Tuesday, August 20, 2019


Prosery #3...a story with beginning and end
to include up to or exactly 144 words
including the phrase "You will love again the
stranger who was yourself" from the poem "Love
After Love".   After being rebellious, I am
shamed into having a go at it.
There was a huge celestial problem.  Cloud Keeper seemed to have lost her sense of self and was dispensing clouds indiscriminately. The sun, moon and stars formed a coalition to negotiate with her to be more responsible, and work with their schedules.  The sun complained that the storm clouds were loosed on the very day he planned to ripen peaches in Georgia, and the moon grumbled they ruined the romantic moonlit evening he’d planned for lovers in Hawaii.  The fat-bellied clouds rained all over picnics, parades and ballgames, and the fluffy white clouds hid the handle of the Big Dipper and turned the Milky Way into a pit stop resulting in celestial chaos.   The coalition issued the Cloud Keeper a mandate … “You will learn to love again the stranger who was yourself” or it will be necessary to give you a 30-day notice.

Monday, August 19, 2019


Kim offers Prosery #3 in which we're to
write a story in the genre of our choice,
with beginning and end, up to or exactly
144 words, including the words "love after love".
I find my folksy style doesn't lend itself
very well to structure. Forgive me, fellow
poets, I seem to be a bit of a
rebel, but here are my thoughts …...

It’s always given me pleasure
To create my little rhymes
Happy mindless ditties
Even sad ones sometimes

Sometimes I write of love
After love has passed me by 
I try to remember passionate times
God knows I really try.

Tumbling through my head
Words fall into their place
Leaving me contented
With a smile upon my face
I guess I’m a free spirit
A rebel, if you may
Try to put me in a box
And you’ve surely spoiled my day

Telling me how to place my words
And where to end a line
Leaves me quite determined
To write not that way but mine

Instructions leave me speechless
I just don’t have the knack
For wrestling ten pounds of words
Into a five pound sack                        

Tuesday, August 13, 2019


Tuesday Poetics.  We’re given three
Poems from international artists from
which to chose for inspiration.  I’ve
chosen “Migratory Birds” by a
Serbian poet.  I felt it could also apply
to the special relationships in our lives.
Submitted to dVerse
August 12, 2019 

Southward we fly
in answer to a genetic message
old as rime.

To my right, my wingman
long time friend
and trusted companion

For many years
we’ve made this journey
side by side

We cry our joy
to those below

A gunshot sounds
my wingman falters
and plummets earthward

Onward I fly
and scream my grief
Farewell, my friend

All the journeys
yet to come
will never be the same.

Monday, August 12, 2019


Quadrille #85 … 44 words on the
subject of our inner voice.  I harken
to a time when I was newly widowed
and my inner voice challenged me as
I learned to live alone once more.
Submitted to dVerse
August 12, 2019


Furniture is polished
To warm rosy glow
Small voice says “Who’ll know?”

Soup is a’simmer
Good smells in air
Small voice says “Who’ll share?”

Windows are sparkling
Clean as can be
Small voice says “Who’ll see?”

Lesson to be learned
Small voice says “When?”

Monday, July 29, 2019


Open Link Night #268.  After sundown on a
cool evening, we enjoy a small bonfire in a
clearing in our neighboring woods.  It is a 
peaceful respite from the daily news.
Submitted to dVerse
August 8, 2019

Fingers of flame reach skyward and the scent of wood smoke soothes the senses. 
Concerns of the day follow sparks aloft, fading into the night sky.  A mantle of 
contentment descends as the snap and crackle of burning twigs accompanies the 
evening tree frog symphony.   An especially loud pop from the fire alerts a 
crow in a distant tree, and he caws a warning to his compatriots.  In a nearby 
oak, a catbird reassures his fellows.  Fireflies appear in the darkness and a faint 
breeze rustles the leaves overhead.  The resident raccoon who lives under the 
deck ambles out for a visit to his nightly peanut buffet.  Somewhere in the shadows 
the fox is an interested observer.  It's quiet in the neighborhood and a sense of 
peace settles over my soul.  I am blessed.  I am thankful. 



I once was able to go to a movie, buy my ticket, find a seat and settle in.  Seeing the “Lion King” the other day was a humbling experience.  We went to the AMC theater at Perry Crossing.  From curb to entrance is a sea of cement that must be 30 feet or so and, once entering, the lobby is half the size of my high school gymnasium.  Buying the ticket was not so simple, choosing reserved seating (what?!) “regular” or Dolby ($4 more per person), said to be “where the movie comes to life”.  My trusty companions wheeled me some distance to the elevator (what?!), and we found our reserved recliner seats.  After watching me fumble ineffectually for some time, Marc instructed me in the nuances of my recliner (harrumph!).  Next I learn that Dolby means one is assailed from all directions by sound at a gabillion decibels, such that the floor seems to shake and my recliner tremble.  I am truly transported into the “Circle of Life”, and lost in the wonder that is “Lion King”.  On the way out, a stop at the Ladies Room proved a learning experience as well.  It seemed the paper towel dispenser was out of towels.  I looked for a button to push but found nothing.  Hands dripping, I stood in frustration.  A kind lady offered help, passed her hand beneath the besotted thing, and it spit out a towel.  Who knew?   We made our way across the street to Stone Creek for a delightful dinner on the patio, giving me time to contemplate the wonders of technology as it passes me by.  Oh well, “hakuna matata”!

Monday, July 15, 2019


Back from Summer hiatus,Quadrille #83
as presented by Grace is “Sun”or form of
the word in a poem of exactly 44 words
including the title.
Submitted to dVerse
July 15, 2019

Barefoot child with tousled hair
toes anchored in prairie dust
limbs tanned and nose freckled

greeting father’s return from the field
lifted high in arms so strong
inhaling smell of sweat and sunshine
familiar chuckle speaking love

memories linger, caught in sunbeams
still today.