Saturday, April 30, 2011

Lettuce -- Poetry 2011

Surprised – mini lettuce sprouts

spring up in a forgotten row.

Planted last September

failing to germinate

in cooling soil and low light.

Thought they had rotted away

in such a prolonged winter;

thought they would have dissolved

in a cold reluctant spring.

Here they are…

single file line of tender green starts.

Regeneration beating all odds…

Wonder what else will appear?


Safe Subjects -- Poetry 2011

Skirting buried evidence

digging a deeper hole

Mount Everest walls

icy and slick

fingers bleed stuffed into cracks

pulling soul into sunlight

flaking skin, onion layers,

garlic juice wounds

no longer safe

subject dissemblance


unhitching embroidery thoughts

torn fabric frayed

into convex hyperbole


Friday, April 29, 2011

Late and early -- Poetry 2011

Stagnant words proceed from sleep

encrusted mind desiring a nap.

Compensation needed for:

late nights vs. early rising.

Helping a friend close her studio:

stage one -

sale of porcelain supplies, patterns, blanks;

stage two -

sale of extraneous household goods;

stage three-

the move to new home…

downsize complete -

Stage four – sharing time

she and husband have left…


Thursday, April 28, 2011

The weather has changed! -- Poetry 2011

Abusive relationship - that’s South Sound's

residents current relationship with weather…

one beautiful spring day makes us all jump for joy

after winter months of smoky soggy gray…

blinded by the blazing orb above us, we shout:

Pacific Northwest loves us!

How could we ever leave!

Travails for April’s fickle few sun filled teases,

we’ve forgotten last year’s prolonged winter-spring…

gardeners replanting in June’s cold wet conditions;

seeds rotting until July’s heat finally warmed soil.

Deep down inside you know that in a few days

the weather will get surly dank and start throwing

things at us again: low level snow, hail, sleet…


Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Worms vs. Creativity -- Poetry 2011

Would much prefer to regret something

done rather than something not done.

Tomorrow settles into a pre-Saturday rhythm…

a bottle of bleach and domestic determination

staging confrontations with dust bunnies

who will say surprising and revealing things

educating and entertaining this household.

It’s past midnight and my humor is wandering free.

The good thing about working nights is that it’s so quiet…

perhaps to morning’s detriment I’m spurred into delirious

desire to create; is there an auto-slate cleaner that

scarcely leaves smudges in dawn’s early light?

I'm seductive rubbish until at least ten am...

some days even later with no regrets!

I'd like to encourage the retirement of this phrase:

The early bird catches the worm to be replaced

with the late night artist releases creativity…


Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Classy --- Poetry 2011

With all the decimated financial

woes has classy gone out of style?

Break down or up of society

into more basic survival mode –

but still driven by consumerism –

I want, I will get anyway anyhow…

we're getting gritty;

desperation eats souls

from crass to trashy rawness.

There is such thing as profane

and profound at the same time.

Damn, no one knows how to pull it off;

people flail at common decency…


Monday, April 25, 2011

Your Poem -- Poetry 2011

Your poem sprang rusted bolts off disparity;

irony of extreme imbalance in intimacy style

safely hidden from prying eyes all these years…

never voiced guilt ridden choices to family or friends.

Graduating from college, one summer marriage

after another - why not me - skidded into deep despair.

Charming in a goofy sort of way or was he praying

on naïveté, seeing the shimmering weakness

coating a shy demeanor dancing with despondency.

First of only two, gently releasing 21 years of innocence;

I thought – that’s it, what’s the big deal…

our clandestine encounters improved with time.

I married my second choice… another mistake,

embarrassed for having moved in with him;

in my blind desperation, what were his good points?

What’s wrong with her? My parent’s kept wondering.

Seasoned with abuse, seeing the shimmering weakness

coating a shy demeanor locked into co-dependency.

No more mistakes, no guilty residue… living alone

without co-dependency seeing the shimmering weakness

coating a shy demeanor reflect self confident choices.


lovely day in the country -- Poetry 2011

Sunny warm day, lovely Easter dinner…

everything went well until helping

to extinguish a smoldering fire

in a neighboring horse pasture.

Later report: someone threw a burning

bottle to start the fire not burning trash.

There we were doing our civic duty

trying to put the fire out in my red heels.

I was so happy when I first got them.

Note the use of past tense: was

sniff, sniff, sob......

RIP red shoes…

Please observe a moment of silence.

Prematurely extinguished before their time

due to burning hay field, burning dried horse

droppings… let alone the hose water spray!

Now they are flamed manure soggy heels

so beyond wiping off to keep wearing them.

I learned two things tonight:

1) Horse manure is flammable

2) I need a new pair of red heels.

Let us bow our heads again for a moment of silence

because: Damn! I missed meeting the cute firemen!


Sunday, April 24, 2011

Tipping -- Poetry 2011

At what point does the balance tip?

That one precarious choice…

is it built on daydreams about what

you think a perfect life would be like?

Is it a double dipped serendipitous option

different from brunt bearing prior ones

that seemed worthwhile at the time?

Incidents charge and recharge complicating

decisions but how did you fare so well?

Propelled beyond conceptual concepts,

are the new opportunities overwhelming?

Are you beyond old daydreams or are you wishing

for your anonymity - a cloak of disestablishment.

So many questions for you since your success;

I'm thinking of how my life would change –

perhaps its better for me to stick to daydreams…


Puzzled... -- Poetry 2011

Left with a question…

Why did you pack it in?

