Monday, April 30, 2012

Like That 4-16-2012

It's raining AND it's Monday...

what a combination but it is spring.

The sun is just reclusive, a typical artist.

Reluctant to shine or show off…

must be a self-esteem issue

as some days are bright and cheery

when belief in self soars.

Perhaps allergies are the cause

of moisture… seasonal itching,

red eyes, sneezing, sore throat –

who wants to be seen like that.


Sliver 4-15-2012

Hers was not a heartwarming story.

Just another voiceless soul accepting
a vaporous existence, dull, boringly dull…
not like her life before her parents died.
Traveling under their wings, her under developed
skills never matured to sustain herself without them.
Her tree didn’t make a sound when
crashing to the ground; the tree trimmer
wore heavy ear protectors and the neighbors…
they didn’t care for the eyesore of her youth.
The tree fort had been built by her father;
smashed to bits, the sturdy splinters exploded
upon impact sending one through her heart.
Sawing and trimming the branches, the worker
couldn’t hear her gasping clutching her release…
a sliver of 2X4 kiln dried pine wood.


Lobster Red 4-14-2012

Lobster Red

Waxy white, pale as cream,

naked legs displayed in shorts

burn indecent images on retinas

whenever the temperature reaches 60 degrees.

Warm weather gear’s rare appearance

confused many still coated in Gore-Tex.

They scanned the sky warily as if the sun was minutes

from disappearing behind solid gray banks

skirting the Pacific, heading inland to swallow

blue sky and disgorgingsquall fits.

Always ready for the next soaking, these

hardy souls squinted in the unusual glare

still layered for protection; others so carefree,

exposed snow white appendages.

Wonder how many sunburns made

geeky white legs turn lobster red?


Spring Wings 4-13-2012

Sat in the sun for a few minutes

neutralized the so sick of winter chant.
Today felt like the first day of spring.
Sun warmed bones;
leaves unfurled from tight bonds…
sap was on the rise.
Aches and pains unfurled;
sun warmed hope rose
carried on wings of merry sparrows.


Revision 4-12-2012

Flicks of scissor-ed words dismissed
as ungrateful joined the others having

been determined to be useless,
extravagant, unnecessary, too weighty.
Her vigilant mind scoured the remaining phrases
arranged on the dining room table.
Summer evening cooled turning into night…
preceding a storm, the breeze scattered her story;
racing before the rain, phrases slide across the floor.
The winnowed contents successfully revised…
Inspiration: Eudora Welty born in Jackson, Mississippi (1909). She wrote several novels, including The Optimist's Daughter (1972), but she's best known for her short stories, which she wrote, rewrote, and revised by cutting them apart with scissors at the dining-room table. Writer's Almanac

Safety Net 4-11-2012

Every now and then you come up
from the acceptable muck you’re stuck in.
Rising up above well inhabited habits,
accessing a vicarious freedom
before settling back into known comfort.
The comfortable known… a risk free safety net.


Behind 4-10-2012


Take me… seriously? Why did I even apply?

Coated in dog and cat fur,

extra texture added to my black fleece hoodie;

the pilling exterior impossible to remove too.

Her eye skirts my surface noting causal attire:

jeans, t-shirt, fleece hoodie – worn but clean.

Leaving my plump form [also worn but clean],

her eyes slip to another who is neater but less original.

A façade similar to clothing and make-up advertisements,

this one looks normal even clone-ish to her own style.

Rejection waltzes my way; the fur drifts on currents

settling on the less than original décor leaving my trace behind.


Middle School-ers 4-10-2012

Work in silence – never…

bursts of random sound effects
erupt from four sources.
The quieter ones sit stunned
pausing to watch the display.
Class clowning and out doing…
as if it’s a new thing.
I could give them lessons
from when I was their age.


