Friday, December 18, 2015

Angst and beyond

I wrote this last nite in the wee hours. Bjorn and a friend have suggested we write free verse today in the style of Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Free writing is "like playing tennis without a net" to quote Robert Frost. A zany train of thought comes more easily to me than some structured poem. It is a bit long, but the pen took me there.  Check it out others' work for yourself...some are lovely, some are wild at


Those in between pre-teen years of angst,
thrust upon us__
encroaching on our individualism,
as we watched our father undress,
Occurring unexpectedly,
as we did, I suppose,
from some unknown tower, or power?
Above reproach, of course,
then he placed his children
in the center of a giant bow,
plucked and pulled the cord back,
shot them like arrows into space__
aiming too far to one side,
or the other, no bullseye
Integrity and fairness count,
but blight blew in the windows
and mother made bologna sandwiches
with mayonnaise
Her apron with blood stains on it,
hung from the clothesline and waved goodbye,
squinting in the sun,
not forgotten

Times when a girdle and panty hose
cramped my style,
hiking uphill to the yellow bus,
minding my own p's and q's
What time does the library open
its timeless gates, please?
And who doesn't love a parade with roses
and a bagpipe band?
Forever dancing in the park blocks_
licorice ice cream,
feeding homeless pigeons
We climbed on Thomas Jefferson's
horse's back, sat in the saddle with him,
feeling the coolness of steel
against our legs
Slow music started my heart beating
under crepe paper banners flying
Bounce, bounce, bounce,
from cradle to measles,
to Paul Anka__
How old is earth, the world?
The tan birthmark that covers half
of the psychiatrist's face__
well the other half, matching his,
is on my back

Blow Up was a suspenseful film noir,
filmed in England, if you can find it online
Oh, I do want someday to visit the Cotswolds
High winds take the kite away_
along came a ugly faced hurricane, sucked
all opportunities away, to be swallowed
by the biggest bird you ever saw_
and oh, the swing wants
to go higher and higher!
Those girls who smoked in junior high school
had common sense?
I never quite caught up with them
My bobby sox were good behaved well

Shudder to think how ridiculous
the smelly crinkly perm in my hair__
face unclear of fear,
He through me a box of Kotex,
said "Merry Christmas" and winked;
up the chimney he rose

Galloping under me a buckskin mare,
We rode into the woods and poison ivy,
pranced up the mountain, tasted
sweet strawberries on the other side
A clean ice cold stream
quenched our thirst as we lay on our tummies,
kissed Frankie Avalon in the mirror
Talking our hearts out
from dawn to dusk, we rode with
Dale Evans and Roy Rodgers, Elvis,
and Martin Luther King
One giant step for mankind
put me out on a limb with Shirley MacLaine
Girls like me usually go far_
Around the world in 80 days,
backpacking, sleeping in cemeteries
Serve paella in a restaurant,
to pay for higher learning_
Magnum cum laude
Troy Donahue's image,
stuck in her head
"Al-Di-La", 1963
The adventure wasn't advertised,
the King and Queen of hearts married
under burdensome wings,
babes in the woods

Rubbery legs give out some times
but one can ride the ferris wheel
again and again,
upside down one time,
this way, that way,
"my ?? is in a bucket" ?
Old MacDonald had a farm,
cows that type__ee eye ee eye oh?
Recorded somewhere, videotaped,
or in a scrapbook,
all is recorded somewhere by great-great-
great-great-great-great grandfather Fate and
Ms. Faith,
where stories weaves wildly, randomly,
like a serpentine _
No pain, no passion, right?
Red and white graduation robes, tassels
on caps,
no pomp and circumstance,
LSD & pot

Descendants can't tell us what it's like to die,
how we live on
If there is a thread through infinity,
I want to be the a needle
It aches to want to know all the reasons,
 "Why" and "Why not"!!!

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Building a stairway to the stars

For today we are writing about stars, winter skies and the heavens.

Living consciously brings all the stars out,

ushers in harmony to the wintry night
Tiny jeweled windows of platinum pink
and yellow turquoise dress up an
indigo sky
Each one channeling 
its own lustrous voice 

Living in the dark, like unconsciousness,
shuts out light of love's purest spirit
Scientists observe shifts in the
universe expanding , measure 
light years bent into splinters galore

For the soul to be illuminated
the mind must be cracked open, 
precious beams of light must trickle in for all the beauty to shine in
Formulas and equations substanciate love and kindness spreads outwardly, everywhere

Astronomers lead us to 

deep space mysteries, 
present us with a map of stars
glowing in clusters of satin red, 
and laser green.
Glamarous galaxies interact with black holes while
edges of shadows play with 
shades of  light

Starlight is required for 

the souls's journey;
we are miracles of such a light,
criss-crossing trails with those
who have moved on or lost the connection,
wanting, striving to be banded together again__
on the stairway to heaven

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Tis the Season

Victoria over at suggests we write in the poetic form of "Synesthesia". If you have ever given a voice or color to an emotion or thing, this is an opportunity to imagination what you might write and give it a try. Check out what others have written today.