Traveling cross country

leaving family behind;

disconnecting from friends.

You lost support for hard times;

helping hands were left empty.

Perfume thoughts, I guess…

grass is the same color

on either coastline:

West or East;

salt water in either ocean:

Pacific or Atlantic.

Age extracted my elders;

cousins moved away;

friends grew apart;

I brought expired love with me…


Friday, April 22, 2011

So Warm -- Poetry 2011

Want to sleep – eye lids so heavy…

worn out adult

preordained to sleep fitfully.

Waiting in sun baked car,

mental images of my kids

falling asleep in their supper

on the sun warmed screen porch.

Sweet summer breezes,

after a day of swimming and fishing…

eyes roll back,

heads nod forward,

face plants onto table or full plate…

Digging into box of loose photos

finds semi permanent images:

my children, Elzza and John,

asleep slumped onto the table;

suntanned healthy bodies

succumbing to natural tendency –

nap when necessary.

No sense disturbing recumbent

heads dreaming on dinner plate pillows…


Cell Phone Deficient -- Poetry 2011

Sometimes seems as if I’m

the only person on this planet

without a cell phone…

even waiting in food bank line,

buzz or weird ring songs blurt out.

Personally, I can’t afford one;

secondly, who’d I call or

better yet, who’d call me?

Mostly send and receive emails

from family, friends, businesses…

thirdly, in this electronic world,

don’t people want to escape?

Don’t people want to

be free from instantaneous connection;

be free from interruption.

Electronic umbilical chords bind people:

constantly tweeting,

constantly entering Face Book comments…

who doesn’t fear being lonely?


Business Cards -- Poetry 2011

Delight of an artist in an art store

similar to a kid in a candy store.

Entered seeking mounting foam core;

taking 30X30 exhibit challenge:

30 days - 30 art pieces - $30 each

but arms fill with this and that calling to me:

Sumi-e paper, brushes on sale, linoleum

all-in-one carving set, Strathmore paper

and of course that mounting foam core.

Taking pity on my gator board choice,

owner offers 20% teacher discount.

Shopping local face to face:

better than paying for shipping;

better than ordering online;

convenient downtown location…

supporting local business, I grab

business cards to hand out in class.


Too much, not enough -- Poetry 2011

Failed to gain utility discount -

earning too much…

barely above poverty level,

house fallen into disrepair.

The curse of a little too much

but not enough to thrive.

Going without so much,

working person’s disparity

earnings stretched taught:

going with out health check ups,

going without dental visits,

going without house repairs,

entertainment, vacations.

Tenacious, holding on,

not enough but too much…


Sun Warmed Car -- Poetry 2011

Glorious sun warmed car;

infernal cold weather dissipated.

An actual spring day

warming body and soul.

Sixty four springs to my name;

some memorable,

most erased by unimportance

succumbing to infamous attrition.

Sitting in a sun warmed car…

invisible waves of thermal energy

skim across lined page

seeping into black shirt

warming me to the core.

Almost hear the tomato starts

on the back seat sighing in relief;

free from torment of cold stall

within the farmer’s market building.

Too early to plant outside;

too late to rectify choices.

Sitting in a sun warmed container,

internal iceberg pulls back…

second chance to express love…


Thursday, April 21, 2011

Failing to see -- Poetry 2011

Locked in place,

you seem normal…

disregarding disability;

padlocked body;

no chance for improvement.

Strained joints…

probable problems approaching:

perhaps arthritis,

perhaps bone stress fractures.

There you are…

Mr. Nice Guy;

pleasant and personable.

Hiding obvious torment

legs muscles shrunk tight.

Hiding depression

stalking you every day.

Most people fail to see beneath

your well camouflaged surface…


Once in awhile -- Poetry 2011

Once in awhile,

she’d freeze up mid-sentence

zapped back in time, pulled

by a significant emotional event.

Smelling, tasting, reliving it

in high definition 3-D affect.

Super charged with emotion,

tagged and filed for access…

blinking back into the now,

apologizing for her mute vacancy.

Refocusing on current conversation,

albeit lost eye contact because

of those traumatic incidents…

once in awhile, she’d remain present.


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Crystal Lake Dream -- Poetry 2011

Pulling out of the cottage parking lot,

I roll slowly down the summer bright

gravel road, tires crunching, crunching.

Mica and garnets are speared by sun fragments.

Eric, Eamon and Elzza caught in sunbeams

pause while walking toward the cottage…

window rolled down, I lean out:

move your car up in back of Edna’s…

OK… see you Mom.

Easing off the brake, easing down the hill,

so many strangers walking around…

I completely stop over and over.

Who are these people?

All new faces, no familiar neighbors…

coming up to #13 my little remodeled cottage,

amazed to see the changes: two car garage,

raised roof with skylights, fruit trees…

not much left from how I had the yard.

Next I’m on horseback urging her into a canter,

leaning to whisper speed into twitching ears…

I miss the sweet times living there;

I miss the family gatherings, I miss my parents.

I urge her faster past this point of missing.

The old granite rock cellar hole sits empty…

brook across the road flows on this side;

how odd that the road has moved…

there’s the spot where my son was hit by the car.

Wading through the misplaced brook, her hooves

splash rainbows that drop onto asphalt washing

the residual stain away…


This was such a heavy dream –sigh…

I miss the way my son was before the accident;

typical 11 year old boy full of life and energy… such

a huge life change to live the rest of his journey with

disability and discomfort. Also when we left CT, my

daughter was in high school. Her partner and child were

never at the lake – I remember being puzzled in the dream!