Whispers 4-9-2012

Moon whispers…
sky selkie

luring one into night
to walk dark streets
following her call.
Feet fall into place
naturally enticed
by moonbeams kiss.
Walking, walking,
simple steps
transformed into
extraordinary movement
caught by moon whispers…


my way 4-8-2012

not worrying too much

about the order of things
sky was blue
sun shown brightly
first real spring day
felt light at heart
soul sang harmony
blending with bird calls
grass grew
leaves wriggled out
dogs shed more
spent the day
routine chores
full attention
on just what comes
my way…


reining 4-7-2012

the mice are running wild

in my skull today;
scampering, having a field day…
a hide and seek with where am I?
what was I doing?
where did I put that?
on and on and on…
the wheels churn
leading nowhere inparticular.
even tempting cheese
won’t rein wee beasties in…


Vigilante 4-6-2012

Dandy lions disgraced his pristine surface

manicured to a perfect green velvet.

A miraculous horticultural achievement

considering the soil conditions…

that’s what chemical fertilizers create;

that was the sole purpose for his weekends –

lawn care – his growing pride.

Glaring, growling, clinching teeth…

escaped seeds from blighted excuses -

environmental friendly pesticide free zones.

Ex-lawns surrounded his property…

wastelands filled with mulched native shrubs,

succulents and drought resistant perennials.

His perfect lawn invaded with yellow blots.

Pumping his sprayer, he waited for nightfall.

The cul-de-sac would be dandelion free….


Half… 4-6-201

Dad, better check the sofa…

we left him lifting a cushion.

Next day cushions were drying;

he sat enveloped in silence.

Winter’s ice was thick with frost on the lake.

His warm breath fogged the bay window
next to her empty chair, his life was now

as the half decorated Christmas

tree shoved into a dark corner.

Ornaments along with her clothing

were packed into boxes for donation.

Half empty closet,

half empty bureau,

half empty bed…

his heart was thick with frost.


Deformed 4-6-2012

Planted too close to foundation,

the Magnolia leans at a risqué angle.

It’s semi-circle of limbs scratch the roofline

instead of brushing against the sky.

The branches perpetually mangled

by pruning saw’s bite are forgiving.

Spring blooms and follow-up leaves

hide the asymmetrical deformity.


Spitting Swears 4-6-2012

Numb tongue lapsed;
drool’s swollen stream
dribbling as gravity prevailed.
Frustration burnt dulled eyes;
hands slapped the table.
Right there, words;
right there, see them in here
tapping her temple.
Eyes flooded tear rivulets;
her mouth spit swears.


The Circle 4-46-2012

Venus danced with Pleiades,
swirling skirts of seven sisters
spinning in harmony to a sacred rhythm
cast waves of light to infinity.
Never weary, their balanced trance
broken only by dawn entering the circle…


Moonchild 4-5-2012

Moon rode shotgun;

her silver layers graced the passenger seat…
she moved from front to backseat
slipping silently in and out of windows.
The car speed toward the glow…
sweeping over dusty roads,
leaving pastures behind,
leaving forest’s silence
leaving freshly plowed earth.
Neon, florescent, incandescent
threw their wattage skyward.
Diminished - moonlight retreated…
undulating glare sucked
her life out of the city.
One more restless moonchild lost
to metropolitan’s relentless draw.


Fond Of 4-4-2012

Another one out the door…
face it, men are beasts

except for you, my wee little beastie.
I’m very, very fond of you.
Another relationship failed … men!
How did my mother do it?
How’d she put up with Dad for all those years?
Last thing she said, I thought you’d be married by now.
Here it is ten jerk years later and no closer to a ring.
Being in love always starts out so well and turns unbearable…
well, fuzzy face, it’s you and me for now.

Marguerite Duras said, "You have to be very fond ofmen. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they're simply unbearable."

Outside 4-3-2012

How many hands lingered

on the door handle?

Moving through battered door…

feet wore the bricks down;

eyes peaked from glass panes.

Worlds collided and dreams

escaped permanence…

lost outside curtained windows.


Loveless 4-2-2012

All the misuse and abuse

comes to mind
as fresh as the time
it was dealt out over
twenty years ago…
only thing different:
now I’m not afraid of him.
He met his match;
she exacted a toll…
he is old, worn, beaten
and loveless but I am
centered and at peace.