Shavings of sherbet served 

in morning clouds 

play in squinting stained glass 

sail boat skies

Markets below sell wares, fruit

cakes,  freshly brewed art for the soul

Gold leaf ladders lean against

invisible walls as I gleefully 

slide down a long curving chute,

land on polar bear soft,

billowy white drifts of linen, 

scents of pine and tart mulberry _ 

Strings of colored lights adorn each door;

 there stands a thin fiddler playing his lute 

for wars no more

I grab a fir tree swag, swing high above 

on an aerial merry-go-round_

all around town

My hair screams, hints of the midway,

life kaleidoscoping by

There, in a treetop of mint frosting,

I sit with an angel 

at the break of day

Trees bow low in meditation 

as I breeze through them on my way

Heavenly birdsong ties with ribbon

red bows to pin to my heart;

The sea is fully dressed in tinsel

Then with the stealth of a doe,

I weave textures of nature into

holiday mittens, frozen memories

of chunks of coal,

gingerbread images 

of red-cheeked children, 

in tweed hats, cookie size wide-eyed

Holiday bustle meets ancient shamans 

pedalling oils of penitence

"we are all brethren", 

say Myrrh and Frankincense 

And when it snows, 

the bitter taste of foes 

and woes of  yesteryear melt away,

leaving us perched on a mountain 

of purple heather,

overlooking a valley of rugged 

cobblestone where gumdrop

toadstools grow 

and say,"this is home."  

We are all in this together.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Mr. Toad

We are writing these today over at

The Florette consists of two or more 4-line stanzas. 
Rhyme scheme: a,a,b,a 
Meter: 8,8,8,12 
Fourth line requirement of internal (b) rhyme scheme, on syllable 8. Like the outgrowing of a small flower, the forth line of each stanza is longer, and enwraps the previous lines. Line #4 requires an internal rhyme scheme that rhymes the eighth syllable with the end of line #3, and continues to add on four more syllables than the other lines so that the fourth line ends rhyming with lines #1 and #2.

Mr. Toad

I did not see you there at first
In your language, I'm not well-versed
You blended in with the wood chips
so uncannily, my parched lips cried out in thirst

We stared each other down awhile;
In shadows, I'm quite sure you smiled
Fell away pieces of my heart
I then began to fall apart, in the erstwhile

Fear evaporated like rain
You listened closely to my pain
as I wept, needing to confide,
and lay in my bed on my side to hide in vain

Moonshine fell on the ebbing tide
You led me in hope to abide
small waves pulled away at the neap
You said the time to leap is when dissatisfied,

Who knows from where some ropes are thrown;
you helped me see beyond the stone
wall where I was squarely grannied, 
stripped of all camouflage, harried and quite alone 

Courage now springs from fertile soil
where strange mushrooms grew through turmoil
You took me from the moat beneath,
my soul to a safe castle keep, my friend loyal

Monday, November 2, 2015

His Homeland..


Today's Monday haibun is about reflecting on Vincent Van Gogh's painting, "View of the Church of de Mausole". I found this a delightful exercise.

If I were to choose a calendar month for this painting, it would most likely be autumn. But because of the way light from the sun falls on the fields and spreads like butter throughout the sky, it could be Van Gogh's depiction of a spring or summer day..or even a colder, winter scene.

Autumn leaves streak across the sky, or could those be morning cirrus clouds sprayed gold by the rising sun? Perhaps it is a hot afternoon or almost twilight when the sunset melds everything into long shadows and afterglows of the day's mirages.  Would shadows be as prevalent or stretched long if it were painted during the earlier part of the day?  Van Gogh's blues and golds, heavily splashed on canvas, flow like a river, suggest evening-time. But, they seem to reflect the sky in the terrain below. There is no obvious snow and the trees have most of their leaves, so I am leaning toward a late September day.

I am struck by Van Gogh's ability to express such passion so boldly. I am impressed he doesn't appear to hide secrets or hold back his fears, joys and sorrows. I imagine him sitting on a stool not far away, wildly wielding his brushes up and down and across, driven, his clothes splattered in colors of paint and his face awash with red in the heat of his work.