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Plumes -- Poetry 2011

Wonder how many people

whisper about me…

heard some one time –

In a high school bathroom stall:

They call her George.

How stupid…

Late for class,

waiting for them to leave.

Walking in crowded hallway,

overheard a comment or two…

they didn’t see me.

Wonder if anyone whispers

about me now…

mostly I’m ignored,

a few polite, How’s your day?

Mostly blending in,

moving quietly,

faded placid plumes…


Monday, April 18, 2011

Skin-scape -- Poetry 2011

So far removed from love…

can’t imagine a caress;

past singing in response

this skin is dry and wrinkled.

Wasted skin-scape

of decreased touch due to

unforgiving failed trust…

residual memories

of inflicted wrath; spite

from your once loving mouth;

before softened to arouse

became a hard bitter line.

Memories of your love,

un-cherished in it’s descent

to battlefield destruction.

Wringing hands in fear;

loathing your touch,

locked in a place where

no amount of imagination

can release the burnt carcass

so far removed from love…


Alone -- Poetry 2011


mind’s eye

blinking in dark

peering for familiar source

light reflected from granite

crusted granite ledges…

my childhood play space –

a mini natural sanctuary.

Existing in revived thoughts,

I long to sit there:

leaning against cold blue gray rocks;

smelling the hemlock’s sweet scent;

listening to bird chatter and call;

buzzing insects hover in sun threads

safety interned

in mind’s eye



Farmer’s Market -- Poetry 2011

Nast cold day…

second week open

anticipating treats:

handmade kielbasa

smoked cheese

sauerkraut, honey,

roasted nuts…

You get the picture;

time to greet old friends.

Gourmands delight,

art and crafts,

hippy and ecological too…

tie dye, organic veggies,

bread, plant starts.

Scurrying back to car

cup of Chai in hand,

farmer’s market goods

laced with friends…


Living around water -- Poetry 2011

Small lake, grandma’s cottage,

growing with unexpected results

when playing on dock or rowboats…

almost drowned a few time.

Circles around to mind as I age

pondering almost dying as a child…

smacked in the head with an oar

my cousin Bobby was swinging in the air,

flying off the end of the boat into shallows.

Angry with me for who knows what,

he rolled me off the dock, the edge

pressing my spine, I sank in deep water.

I looked up at the sky unable to move;

paralyzed I waited - bubbles drifted…

an older cousin and my brother saved me.

Cannon balled I was shoved into the mud;

rowboats riding rough water with one inner tube;

quick moving storms with lightening bolts;

speeding motor boats, tipping sailboats,

hooked by someone fishing let alone

skating on thin ice or swimming in frigid water.

Amazed that any of us survived our lake

adventures; speaks to the power of guardian

angels or plain dumb luck…


Prayer beads -- Poetry 2011

Still skirting rough surfaces,

prefer smooth flat skin carefully

not marring or disturbing it’s gloss.

Not afraid to plumb the depths

or am I as I glide along with safe words.

Least I’m past weather observations,

cycles of moon, season and dog walks…

my thoughts gather as summaries,

nice words coat these stories;

pleasant words burnish pain and despair.

Calm words are acceptable to an overwhelmed

public inundated with violence and disaster.

Prayer bead thoughts strung smoothly together;

clicking mantra soothing visualizations…


Unburdening in the time left -- Poetry 2011

Hiding spite under intricate rugs

woven with colorful patterns;

relocating trust to a wall clock,

it’s wooden case and worn face comforts;

erasing envy from her portfolio, art work

remained harmonious and balanced.

No place for spite, mistrust or envy

in her spiritually driven quest:

cleaning up discrepancies;

recognizing misdemeanors;

desiring a reprise from cling wrap notions;

refusing to drag misguided ideas further;

de-cluttering to leave a worn body

and worn out thoughts behind…

determined to unburden in the time left.


Broken Promises -- Poetry 2011

Seat belt rolls into place

dragging the buckle up the frame;

similar to rattling chains of the departed,

ones so attached to vices they lost their

souls to gain more and more…

I haven’t lost my soul to greed.

Mine is more a hardening of trust;

a closing down to avoid pain’s bite

when relationship departure rips,

tears, shreds emotional sanity.

I’ll probably be dragging a heavy heart

wrapped in serrated chains; constantly

cutting into heart shaped muscle…

bleeding and bleeding love’s broken promises…


Sunday, April 17, 2011

Sauerkraut -- Poetry 2011

New surge in fermented foods, farmer’s

market vendor sauerkraut samples…

can hear Dad telling about their annual

family chore of filling a sauerkraut barrel.

Youngest brothers stuck in for tamping;

everyone else cutting and chopping

for hours - must be old memory week.

Stamp, chop, stamp, chop;

between good sprinkling of salt,

stamp, chop, stamp, chop…

whole family putting food up;

winter food storage for twelve.

Eldest heaved the cabbage stuffed

barrel into an unheated basement.

Fat topped crocks of rendered goose,

brine pickles, home canned goods,

carrots in sand, potato baskets, apples,

almost fermented sauerkraut…

cold cellar storing simple staple foods.


Nothing Seems Appropriate… -- Poetry 2011

Incoherent words broken

by sobs woke me from a nap…

recorded on an answering machine,

replaying engaged a time machine

laced with current extreme despair:

childhood visit’s to Rich’s,

a family run grocery gas store

forerunners of little pantry stores;

college roommates sharing rides home…

staying in touch despite long distance.