Inside 4-1-2012

Opening a conversation…
who will share a story they have bottled up inside?
Looking at things from various angles,
you've probably figured out we are alike in different ways.
It’s the loneliness that binds us together; we’re all alone.

Find love – that’s the answer;
love fixes everything…
didn’t you think you would be taken care of and
if you just had someone to hold you,
you would not feel so sad anymore. Right?

But life just doesn't work like that.
Not that love is so wrong; it’s the assumption
that you’re fixed as a couple... sometimes depression
is worse than when single. Open a conversation…
share the story bottled up inside.


Howard Nemerov said: "A writer out of loneliness istrying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling orteaching or ordering. Rather he seeks to establish a relationship of meaning,of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all life trying tobe less lonesome."

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Too Much Information 3/31/2012

Over the last super out, you revealed

your years of marital disharmony.

You left me for her…

like I wanted to hear that it was long dead…

I don’t care that she barely speaks to you,

that you both were beyond screaming,

beyond emotional explosions,

beyond throwing objects and worse.

You’re lonely; it seems as alone

as I felt when married to you.

I almost felt sorry for you.

I said, awkward, right [aimed at our son]…

too much information… time to leave

but curiosity got the best of me.

Why are you staying together?

Financial reasons… we can’t afford

to divorce. Who do you know that remain

happy in a long term relationship…

especially after twenty plus years?

You seemed reluctant to leave my home,

you talked about catching an early flight;

finally admitting,  I was stupid back then

as close to an apology for abuse and abandonment.

Later my eyes burned with fresh pain;

wounds never forgotten and only slightly forgiven,

your father left us for that bitch…


Saturday, March 31, 2012

Silent 3/30/2012

Looking beyond the mirror
into forbidden space

where darkness reigns.
The scene of taboo emotions
forbidden to reveal them-selves
gain strength from ignorance.
Nails scraping, chipping, scratching
to get out of imposed confinement
unleash tumultuous disgorging
of life’s inequity in raging torrents.
Silenced by well-meaning behavior,
bloodied glass fractures reveled
release pooling onto floor…
screaming undulations fall silent.


art class 3/29/2012

Scared at a young age into not expressing themselves,

the scar becomes a self-imposed expression.

A continuation heaped on by family or others

who think art, writing, dance, any self-expression

is a waste of time… it becomes true, becomes reality.

How cruel to slap a sensitive soul into not complying

with their inner creativity by degrading emerging

attempts to capture beauty, distress, joy… any emotion,

and thoughts, experiences, life to visual or auditory format.



Censored 3/28/2012

Cut lines

Again and again –
Adapt, modify,
Ruin the original…
Total mediocrity.
Actors lines
Make connections
A drama within
As student actors
Grumble and moan
About their director
Chopping the musical
To a safe drabness…


Absorbed 3/27/2012

Continual gray without benefit of rainbow…

even a miniature prism would delight dull eyes.

Where was the sun?

Where was the light to shine through hanging

drops on every Japanese Maple leaf bud?

Orbs of petulant gray increase surface tension

till they drop what little gleam they held

into darkness of soil’s soul… absorbed.


Smolder 3/26/2012

Beyond thinking up anything new…

life was drained physically and mentally.
Primal bloodletting by family determined
to exorcise any and all creative demons.
Soul shriveled to mechanical movements;
lost to mimic shadows hiding strength in dark.
Exhibits in light were too noticeable;
ambitious efforts smoldered deep in ash,
a few embers burned desperate to reawaken…


Paint Fumes 3/25/2012

Fell off the ladder…
the short ladder I placed

at a risky angle against the wall.
No room to extend the legs…
just too much stuff to move.
Stepping down, skipped rungs,
splat on the floor – so sudden -
too stunned to comprehend.
Watching arm swell,
catching breath at last,
crawling to upright,
slow as a sloth - dust settles.
Laughing at the second near miss
because the ladder was caught
by the window ledge.
Luckily the walls were finished;
I reached my quota for paint fumes…


Posted a photo of the swollen arm bruises on Facebook…
one friend suggested getting some markers once the colors turn cool and drawing a tattoo.
I’m up for drawing a dragon!

