Sunday, February 28, 2016

February 28, 2016 The Sunday Whirl Wordle #240/ Dream Scene on the Mesa -- Sunday's Whirligig Whirligig #48/ The Morning (Mourning) Begins -- Poets United

The Sunday Whirl Wordle 240

Enough, kiss, threat, run, dream, scarlet, jump, touch, group, mist, bell, cross

Dream Scene on the Mesa

i am enough     no more        no less

late afternoon grey        on the mountain

in the snow appears        the white buffalo      sacred to native people

the wind howls       the mood melancholy      again this morning

all is grey       a yellow glow above the mountain     the ringing of the bell

from the church tower      sounds across the mesa     the air is crisp and dry

this land is ancient      old        the scene

like a dream       sunday morning      a group of people

young and old       dressed in scarlet      carry a large cross

the children run to keep up      throw kisses to the animals in the fields

there is no threat       in this dream scene       hard edged crystal clear

February 28, 2016


Sunday's Whirligig Whirligig #48

Bathed, troubles, crevices, squirt, stones, ask, morning, seeds, fiery, spray, reeling, hose

The Morning (Mourning) Begins

the morning, (mourning) begins         a new day                bathed, shaved

dressed to the “t”                                the sun rises             to find the same

troubles, bubbles and muddles           i slip my hand into the crevices to find the lazy snake

who sleeps there                                 he asks who disturbs his sleep

one eye closed         his fiery tongue flicking in and out      it is only me

i answer                   i gather stones                          place them next to my ear

and listen to their wise words              for they have lived long

sung songs               seen much                                        know more

carry the marks of the fire                            sometimes their words send me reeling

the seeds of wisdom                 are planted there             the phone rings

as when we were children                    the phone is a hose strung between two cans

the voice i hear                         is your's                     in dreams you return to me

February 28, 216

Sunday, February 21, 2016

February 21, 2016 Sunday's Whirligig #47 --A Tattered and Torn Envelope / The Sunday Whirl Wordle #239--The Gift Given / Poets United, Poetry Pantry

Sunday's Whirligig #47
broken, chasing, sheared, remains, missing, pilgrim, basket, jagged, sorrow, keep, swims, wise

A Tattered and Torn Envelope

chasing sheared remains      what is missing                   yes, i was a pilgrim in a basket

tripping over jagged rocks    i have known sorrow         know it now

and regret                             would-a                               could-a

should-a                                swims over and over          in my mind

but the past                           lies only in memory            the threads that once held

are broken now                     rage and yearning               will change nothing

i keep it all to myself            in my breast pocket             near my heart

wise words in a tattered        and torn envelope                yellowing with age

February 21, 2016

The Sunday Whirl Wordle #239 Start, attack, volume, still, truth, free, two, crispy, phrase, sun, rage, yearning

The Gift Given

someone said it started long ago     perhaps in the beginning      but where is the 

where to place the finger             find the truth                             is it the volume at 
                                                                                                                the bottom

with the crispy pages                  yellowed over time                    free of babble

just a word or two                       a phrase written from the sun     you face it with rage

you trace the words                    with your fingers                         still the meaning eludes

you start again                             something about the dna            you were born with

the gift given                               the attack was unexpected          as are most things in life

and if hard                                   and unpleasant                            it is life you are living

February 22, 2016

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

February 17, 2016 Writers Digest Prompt: A Hiding poem/ Much Remains Hidden -- Poets United Midweek Motif/Maggiage

Writers Digest February 17, 2016 Prompt: A hiding poem

Much Remains Hidden

much is hidden           the search is on                         who are you

who am i                     the day brand new                     through the day

i search for you           for me                                        how do you like your coffee

what do you eat for breakfast      and later in the day  what do you eat

do you take a nap        or work right through               how old are you

and how will you vote     sort socks into pairs             where does the other one go

or is it hiding                just out of sight                        of course when you decide

the hunt is hopeless      and toss some singles out         the other one appears

you are destined           to have some singles                 some pairs

life is like that               not perfect                                 still much remains hidden