Christmas cards, occasional notes

and calls… hearing Jeanne’s grief,

her broken heart transferred over phone line.

I am so shocked by her horrific news…

sudden death of her 28 year old daughter.

It's hard to find words to express thoughts

racing through my mind; tears flow, same

age as my son… what to say across

a continent that will make a difference

with the pain obliterating her every waking minute.

I am so sorry to hear of Heather's passing…

I hold you all in light and love – wish you strength

in this time of deepest sorrow. Love Ellen

Nothing seems appropriate…


Saturday, April 16, 2011

Socialization DONE -- Poetry 2011

Promised myself to check in

while running errands in town;

one guaranteed hug for stopping

at Judi’s vendor booth today.

Thursday and Friday I can find her

hawking her art: cards and paintings.

Spontaneous artist gathering…

others friends happen to be

shopping the Farmer’s Market.

Huddle of embracing…

three friends times one equals

human contact of the close kind.

Worn to fend off late spring chill,

clothing layers squish warmth;

inequity layers peel back isolation.

Today’s socialization is done…


eFile -- Poetry 2011

Thought I was all done…

thought I finished wrestling,

working over figures

entering data

eFiled the forms…

Email informs me


impropriety in accounting?

Some detailed form left out?

Deflated from proud

Oh no, now what…

Critical voices laugh inside,

demented little sneaks.

Not this time…

researched my “error”.

Reading about glitches

stalwart determination

strategically serious

to conquer eFile

Ha, printed forms are mailed!


Seafood Chowder -- Poetry 2011

Decidedly childish…

seeing how long she could exist

without bathing ala homelessness.

A colophony of ode de natural body not overly

dredged in scented hand soap wafted about her

although she did lay on unscented deodorant...

she still had some principles of care left.

Slightly off even to her desensitized nostrils,

she didn’t call it stench or even rank - just normal…

No one seemed to comment or care

No one suggested altering her non hygienic stance

No one even before this wrapped an arm around her

No one loved her; she existed in her scent universe…

Hold your nose… here comes miss stinky

get your spray… peeeieeeuuuuw

Their bratty remarks murmured softly into bridge hands;

barely breaking their game play without a glance toward her…

the billowing odor rippled around the nasty foursome.

They ran the retirement housing relationships…

never lost the knack of being the high school clique,

they had hated her then; they hated her now;

content to feed on her and other’s despair, they reveled

in cold shoulder or polite rudeness oiled in acid smiles.

Their Achilles heel… allergic to scallops, all four of them.

Wandering into the kitchen, the chef was all smiles;

he loved it when the residents made menu requests.


Thursday, April 14, 2011

Pet Offerings -- Poetry 2011

Sound of barfing

morning alarm clock

cleaning up other surprises

such variety in pet offerings

long term care giving

burnt out from caring

foot warmers

plus one doggie smile

paw nudges

plus one kitty purr

wipes away the dread

of barefoot squishes


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Default Glitches --- Poetry 2011

Frothing mouth

electronic dependency

gone mad

error pop ups

“not responding”

Blood pressure

stress level

computer dregs

deep breaths

eyes skyward

Between rain squalls

quick dog walk

ceases swearing squalls

fed by random defaults

frustrating glitches…


Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Body Cruelty -- Poetry 2011

Faking you out…

not that anyone lives forever

but speeding time races

to movement reduction.

Parts wear or are cut out…

limbs weaken,

joints stiffen overnight.

Five senses fad:


Can you read that?

This tastes flat…

Don’t smell anything!

Decrepit sneaks up

shortening breath

mouthing worn phrases.

Hourglass empties…


Open Cavity -- Poetry 2011

Stifling yawn -

hand flies,

covers mouth…

preventing demon

or other evil entrance;

prevents their winding

filament binding soul…

prevents their determined

insistence to melt brains

into detrimental trance state

beyond miracles revival.

Every bed time,

all the sudden it's morning,

time to get up and past

superbly strange dreams?


Padding vs. Plastic -- Poetry 2011

Rear end padding

plastered on black plastic;

displaced gravity

holds form up right.

Pressure points numb;

blah fluorescent lights

drain vision twilight dull.

Glacial headache formation

dredges down temples

freezing jaw tight…

blinking dry eyes hurts,

shifting stiffness sinks

further into molded seat.


Concessions -- Poetry 2011

Could have made

loose change

providing piled


a real session to

adversity growling –

standing between

stale chairs, clock’s

minute hand creeps.

Being hungry,

leveling salvia,

chewing time,

spitting out pellets;

acid bleached bones,

fur and sinew rejects….

sandwich concessions.


Storage -- Poetry 2011

Physical effluence

overflows closets

flows into the garage,

basement, attic…

filling space up with stuff.

Remember George Carlin’s

routine about stuff, more stuff…

mystery of rainy day storage.

Why store it?

Decision avoidance…

self inflicted stacks

easier to live with

compartmentalized clutter.

Tenth degree savings:

mental debris,

emotional detritus…

packed neatly,

locked in storage…


-- Poetry 2011

Which way to go?

< left or right >

a tired phrase:

think out of the box...

but why not up or down?



enhanced choices <> extended benefits


Compliment -- Poetry 2011

Kids breeze in…

rambling rabble,

demo done,

project employed.

Bubbling talk;

giggles amid

squeaky whispers.

Class brushes by;

tables cleared.

Slipping beside me…

Didn’t think I could;

I mean watercolors;

now, I know I can.

This painting goes

with a writing exercise.

A make-my-day compliment

pours toward the door.