Restored… 3/24/2012

Snoring while awake -

at least aware of her snore.

One eye opened to a bright room;

so it’s not the dead of night.

Morning had begun without her.

Winter storm cycle broken;

a spring dawn exhibiting actual sunrise

dismissing infernal gray mist.

Clouds open; eyes past dreams…

a list rotated into bleary mind’s view.

Already behind within moments

of leaving restorative dreamtime.


Present Tense 3/24/2012

Words reverberated
in her mind seeking
immediate release…
random what ifs blend
with less severe memories.
How does that work?
What triggers the brain
to let old images appear?
Here in the present…
past old times…
flashes of happy and sad
drift while recumbent
under night warmed covers.
Waiting for the energy
to get up following
sleep’s dreams slipping
between past into present tense.


Bills 3/23/2012

Unrolling a dollar at a time…

counting out a pile of pennies,

the exasperated clerk grew even more

impatient as a check book appeared.

Snapping the bills, dropping each coin

into the till, she counted out loud.

Pen poised the old lady full of patience

waited calmly for the balance.

Her pen danced in spurts across the check

face featuring a basket of kittens who

seemed to enjoy the rickety ball point pen

scratches ruffling up their fur. Tearing out

the check, handing it over with lopsided

smile… See you next month.

You can pay by mail, Mam…

or even direct deposit or online.

No thanks, closing her purse to new

fangled ideas…


Valuables 3/23/2012

Eccentric old biddy with wrought iron tastes;
her house out-shown the others on the tumble
down block. All had lost their former grandeur.
Stagnant decay laced with neglect prevailed
except for her house with gleaming windows,
painted exterior, flower boxes along with tidy lawn.
Being a life-long maid with eclectic taste the interior
was Zen simplistic; wall colors exemplified harmony,
sparse furnishing were comfortable, lighting soft,
belongings were worn but clean… nothing extraneous.
Anyone who broke in left disappointed as there
was nothing of value to steal…


Honestly 3/22/2012

you kept a tally?
A mental list of
who does that?
Well, you obviously do…
real neighbors pitch in.
In time of need,
they become extended family
but you…
you said,
We’re even now.
Even for something I never
asked you to do…
Honestly, you’ll never get it.


Wednesday, March 21, 2012

And you know 3/21/2012

Flimsy but decorative

cobwebs slipped fromalabaster;

slick surface with porcelain sheen…

a transparent glaze revealing

blue vein lace beneath paleskin.

Delicate features waxed calm;

infinite calm of placidemotions

trapped so as not to disturb beauty.

Icy beauty espousing coldness

where all the colors blur and fade

with wishes for a second of silence

to heal personal thoughts because

this body is always tired as it sinks

caught in an endless web of responsibilities.

Responsibilities that slip away from cooling

shell as pills formalize night’s dreams…

and you know the facade has to ascend.


Coin Flip 3/21/2012

Was the end in sight?
No crystal ball was available…
not that magic could foretell
when one’s time was up.
Family resilience on paternal side;
heart problems plagued the other.
Health and disease tied together
in an unraveling aging bow…
could as easily flip a coin for the result.

Dot 3/20/2012

Green dot left upon the art table.
Perfect circle in green,
a machine punched perfection
resting on the stained off white surface.
Where were its comrades?
Silent, unmoving, alone…
a center of student attraction,
What’s that for?


Move 3/20/2012

You gotta be sincere…

scrawled on the white board.

What are you today?

Totally happy,

totally sad or angry,

in-between it all.

Ramp up the response;

side step doneness;

move boredom out of the way

or just write on yourself

that’s what kids do.


The Dare 3/20/2012

Gosh, get it right dude…

really, Z’s?

WhyZz notzz

Why never?


My ears are dying from your zzzzzzzzzzzz

Laterzz talkzz aboutzz itzz,

said checking the wall clock.


Flicker 3/20/2012





gone global…

stupid to sublime.

Ignore surroundings

for basking glow

of electronicity;

generation addicted

to monitor flicker


TV’s glare…


Vivid 3/20/2012

She fell off the table in her mind.