Buoyant solace, mirth
Vincent's French countryside church
overlooking all

Feline love

It's time for the Monday Haibun -                                       


Your image emerges from tufted white clouds as I paint the surrounding sky. Your portrait, within a rainbow's full arc, today I paint through teary eyes. I had not yet planned to make that particular small journey yesterday, but I'm glad I took the turn that led me north instead of south after I left you. Otherwise, I would not have seen what I saw before me: the sky parted and a rainbow appeared.

I watched as you sank to a lying position and folded your paws into my hand. Your eyes were open while I sang our favorite song to you; you purred just like you always do. I petted your pretty head and rubbed your ears between my fingers with my other hand. I told you we would be going home soon and pick up where we left off, watching the birds and other small animals. Because I knew you were tired and weary, I said things I knew you loved to hear. 




You are permanently etched into my heart, with me wherever I go. I know you understood how much I loved you, how much you meant to me. But it stuns me to realize how true was your love and all that I meant to you. I did not deserve the altruistic devotion you showed me, living only to please me, and it has been my unraveling. As you closed your eyes, I remembered the day I found you, decided to adopt and care for you. Through everything, you were by my side or on my lap, comforting me. 

 Loyal companion,
gift to my wandering soul -                                                                      
rest in peace, my friend

Friday, October 23, 2015

Boating with Judy

It has been awhile since I have posted, and today Victoria has asked us to write something humorous. I took a cue from Bjorn and tried my hand at writing an anapestic tetrameter...not as well done as his, however, as it is one of his specialties. Read more over at submissions over at  I fudged a little, I think, by adding two lines, 

In the morning at Lone lake, the three launched the boat
with their poles to catch fish for an early dinner
Derell helped Judy step inside most gingerly
Harold slipped a slim pint of moonshine in his coat
Judy rowed as they passed the bottle back and forth
The men laughed to see her soused, stupid tipsy elves
In the middle, twice as drunk, she turned the boat north
One last swig, up she stood, rocked the men overboard
It was her turn to roar as she picked up the oars,
left the men to be fished out of the lake themselves

Ancient petroglyphs

Meant for a previous prompt for asked us to write about hieroglyphs..he had posted several.

Lines and curves drawn,
 dots and curlicues,
markings in colors of clay;
drawings embedded in
star-studded terrain
of rock and petrified wood
Stories writ of love and war,
survival understood.                                            
carved in stone;
a hunting party,
people in quest
of their own destiny
The desire to communicate-
writings, no less,
of a way of living -
to be discovered
at a future age,
figures swimming, fighting,
signs of the times,,

Language from the past,
when hands whispered words and
what was dreamed about
back then
 - hope shouted out loud
Scribbles translated,
messages of life and death,
culture and laws,
maps to universal truths

Charcoal arrows point to
rustic blood-stained
 on walls
by terrified souls,
Mysteries uncovered as the
wheel of time turns,
reflections of life
breathing more life,
era after era,
eon after eon.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Alphabetical, male or female?

For today, Mary and Kelly have challenged us to write from the opposite sex's point of view. What is it like to write a 'gender-bender"?  I found this difficult and ended up with more of a conversation is confusing to me how and who decides the names of natural disasters or masculinity or feminine names of events or things.

Winds blow across the bar

swathing through a town,
clouds gather from afar
spiral to the ground
To name a ship or car,
female in its sound;
for train or a dog star,
masculine is found

Hurricanes with gender,

howling like a hound
nasty stormy weather,
actors in the round,
Katrina not tender;
named chaos abounds
Malicious to tether,
stop clowning around

Mountains and volcanoes
press for presidents;
nymphs from the sea know those
kings, queens, both sexes
Glaciers and rivers flow,
planets androgynous,
Alphabet to and fro
or anonymous

Thursday, September 24, 2015

Japanese death poem..

From seed to blossom,
bathe in one's place in the sun,
to the sea and timeless sands 
Orion awaits, 
the plight of twenty one grams

A Tanka to express my version of a death poem, suggested to us by Gayle and Grace and over at

Wednesday, September 23, 2015


Anthony Desmond at is moving on with a new book in the works. He leaves us with several lines of his. We are to incorporate at least 3 of them into a new poem. His words are  underlined below; the rest is mine. Have a good day.

Once, your  sweet love enveloped me,
we played in the noonday sun;
golden grass has grown taller -
our story had just begun
Then you moved and I went away;
the sun departed and rain came to stay,
neon goldfish flashing 
in the pavement waterway
Shade like shadow engulfed me
and like a lioness with belladonna in her eyes,
I craved images of you
Today I felt the fluidity of your presence
when I heard the loons call your name 
It's been a long, long time -
but you are just like you used to be,
the same
You came back into my life for a day,
a lost love found me, in you
and flooded me like a lone streetlight 
amongst the darkness
to shine on what is true