Kids breeze out…


Just as Frequently -- Poetry 2011

Good things happen

to bad people…

seems an odd concept.

You want it equal:

bad on bad;

good on good…

blender swirls;

homogenized dance

leaving no distinction.

Life just is…

bad things happen

to good people

and vice versa

just as frequently.


Bottled Water -- Poetry 2011

Crystal clear

sealed lid

plastic encased

decision to open

twist gripping cap

swilling down

bottle water thoughts


Tax Date -- Poetry 2011

Back to the line up…

chairs against the wall

gamut face off

waiting for tax help…

you know what’s certain;

you know the old saying…

death and taxes.

White hair prevails

crowning heads

whiskery face beards

thick glasses

wrinkled faces

canes or walkers

laughter latching words

sharing stories

passing time

sharing a tax date…


“is now established, and has an appearance that promises permanency; but in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” Benjamin Franklin

Monday, April 11, 2011

Tickity Boo -- Poetry 2011

The tree that fell in the forest

didn't fall on its own... the lumber

jack cut the mighty scot pine thus

crushing a large beaver lodge.

It's egotistical inhabitants displaced

marched to the state capitol and protested...

flapping their flat tails on the asphalt.

Thank god. I'm not as fat as I thought –

these must be somebody else's pants.

I’ve been firing on all cylinders and am being

taken off road for regularly scheduled service.

I'm beginning to think my life is the product

of a deranged imagination. tickity-boo.


Stayed up too late too many days in a row – well actually

last night was an “all-nighter”.

OMG -- Poetry 2011

Wading through numbers again today…

Sorting through receipts, invoices, check stubs –

Revved up on two cups of coffee,

jittery numbers backstroke across spreadsheets.

Legs numb from sitting, feet like ice cubes,

convinced that I had been accurate;

convinced on calculations and data entered…

determined to conquer these forms;

determined to set up better tracking;

determined that my Mom would be proud of me…


Saturday, April 9, 2011

Another -- Poetry 2011

Do I write another poem

keeping up my daily goal

or let it go due to excess

effluent produced yesterday?

Cracking skull, venting festering

thoughts scrambled to perfection.

Rolling around mind’s mouth…

savoring formation…

hand written, voice driven,

unsnarling dream filaments…


Helmets -- Poetry 2011

Every time I see a helmetless

bicyclist, I want to yank

that person right off that bike

and introduce them to my son…

I want to scream at them:

It only takes a nanosecond;

look at my son.

Do you think you can live

through this injury?

You will have regret…

If only…

I could have…

I should have worn…

Who do you know that has

the strength to see you attempt to recover?

Who do you know that will have

sore knees from endless prayers?

Help bring your body back as far as

possible to it’s former grace;

bring your mind back as far as

possible to it’s former function.

Who will stay by your side?

Who will be your exhausted caregiver?


Cavernous Words -- Poetry 2011

Cement floors,

concrete cinder block walls…

words bounce

layering intent -

innuendo and reverberation.

Even the simplest

discussion is elevated

in this cavernous car park.

Walls don’t retain


despite porosity,

it’s a non retention area.

Lacking a singular purpose

to store snippets in duplication…

raw rough finish

remains neutral gray

neither judging

or dispensing advice.

Only retained comments:


handicapped parking,

violators will be towed…


TGIF [Thank God It’s Friday] -- Poetry 2011

Someone’s weekend is off

To a bad start…

Van headlights left on all day…

Morning chill, fog thick,

Maybe late to work

Or thinking ahead to busy day

Or beyond to weekend plans.

Grabbing coffee, backpack, or lunch,

Failing the leaving-vehicle-checklist.

He just found out… expletives echo

into the cavernous parking garage.

Clearly not happy – more cursing,

slamming van door, stomping around,

screaming again while retrieving jumper

cables, connecting to the closest car

unsuccessful series of jumps totally

postponing TGIF


Reverse Hibernation -- Poetry 2011

Moss and lichens

will shrink today.

Sunny weather; dry skies…

pulls moisture from winter’s

soaked landscape;

leaf green will replace

emerald glow and silver slivers.

Advancing drier days

turn moss a drab olive;

lichen become brittle…

summer hibernation.

Do they dream

of winter’s soggy days?


Tall Tail -- Poetry 2011

No one wears tails anymore…

maybe there’s a need to waggle.

Tailless Corgis get their point across;

entire body wriggles not just the

rear fuselage with hyper extension.

Preferring dogs with no tails, practical

to keep things from being swept

to the floor from tail high surfaces

via joyous dancing displays.

But here I am wanting a tale…

preferably tall and long with

reasonably good endings for once.

Not the … Oh No… not again tale;

the kind that can be inoculated

against failure guaranteeing good

results, lots of laughs along the way

via joyous dancing displays.

A boring tale of life being comfortable…

no, more of a good read but not too magical;

one where serendipity prevails. That’s

what is needed - a waggling fuselage

appendage… a tall tail for waving

anticipation or unbounded enthusiasm

when rewards are headed in my direction.


Long Past Spring -- Poetry 2011

Warmest day this spring – 58 degrees…

sun warmed folk throw off winter’s layers

letting pale skin revel in brightness; lightly

clothed in t-shirts, shorts, sandals, they jaunt

on city sidewalks or sit in parks reading.

Except for one elder…

bundled to excess, she totters along

encased in wool hat, scarf and heavy gloves

as if walking in Arctic’s frozen realm.

Her red coat buttoned tight so bright

and cheery against gaunt leafless landscape.