It was rudimentary…

told not to climb on furniture;

told not to bounce on the bed;

told not and not and no, no, no.

She did the entire not and no inside -

pure rebellion within a vivid imagination.

Rules and rules and rules added their weight

without finding an out-of-mind refuge;

imaginative actions never surfaced in compliant

reality much to detriment of her developing spirit.


It is… 3/20/2012

My ears are crying;
you know you failed…
that belongs in the garbage.
I could tell you all about the why
but you know what…
you have seen it before.
At least, this chair is real…
it has dimension;
it is visible and useful
without looking for compliments.


Very True 3/19/2012

Spirit is beautiful
wrapped in cocoons of beauty and function.

Unless undisciplined habits convert the housing:
swelling with too much food consumption,
shrinking with imbalance of various inversions,
gravity, time and aging ache for a balance remodel.
Consumed so much time caregiving others,
physical edges were lost infused with self-neglect.
Now it's a different sort of expression trying to regain
what slipped through the hour glass of carelessness.


K.I.S.S. 3/18/2012

Here's another glimpse at the inner crazy
of my world. Typed a poem this morning…
company came and I put the PC to sleep.
It ate the poem; do you believe that?
Seriously??? When will the madness end?
I wish that I had an app that would show me
where missing items go - electronic or physical.
Sometimes simple things are the loveliest.
Pen to notebook paper- keep it simple sir -
unless I forget the notebook somewhere.
ahhhhhhhh don't know why I didn't save it before I got up

Lost Poem 3/17/2012

Lost a poem during night’s repose…
was sure I’d pull the fragments together in the morning.

Drifting back to dreams, mental notes were made
instead of forcing myself upright to clasp pen to pad.
Dawn’s whisper cracked eyes to the world but the words
vanished; stuck between dream sequences, nothing
seemed to squeeze them back into conscious mind.
Started my day suffering slight disappointment…
all because the displaced poem transformed itself
into a mist of ordinary things that are quickly forgotten.


Poet Richard Wilbur born in New York City (1921 - He came from a long line of editors, andthought he might become a journalist, but World War II changed his plans. Heserved in the infantry, read Edgar Allan Poe in the trenches, and wrote poemsabout the war, but he didn't write about the battles and the experience ofbeing on the front lines. Instead, he wrote about the quiet, lonely moments,like evenings spent peeling potatoes in the Army kitchen.

He said: "I would feel dead if I didn't have theability periodically to put my world in order with a poem. I think to beinarticulate is a great suffering, and is especially so to anyone who has a certainknack for poetry."

Spoon Search 3/16/2012

Pausing to visualize the where-a-bouts…
why didn’t we label the boxes?

Standing with eyes closed to the confusion,
all that was needed was a few spoons.
Being too lazy to rinse them, well…
that would be too exhausted to rinse them.
Chaos was well established; no wonder
couples divorce during a house remodel.
Tripping on taped cardboard that protected
the floor earlier had sent curse words bouncing.
Everything familiar so dislocated, out of place,
hidden in unlabeled boxes stacked all over.
Eyes open to new cabinets, new appliances,
new tile floor… forgetting the spoon search,
Sumi-e ink met mulberry paper in a creative rush…


"You have tosystematically create confusion, it sets creativity free. Everything that iscontradictory creates life."
- Salvador Dali

Recess Over 3/15/2012

Reluctant to leave dreams behind, digital alarm
clock blinks toward 8am while crated dogs
rustle in morning light waiting for food.
Rolling upwards into dawn’s awkward glow,
legs dangle avoiding the sting of a cold wood floor.
Mental to-do-list pushes last segment of sleep
aside; recess is over with a final yawn…


First Tie for Everything 3/14/2012

Not using my time well...
my thoughts are as soggy
as the wind maligned downpour.
Mine is an internal downpour
of random nothingness; visions
of reticulated ridiculousness
stream past blink less staring eyes.
Voices increase thru the course
of the time out; movie dialogue
breaks through disturbing
a cute pair of little sparrows
playing the longest damned
hopscotch I've ever seen…
napping sitting up – a first for me.

remember I make this stuff up - I did not fall asleep
sitting up. Well at least not today

Wash Off 3/13/2012

Smell of humanity tainted with indolence
was impossible to wash off…
working in social services had seemed
a good way to be part of change.
The mistaken premise that someone could;
that was the assumption – could with a should.
Some did aspire to reach beyond environment,
beyond family contusions, beyond poverty’s lathering…
the smell of discouragement was impossible to wash off.