February 17, 2016


Poets United  Midweek Motif

Marriage (The Second Time Around)

i did it once             i'm not sure i need to do it again           the first time

i was a young girl      a church wedding                                a white dress

my father gave me away     this time       i simply nailed an iron heart over the door

told you it was the symbol of our union           i will always love my first husband

without need of a second mate      you came along          you heard my whale song

you offered your own beating heart      held it out to me       we fell in love

in a different way       we said we would be together            until we weren't

we made no promises          no forever after                         just for today

the door would always remain open       each day you are here        because you want to be

and i the same            we live in this moment                    tomorrow takes care of itself

February 17, 2016

Monday, February 8, 2016

February 8, 2016 The Sunday Whirl--Wordle #237/A Sunny Day on the Bay

A Sunny Day on the Bay

the sun sparkles       across the bay                    fireflies on the blue

a gentle breeze moves the garden chimes          the gulls cry aloud

i see them                they see me                         they swoop

to grab another piece of fish         i offer        they believe i will always be here

standing on the ramp      holding the pieces of fish high up           i call to them

like drones                they turn                              make their way to me

others join                their need and mine match   i chop up the fish

and hike to the pier      their belief is not law        for i am already gone

you are gone too         my home in the desert        no longer by the bay

i wonder                      i remember them                do they remember me

February 8, 2016

Saturday, February 6, 2016

February 6, 2016 The Sunday Whirl/The Pencil Remembered -- Sunday's Whirligig/The Broken Spell

The Pencil Remembered

the suitcases are packed      cake hiding in your pocket     the fool is ready
                                                                                               to begin his journey

the first step is the hardest   memories folded between tissue    you stand swaying

unsure                         you wrap your skirts around your legs    clutch the envelope

finger the sharp scissors     you carry all that you will need       suddenly you are hot 
                                                                                               like fever

you imagine germs attacking you     left over from a dream      you have forgotten 
                                                                                               your pencil

no words                                       no sketches                            no memories at all

February 6, 2016


The Broken Spell

the bridge to the unknown         a spell is cast            you lie your head down on your bed

thinking you will rest only for a little                   while you never know what is following

what is right                         what is wrong                      a tight skirt above the knees

the line is drawn                   a rose is offered                    you have a flair for a tale

you stumble into the pub      ask for a drink              the sign reads we don't serve unicorns

the coins fall from your hand       spare change                     the bridge is crossed

you are awaken           by the sound of the breaking of the day           the spell is broken

February 6, 2016

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

February 3, 2016 Writers Digest

Writers Digest Prompt: Prompt, an anticipation poem

The End of Waiting

it seems so much of life is waiting     often i don't know         for what i wait

still i wait      it is good when we know         have something to look forward to

but more often than not      there is nothing          or we could wait for the next season

or the weekend             or the next holiday                    life seems to stretch 

into what seems infinity          of course this isn't true               life is finite

it is up to us to remember       there are only a number of days      months

years                and then it comes to a screeching halt               one day it is over

as surely as we are born          life will run its' course                   then dead

truly dead                                no waking up                                 no return

no more waiting                  this is it                                  what we were all waiting for

February 3, 2016

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

February 2, 2016 dVerse/ Coming Back

Coming Back

i do not mean to be unkind      but the very idea                  of coming back

goes against the grain              if that is what you think       so be it

you can't go home again      no experience                           can be repeated exactly            

even deja vu            is said to be a trick of the brain            in trying to remember              

(put back together)              we are tricked into thinking     it has happened before               

still it is always with us     crawling beneath the surface     burning the skin

mongrel dog                              what we think                     we cannot stand

sure enough                               happens                               when least expected

the pain of it all                          an explosion                       dropped without a care

lost                                             we stand witness                and then it is over

the little grasshopper in the chest       stops                  when all along it never took a rest

not a day off                              it did its' work                   strong without complaint

there will be no return               when it is over                  it is over

no one is expected       there is no knock at the door             silence persists

this very day will not come again         nor this season                            nor will i

February 2, 2016


  Mother   mother, a simple word just six letters   “m” is for mine, meadow, meow all the wonders of the world wild meadow orchids including...