Everywhere hints of leaf buds swelling upon sap

lightened branches opening in welcome warmth.

Her old bones and weak muscles continue

hibernation long past spring into summer…


Friday, April 8, 2011

Tattered -- Poetry 2011

Blue sky littered with tissue clouds

fresh out of the box or off the roll;

not crinkled or blown into…

neatly white free from use, floating

in long strips giving veils to blue hue.

Not opaque enough to keep secrets,

white lies maybe with crossed fingers.

Ones that slip and slid freely from

people’s mouths reeking of must;

fibs fill the air clinging to their clothing.

Wriggling worms – fly larvae engrossed

in waste reduction devouring truth.

Once discovered, no one ever believes

or at least knows to verify the dribble;

tattered half truths and rampant

nonfiction clutter the false ground;

watch your step…


Sure Sign of Spring -- Poetry 2011

Not your regular daffodils,

crocus, bird songs…

plethora of motorcycles;

passels of restored cars.

One with rumbling roaring noise;

other buffed to high gloss

celebrating cessation of winter rains:

time to ride dry;

time to hit the local dinner 50’s night.

Showing off two or four wheels…

celebration of mechanical movement

uncovered, re-polished, unlocked

from enforced confinement.

Tire treads hum warm asphalt;

grass emerges in concrete cracks;

sure signs of spring…


Throat Tickle -- Poetry 2011

Is it phlegm clogging throat?

An annoying thick tickle

suspended when swallowing;

dratted allergies spring forth –

a garden of irritants from dark

moldy days of winter to pollinated

summer drifting onto fall’s decay.

Late onset, minding my own business

attacked by increasing happenstance:

red rimmed eyes itch;

W. C. Field’s red skin nose;

clogged ears cause loud voice;

headache joins achy muscles.

Miserable - not woe is me sick;

sniffing and sneezing until sleep’s

continuous snoring roars loading

pillow with drool…


Free From… Poetry 2011

Finding a place to rest my eyes

on water’s reflection - impossible

today as I drove around town…

parking lot full by the reflection pond,

no space here, there and everywhere.

Circled around the currents to land

right back where I started…

the parking garage under a business:

free from crowds of people;

free from city parking meters;

free from conversation’s distraction.

Tucked away but able to scan

the street and sidewalk’s occupants.

Sunny day windows rolled down,

a convertible or two roll past;

bikes, walkers and skateboarders

viewed from car comfort in garage cave…


The Answer -- Poetry 2011

Crone observed her questions;

gathering around her like offspring…

with or with out answers, she packs

them carefully … perhaps in the next

life she can sort and solve answers

for the troublesome ones…


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Blog Blurbs -- Poetry 2011

Egomaniac blog blurbs, tweets,

comments, threads, posts, links -

I made, I hung, I submitted…

news of exhibits,

please buy my work;

new poetry,

please read my thoughts;

upcoming classes,

save a not so starving artist;

news of online shops,

purchase images on stuff;

as I purge my closets, shelves,

discarding items fallen from grace…

clearing physical space while

filling blog and online threads

with creative I made, I hung, I submitted.

Self isolated artist ascending Internet

highway blogging to other life forms

reaching out to expand her closeted world

from her ten by ten foot space…


Transformation -- Poetry 2011

I don’t think you’re who I’m looking for…

pausing, turning, retreating

her face adverted, eyes in shadow.

Late afternoon sun’s streaming glare

rode her back highlighting curved spin

echoed in the drape of her twisted shirt.

Disappearing into the darkened hall,

sun dripped onto the gray linoleum

stretching a beam behind her limp.

Back to instructing class, students

barely noticed her doorway return;

sun behind clouds, bleak caressed

her features as she checked each face.

Shaking her head, a sun burst blasted

white light encompassing the door frame.

Gone virtually as if deleted, no sound,

her departure resembles a powerful

transformation from this form to another…


Tuesday, April 5, 2011

To Whom It May Concern: Poetry 2011

Dear… Or are you Dear?

My choice to decelerate contact…

So brother, how are you?

Maybe I need to consult the electronic

Universe of Google search to see if

you’re still living in Connecticut

or did you move to Boston?

Slightly curious about family updates

but never enough to initiate reunion.

None of you ever made an effort either…

even when your kids were in high school

they passed on family gatherings or wakes.

Lost all your addresses since moving…

actually my final disconnect after Dad died

was your threatening phone flatulence.

I decided long distance was the answer –

beneficial need to cut the mummified

Albatross; clear reminders of prior damage;

most importantly not to incur future incidents…


Ringing Ears -- Poetry 2011

Clipboard forms filled

uncomfortable chairs

scattered conversations

one talking too loud

grating waiting ears

echoing off cider block walls

I pay my bills

That’s the way it is

blabbing her mouth

she’s so open spewing

personal information

others stoically ignore

eyes downcast – pencil to form

wishing she’d sound proof her thoughts

lower her caterwauling voice

mentally praying her name was next


Rolling Eyes -- Poetry 2011

Ode de cat food perfume wafted in summer

breeze… fishy odor oddly mixed with old age,

composted leaves, garden soil and vinegar.

Neighbors benefitted by her advanced arthritic

green thumbs; front yard raised beds were

discreetly hidden by shrubbery or berry bushes.