How Are You? 3/12/2012

Such a simple question… asked
out of social politeness rather than actual interest.
Trapped with an expanding diatribe, she was
frozen to the spot unable to slip away
in the direction of the tempting coffee aroma.
After all, it was just a typical greeting;
listening to miniscule details of every issue
without rolling eyes, checking the time,
or screaming indifference made sainthood probable.
Too nice was an outside layer; sympathetic ear
was a disguise; she only came for the refreshments
not for gathering other’s composted trivial lives.

Please remember I have a vivid imagination and much of my writing is from that not personal experince or personality, etc...

Something Living 3/11/2012

Midnight found her struggling to pull leg
warmers onto chilled cramping calves under
achingly cold layers of blankets; where
were those blasted cats when you needed them.
The long pink flannel nightgown did little
to hold the warmth with its ugly ruffles at cuff and collar.
Not that she ever wore anything revealing but still
she hated pink and the ruffles… but a thrift store
inexpensive find is a thrift store find even pink flannel.
Rolling back and forth to self-tuck in, she felt as naked
and barren as the leafless maples under their sheets of ice.
Calling softly, the three cats responded curling behind
bent knees, resting on chest/hip saddle, and leaning against
her stomach; whispering thanks for their comforting breath
nearby and something living to lie with…


Inspiration for this poem was "ThreeDog Night" by Faith Shearin, from Moving the Piano. © Stephen F. AustinUniversity Press, 2011 – especially the last stanza.

“Your hands and feet were cold
and the trees were cold: naked,

traced in ice. You might take a dog
to bed or two or three, anything to lie
down with life, feel it breathing nearby.”

Socks 3/10/2012

I want to do impractical things…
break the monotony – self imposed -
that paints my world a safe blah beige.
Wrinkled complexion must mean some
wisdom has come into this mind filled
with nebulous silent restrictions…
a mind too safe, just too predictable
housed in echoes from past decades.
Isn't that weird? Worn reactions,
tacky fibrillations become truth.
I’m so sick of practical; think I’ll start
breaking small rules first…
from henceforth – I will no longer
match my socks!


Destination Goodwill 3/9/2012

Procrastination via a swelled head…
doing Sunday chores swimming in a sinus headache;
sometimes I so dislike doing laundry.
Are you sure I can't throw it in a pile and burn it?
I’d just buy new! Damn it, don’t have replacement funds
but my dream of burning laundry lives on.
Actually, it’s the clothes I dislike…
I own such a conglomeration of size, stained, paint
spattered, ill fitting, style less excuse for a wardrobe.
I know I’m a jeans and T-shirt /sweatshirt guru; I never was
a woman who followed style, masked myself in make-up,
left a trail of overly scented air, removed natural body hair,
spent money on spa or salon... no, not even a hint of keeping
up with latest fad has crossed my mind so a “What Not to Wear”
appearance is out of the question. I didn't realize it was so nice outside…
just loaded my car with clean clothing - destination Goodwill.
Then I’ll check the free “closet” at the food co-op…


Counting Down 3/8/2012

Curmudgeon within sulked;

petulant thoughts circulated

mixing with chirping spring songs.

Dismal winter disappeared

a minute more every day…

stupid sunlight perforated clouds.

Soon the squalls would halt; dank

muck would dry out; sensitive eyes

would sting from torrential brightness.

Curtains closed tight; blinds lowered;

window shades concealed habitual

apathy to approaching summer warmth.

Dailey “x” crossed off long light days

counting down to bleak winter’s return.


