Friday, May 26, 2017

The Engagement

dVerse  The rhyme form this week is Ottava Rima, of Italian form used by many poets, including Yeats. It is supposed to be iambic pentameter.

The Cedar Waxwing blurts his song of love,
kismet resonates in my tight heartstrings.
He sweeps near to me fluttering above,
lands in deep blue-green foliage, folds his wings.
His bride-to-be dips and dives, clings to a yellow foxglove.
Head turned, she listens as he tweets and sings.
She lights on the same branch, cuddles closer.
He prays she'll accept his erstwhile proposal.


Saturday, May 20, 2017

I escaped the news last week...

I Escaped the News Last Weekend

I escaped the news
last weekend, wanting a world
  with everything
set right; I returned to the
sleepy beach hideaway of
  my youth
Tumultuous waves
rolled over one other,
going nowhere really -

Cold rain slapped my face,
drops ran down my neck;
the wind meowed around me.
Unoccupied worn
cedar-shake homes welcomed me,
  the hamlet asleep,
but for a blurred red street light

The drive was well worth 
the time to capture 
one quintessential sunset, 
one to ride horses
straight into!
Unyielding dunes clung 
to sea grass. I breathed in so
deeply the salty sea air

Theoretically, my
fearful thunderous 
thoughts subsided and I felt 
beyond carefree.
Feet to a fire, a cup of
mulled apple cider 
added to the ambient quiet

Conceived of literature
and art in my heart,
I channeled Hemingway and
 Picasso; I wrote, sketched and
painted through the night 
I am taken aback how 
truly, I now see, 
birth overcomes death 
...every day
and I am the only one
in my way

This Friday is Open Link Night over at   Click if you would like to read more poetry
from the group.

I hear banjos..

Today at, we are writing about the senses, using them to embellish our poetry. I used a longer sonnet form and three too many syllables in the next to the last line...or should I not have mentioned that?;)

I Hear Banjos 

I hear banjos under dusk's velvet sky
Flickering copper flames project pictures
of where I've been since the first glint in my 
parents' eyes to being a son's mother

In the fire's embers, reflections of days
of  lives suspended in time, rekindled
by smoldering desire, searching byways
for a star to follow, or a signal

Strong yet tender hands pluck the banjo strings
I hear echoes of an old bass guitar,
an antebellum dusty violin,
a hoedown with mandolin or sitar

Ushered in by moonlit frosted mountains
Swallows wings switch gears, abating their flight,
carrying scents of jasmine in downturns;
they stop a second to kiss me goodnight

We feast and revel under the light of Jupiter -
joined in song by mating red-winged blackbirds

Monday, May 15, 2017

The Pioneer Woman


Today is Haibun Monday. The subject is recipes, a short prose paragraph with a haiku following. If you wish to read more of these, please visit

Are you familiar with the TV cooking show "The Pioneer Woman"?  Ree Drummond's routine consists of cooking and serving up comfort food for her hardworking husband, four kids and friends. She manages to finesse easily a several course meal while sharing tales of daily life on their large cattle ranch in Oklahoma. She loves to cook a big cowboy meal and take it out to the group putting in a hard day's work. Imagine huge breakfast burritos filled with sausage, cheese, eggs, hash browns, topped with roasted tomatoes and jalapeno chilies, or mouthwatering fat bacon meatball sliders with barbecue sauce. She may make their favorite spicy ribs and beans dish, lemon blackberry bars, or cheese-chive muffins, even prepare watermelon granitas for refreshment. After preparing in her kitchen, she wraps the meals in foil and places food in convenient containers in a box. Along with the dog and food in the van, she drives out to the feed barn, a green pasture, or the large black, charred area of land burned the season before. It is her life's joy to plow her way through life in this manner. Her reward is not just the smiles, but often gorgeous sunsets on the way home, sometimes making her late to kids' activities.

Overflowing ponds,
abundant rains in the spring,
marinated blessings

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Haibun Monday - Al Di La

Driving in a car on a highway, what music would you love to turn up loud to play and hear. Write about the experience.

Sixteen years old, a summer in Mexico, I was studying Spanish, and learning about the world. I felt at home there among the throng of people.  In the public market I fell in love with the sounds, smells, the people and Mariachi music of Guadalajara. It was my first time traveling independently, on a jet plane, except for five other students. We split up on arriving and I lived with a Mexican family of four. Far away from our small town atmosphere, we were to speak Spanish all the time; we learned quickly.  One Sunday afternoon, we girls went to see the movie "Rome Adventure" with Troy Donahue and Susanne Pleshette.  The film was dubbed in Spanish with English subtitles.  The couple fall in love while traveling Italy's countryside via motorbike. I will never forget how romantic it was. At that time in my life it left a deep impact. First love and all of that.  And the song they played in the movie was "Al Di La".  Hopelessly I carried the song with me as I traveled back home. It played on the radio all that summer long in '63. I always turned the volume up when driving in the car and it played. To this day, it sends shivers up my back.

His candelabra 
in tow, we listened to our 
new song holding hands 


Lizzie Bordon



Lizzie Bordon   1860 - 1927

In the era of  cotton mills and factories

in Fall River, Ma., lived a man and four ladies
Mr.& Mrs Bordon, his two daughters, a maid,
whose testimony might well have saved

Lizzie Bordon from being duly executed 
even though her alibi was much disputed
Her dismal life run by her strict father;
her step-mother was such a bother

It is said to have sent her into a rage
her eyes grew big and she set out to wage
war against them when no one was around
maddeningly angry for being housebound 

Upstairs she picked up an axe
and gave her step-mother fourty whacks
Then she went downstairs and bludgeoned
her father on the couch with fourty-one 

The house was indeed a bloody mess
Among the tell-tale clues was a bloody dress
She likely burned it, so no evidence
No one believed in her innocence

She silenced them forever, acquitted in the end
lived a life of solitude with nary a friend