An early morning riser puttering in her yard

as her cats chased butterflies, smacked beetles

but ignored slimy banana slugs…

Adele, once a popular name was now delinquently

deemed old fashioned; she preferred Del which

sounded deliriously appropriate. Hoping it made

people think of her delicious delectable food or

their delving for deliberate wisdom from her, she

harvested deluxe deluges of vegetables delivering

them much to her friends delight. You see, she

loved playing with words too; even though rolling

eye reception was delineated by those in earshot…


Monday, April 4, 2011

a proper old maid -- Poetry 2011

Reluctantly abandoning a dusted off studio;
wistfully skimming the computer keyboard -
an adagio of wishing to stay at home…
just me, my art gear and refueled imagination.
Bags packed with promises from long ago;
a time when I was rescued, given lessons
to fit properly into society’s routine practices.
Her parents impacted my life positively
clearing mistakes from my faulty upbringing.
Given my word to her mother, I would always
look after her daughter - karma to be fulfilled.
Rheumatoid arthritis and recuperating from
this winter’s bout with pneumonia, she’s become
an uncontrollable flourishing hypochondriac…
conversation of doctors and medications will
assail my ears spoken from my oldest friend.
Next week, we’re due to go for a short holiday;
a seaside hiatus with a proper old maid while
my only desire is to lock myself in my attic hide away…


this is about a friend and her promise to the mother of a lifelong friend...

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Writing Exercise # 2 4/3/2011 -- Poettry 2011


auspicious observations
lurking in shadow’s stare
making fractional notifications
despising disappointment
stuck in bloated inflations
bursting from café crowd


avoiding reality’s lonely bite
floating among daydream clouds
feet trail brushing blooms
straying beyond boundaries
peering through twilight lenses
at people moving routinely in place


old failing friendships
locked dubious independence
lens less worn eyes
blind to welcoming arms
wander reject sidewalks
during midnight hours


moonlight soothes more than day
avoiding harsh noon light
to prowl about darkened streets
glowing moonbeams wash skin
free from toxicity’s stinted sheen.
I’m wrapped in moonlight prayers…


5 post card notes – writing exercises… 4/3/2011

Dear Queen Elizabeth,
Came across a photo in an old publication
where you’re surrounded by a passel of Corgis.
Attentive, looking toward you, eyes flowing
with their natural abundant love – hardest part
of pet ownership, I think you’ll agree – their demise.
Even a Royal decree can’t keep them alive forever.

Dearest Rosemary,
We’re heading into the time of being chronically
crone-d… I like being alone; it gives me time
to create but when I’m lonely, I think of our splintered
friendship. Please write; I’m here…

Dear Alice Welti,
Do you remember me in 7th and 8th grade Sykes Junior
High art classes? Do you remember popsicle thoughts
of adolescent youth chucking spitballs behind your back?
A cackling fresco of splats… please accept my belated
apology for being a wretched youth…

Dear Muses,
You are dependable… my bad habits prevailed
for a time. I ignored you as life screamed past.
I’m proud to say - magic neutrality is over.
Although I’m financially challenged now that I’ve
chosen to follow you, thanks for being patient…
life won’t get in the way of my imagination anymore .

Dear Grammy,
I know you like the boys better… it does hurt alot
because you favor them. I am glad they’re not there
when I walk down after school for a visit. It’s nice
to have our time; I love sharing cups of strong Peko tea,
picking rhubarb, eating a soft boiled egg out of granddad’s
egg cup – I miss him as much as you do. He would have
saved me from my brother…

Saturday, April 2, 2011

More Time -- Poetry 2011

a thousand wishes or more

some selfish or lazy

wishing to be thinner

wishing to have more money

when young, you want to be older

when older, you want health to last;

if you have curly hair you want it straight…

perhaps it’s finding a soul mate -

that falls into mega magical thinking.

The list continues:

more toys, bigger and better…

newest and designer labeled…

fancy clothes, cars, huge homes…

TV propaganda instilling dissatisfaction.

After the anger and why me,

pronouncement of short duration:

wanting to taste all that you will miss,

the saddest wish of all is more time….


Tight Cafe -- Poetry 2011

Old guy sneezing,

achoos clearly heard

above calamitous jazz;

his off beat timpani

tagging stanza after stanza.

Shish of sinus blown adds

extra variations but detracts

from Black Orfus’s tempo.

Throwing in a few coughs,

tight germ blasted café…

mobile crowd drags

flu from here to there

and back again as old

guy continues to sneeze…


Friday, April 1, 2011

Raindrops -- Poetry 2011

looking through raindrops

plastered to car side window

random size and placement

splatters and sprays

remain stagnant…

until the window unwinds

forming streaks

rows of uniform dots.

left to their own device

as if raindrops had brains,

emotions, characteristics -

left on their own,

they face certain evaporation

or dripping to gravity’s call –

sinking into earth,

dropping onto asphalt,

combining en mass,

seeking community,

responding to oceans pull…


Being -- Poetry 2011

entrance hall mirrors

glimpse small segments;

due to diminished size

capture only a fraction

of the whole…

spawning speculation,

reflective surfaces

snatch and bend

Light without a license

to practice refraction.

No advanced physics degree -

normal natural inclination

mimicking what comes before.

No emotional attachment;

no rational thought;

practicing Zen mind


Cold Sore -- Poetry 2011

humdoozer sits on lower lip

delayed a day after ex left

mega stress reaction

size of a dime

split and cracked

ooze leaks when smiling

realizing fear is mine

still wise to be leery

he such a _______

fill in the blank

but I am too

clinging to old regime

cold sore represents

depth of the stink

permeates my being

residual manifestation

fear’s ugly side

faced in a mirror

duplicating stupidity


Admission -- Poetry 2011

sonorous vibrations

singing bowls

chakra balance

want to go

need ten dollars

don’t want to go

home from errands

slip into mini cavern

safe hidey hole

art materials wait

imagination spills

free from distraught

nature of beings

hiding a lone

safe from scrutiny

relatively warm

definably dry

relishing right brain

late into the night


Instructions -- Poetry 2011

Grace of hands, limber

fingers loving piano keys.