Doodling 3/7/2012

Lines go no where
dragging across margins
in circles or other forms;
lax and derelict in nature,
they wander without purpose…
zig zags, swirls and whorls
alongside pertinent information.
Some twist from diligent meander to
contain meaningful time and purpose:
phone numbers, addresses, names
squeeze between dancing ink lines.
Flair pens doodle better than ball point…


Exuberance 3/6/2012

How one can remain quiet
among other’s chaos…
voices rise and fall, mostly rise,
trying to be heard over one another.
Blasts of sentences, structured and non,
combine with physical reactions of
pounding tables or stomping feet.
Impossible focus amongst raucous overload,
The student’s exuberance makes me antsy;
I can’t wait for this class to end…


Morning Blend

Rising to the surface,
real life was waiting;
leaving sleep behind,
rain pounded skylights.
Another soggy day…
another dark storm
slapped the landscape.
Stretching, sighing, sitting up…
peculiar dreams mingle
with wafting coffee aroma.
A cup of energy called
Morning Blend stimulatesneurons.
The first sip pushes caffeine
withdrawal back into dreams
stained in alternative directions.

pleased that words are again tumbling out of sleep.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

To the Top 3/4/2012

She was a fake…
borrowing other’s words,
flaunting them as trademarked,
usurping thoughts too,
anything to better her unoriginal mind set.
Flirting with contention,
ignoring rolled eyes,
she gouged her way from underdog
to top bitch…


Rest of the Story 3/3/2012

Can you see the appeal of being a writer?
A romantic notion - writing a novel…
writers create worlds from their imagination.
Worlds that contain only people of their choosing;
worlds of controlled events and experiences…
all the good and bad stuff directed with temperance.
Does the romance and excitement wear off?
Aiming at three hundred plus pages, how many
unfinished novels sit in drawers across the country.
Will the story defeat or cause the writer to face blank
pages and persevere into the reality of imaginary worlds.
The stark reality of having to write the rest of story…


Mailbox 3/2/2012

Howling upon departure,
sadness envelopes sleep

till snoring interrupted
by key in lock releasing
tapping toenails that
accentuate skittering paws
rushing to greet with
barks and a prancing hello.
Honestly you two, I just
went to the mailbox…

Scrawling 3/1/2012

That she could do…
Optimum scrawler
Worthy of a degree
PHD in unrecognizable handwriting
Words came so fast
Matching a squalls deposit
Flooding street drains
Horizontal wind whipped
Dashing thoughts to opaqueness
Stream of consciousness
Without a second rewrite
Pages left for her children to sort
Through in case something valuable
Was misplaced within the scrawl box…


February 29th 2/29/201

Finally leap year…

finally a chance to celebrate her divorce.

Four years was a long time to wait to light

a candle; drink some sipping chocolate;

renew her vow to never trust again.

Well, that didn’t need to wait four years

since circumstances justified lack of faith

in all human beings all the time.

To avoid abuse, that was her ultimate goal;

to avoid her rescue nature, that hadn’t changed.

Cuddling dim hope that her debt to karma was

well served over a life of leaped years…


Let Go 2/29/2012

Too ready to blame herself,

she apologized even to her cat.

Locked into unworthy, she shouldered

a weighted bag of self-servitude.

Waddling... tottering, she was

on the brink of old fashioned calamity.

Advantage – everyone else;

game point – never hers… wearing

unnamed guilt dragged shoulders down.

Magnetic appeal to users, she was chosen

to display their depravity – just another

emotional burden added to the pile.

Moving wouldn’t help; she tried that.

Aimless, thumbing a recreation calendar,

her eyes stuck to Aikido – confidence builder…


Ballet of Foolishness 2/29/2012

No matter… whatever –

dull perceptions greeted her.

Deciding to challenge numbness,

she walked through each icy puddle;

stuck her tongue out to catch snow rain;

cut across the street ignoring the cross walk.

Freedom from routine – that’s what she needed.

Over analyzing every move was draining.

Rethinking the crosswalk – too dangerous;

the snow was probably contaminated;

her wet feet were freezing…

she’d probably get a cold.

So much for foolishness…

withdrawing into herself,

blighted freedom prevailed.

No matter – whatever…