 9, 2012

Pondering Art

Jackson Pollock #5

and for you film buffs, I highly recommend:


This is the inside story of Street Art - a brutal and revealing account of what happens when fame, money and vandalism collide. Exit Through the Gift Shop follows an eccentric shop-keeper turned amateur film-maker as he attempts to capture many of the world's most infamous vandals on camera, only to have a British stencil artist named Banksy turn the camcorder back on its owner with wildly unexpected results.

One of the most provocative films about art ever made, Exit Through the Gift Shop is a fascinating study of low-level criminality, comradeship and incompetence.
By turns shocking, hilarious and absurd, this is an enthralling modern-day fairytale... with bolt cutters.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Strawberry Lemonade

Kristen of Twinkle, Twinkle is hosting the second round of Summer of Color. This week's
challenge is Strawberry Lemonade. She based all of the challenges on ice cream inspirations.
(Thanks to Ella, of Ella's Edge, for posting about this cool challenge!)

First, some playing around with some of my photos and Pic Monkey (such an addicting program!)

and now, a poem...

Bonne Belle flavors
latched on belt loops
Maybeline kissing potion
tucked into back pockets of tight jeans
Strawberry lemonade lips
glossed and giddy
pink and pretty
shiny and shy
Could boys' kisses ever taste as sweet?

Make It Stop!

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Out of Standard With Izy ,we are  to parody our own poetic style. I have been told that many of my poems are "bleak." I also tend to write quite a bit about having migraines. So, for fun, I wrote a bit of migraine hyperbole (just a bit!)

My head
an overripe melon 
against its skin
 I'm on my knees
 rebuking the gods of PAIN
Ice pick through my brain
My eyes recoil
from the burn
of the LIGHT
I'm losing the fight
to retain my sanity
and my humanity
as I crumble to a mass
of retching wretched uselessness

Dangerous Things

Hodnot Spring House, Leakin Park, Baltimore, MD
Deep in the woods where black gum grow
Where children should not go
We have a place that is our own
The grown ups never know

When we go back into our woods
Adult rules don't belong
What we do we do as one
and we are never wrong

Some things you just don't speak of
Some things best left unsaid
You keep some secrets your whole life
They die on your death bed

The gang it always will protect
We watch out for our pack
But if you strike out on your own
you better watch your back

What we see in the woods that day
No one knows what's true
In the creek lay silently
a man that we all knew

Around his head the blood it pools
an accident we said
We leave him there right in the creek
Cause we know dead is dead
Some things you just don't speak of
Some things best left unsaid
You keep some secrets your whole life
They die on your death bed

(inspired by the book The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman)

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

In Death

Ophelia by Odilon Redon
In Death she makes a lovely bride
A face as gentle as a child
Her brazen eyes no longer wild
In spirit always by my side

Although I weep, I'm yet beguiled
Her magic she does still retain
In Death her beauty does not wane
but now my jealousy grows mild

For Love she can no longer feign
Her lying heart has stopped its beat
She now lies free of guile, deceit
The perfidy that was her bane

In Death, how chaste, how true, demure
She is an angel, perfect, pure.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 124