Wonder of memory holding

phantom notes; amazing…

capacity to learn, observe…

odd ability to recall bitter

or sweet incidents that replay

like a mental rental movie.

Sometimes a short journey…

unanswered questions;

religion’s blind faith,

scientific documentation.

Mystery of being…

no concrete answers

about what and why;

serendipity to calamity

an adventure - no instructions -

even if you take time to read them…


Foreign Travel -- Poetry 2011

Tea cup dregs outline a distinct

Eiffel Tower; base to cup lip

beige against white – a cinnamon

backwashed sky…

reading stray black tea leaves.

Never traveled to Europe or Asia,

opportunity lost for lack of funds…

does Canada count as foreign travel?

Wild ride on Nova Scotia gravel roads…

no guard rails, tight corners, steep drops;

my brother snoring loudly in the backseat.

Car in front jerks, hands fly to tissue box…

windy road exploded someone’s stomach;

glad I wasn’t in that car…

Same trip, ready for an ocean swim…

preceded by long steep climb to the beach.

Water loaded with jelly fish – Dad laughed.

My brother asleep in the car; we hike back

up in sweltering summer heat to a hot car.

Dad itching to head home – too much to do.

Begging, he relented but groaned for a fabric

store stop… no McNeil plaid but Royal Stuart

wool yardage purchased for a kilt… pattern,

leather buckles selected too. Vacation somewhat

fulfilled, Dad turned the car South returning

to Connecticut in record time…


Constant Movement -- Poetry 2011

Cinnamon disappeared

white froth disintegrated

khaki brown in a white cup

leg asleep from chair seat bite

precipitates move to small table

back against the wall

gunslinger or lawman’s choice

view of doors and windows

wary eyes available

graze over countenance

crows strut in park

liquid traffic pours

misty seagulls glide

flower buds float puddles

constant movement

accompanying jazz melody


Licorice Stick -- Poetry 2011

Second hand clarinet in a worn case

dependent on self regulation by a shy

4th grader; skipping practice over holidays,

male teacher stood before squeaking

lost notes from untransformed lessons.

Nervously shifting weight back and forth;

shaking under his disgruntled stare;

most likely not the only one who didn’t

practice over the long Christmas break.

Didn’t want to be standing in a sharp glare…

alone in the gymnasium…

towering instructor wearing a suit…

petite child in a homemade dress.

Dusted with guilt, a second hand clarinet

resided for years in a worn leather case;

paralyzing shyness of male authority figures

shared that closet shelf far from exposure.

Wonder what Mom would say?

No use asking space…


Into Fog -- Poetry 2011

Olympia capital dome lost…

evaporated by climatic resolve;

steady mist clogging into fog -

landscape retreats beneath

moist visual steel curtain.

Easily penetrated by bird or

animal - two and four legged…

umbrellas whisk by windows;

dogs falter at car tire’s hiss;

buses smash waves of idyll reserves.

Puddles dissemble into airborne spray;

lacking credible lift prevents long flight.

Kittyhawk standard rivulets reenter

fast streaming to street drains; snappy

jazz – Sunny Side of the Street –

expedites watery gray tempo…


Toe Tapping -- Poetry 2011

Ninja stance; karate moves;

bouncing to guitar’s twang…

dinosaur hoody; flushed face;

engaging smiles, he dances through

each jazz composition…

freedom of childhood exploring

music to body unselfconsciously.

Springing in front of circled tables

full of snacking elders who pay no

heed to this delightful sprite;

lost in adult preoccupations with

java or tea cups clattering on

yet another rainy day; sitting

still, aging frame resists urge

to join content with toe tapping…


Torani Italian Cream Soda -- Poetry 2011

Thought I’d be sipping Torani

Italian Cream Soda by now…

record rains and cool temperatures

invaded March - a soggy lion indeed

gargling rain; his roar diminutive

compared to pounding squalls.

Fragrant Chai warms my innards;

cinnamon froth cloud floats down

dark gullet sending chills North.

Emptying wallet’s last four dollars

for a weekly Tradition’s Cafe treat…

pen to paper, cup to lips,

ears wrap around chords slipping

in and out of many conversations…


Make Art not war -- Poetry 2011

Behind, far behind the times not the sentiment –

Make Art Not War… when exactly did that pop

into society’s mind; weren’t the famous photographed

recently adorned with printed t-shirts…

now for two dollars and seventeen cents, I’m

a proud owner proclaiming belatedly my distaste

for war on my Subaru bumper but forget the time lag.

My heart has always felt that so this spontaneous

purchase deducted from my Tradition’s card sales

is a chance to reiterate a long held belief…

a mini movie:

time - early seventies

location - middle school teacher’s break room

dialogue & characters - the science teacher’s wife,

a frequent sub was going on and on about Viet Nam.

Others masking growing concern over rising death toll

from an impossible conflict - war machine eating sons-

continued correcting papers quietly sipping coffee.

Breaking from my normal silence,

I sprang up looking her in the eye –

I can still hear my tight quiet voice forming each word…

If I had a son, I’d personally drive him to Canada