Monday, March 20, 2017


This challenge brought about a happy memory
I hadn't visited for some time.  My thanks to
our hostess this week.
Submitted to dVerse
March 20, 2017

When visiting my daughter, who lives in Salem, Oregon, we chose to take a ride up the Rogue River on one of the jet boats that deliver the U.S. mail from Gold Beach to isolated spots on the river.  There were about 15 people in our group.  It was a glorious day and a glorious opportunity to see the unspoiled and unpopulated course of the Rogue, where we saw heron, cormorant, osprey, a bald eagle, and assorted wildlife   It seemed to be as it had been since the beginning of time, a veritable untouched Eden. 

At mid-day we stopped at Lucas Lodge, which is at the confluence of the Rogue and the Illinois River.  There we were seated at one large table with red-checkered tablecloth, and served a farmhouse style dinner of crispy fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, garden vegetables, hot biscuits with blackberry jam, and apple pie.  It was a quiet group at first, but I suggested we go around the table and introduce ourselves.  What followed was a meal I will always remember.  Conversation flowed freely amongst the varied folks at the table … a pair on their honeymoon (blushing appropriately), an employee of the timber industry, a save-the-white-owl environmentalist, a pharmacist (my daughter), our tour guide and others.   By the time we got to the apple pie, we were a congenial group, and we found our way back down the hill and boarded the boat for the trip back to Gold Beach. That meal somewhere on the Rogue is one of my pleasantest memories.

Summer on the Rogue
far from civilization
worries fall away


Having used my river story for yesterday's
Haibun, I offer instead this prayer with
its allusion to the river of time.
Submitted to dVerse Poetics
March 21, 2017

Oh God of poets,
He/She who shepherds the
      river of time and oversees currents
        and white waters of life
visit me tonight with mind-blowing
      phrases of wonderfulness.    
        guide my pen to philosophical
            profundities and psychological
 plant scintillating and sparkling repartee’
       in the pens of those of us
          with word addiction.
Let me eloquently speak of pulchritude
         and thoughtfully of solitude.
beknight me with the
      wisdom of the ages and,
        if possible, put it in rhyme.
bestow vocabulary acuity
       and grammatical alacrity;
         and, if it’s not too much,
          keep me humble. 


Friday, March 17, 2017


Someone once asked "What would you do with
your last $20?", which gave me pause for thought.
My thoughts turned to the rich, flat prairie of Illinois
and the little farm where I grew up, and occasioned
this little ditty.
Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry
March, 2017


Ten things I’d do with my last $20
Me, the girl who’s always had plenty?
I learned well at my mother’s knee
To beware of the careless spending spree.
I’m not the trendiest girl on the block
But I’ve some put back in a well worn sock.

I’d need pen and paper so I could write
And something to read when it got to be night
I’d want a mu-mu, loose and flowing
(I won’t be wearing a bra where I’m going.)

I’ll gather my kids and we’ll head for the farm    
The one safe place, free from harm.
I’ll take along some packets of seeds
We’ll grow enough to meet our needs.

We may be down to our very last dime
But we’ll be living in a simpler time.
No electronic tethers, which some will think odd
But we’ll have time again to talk to God.

We’ll breathe fresh air, and dance in the sun
And count our blessings when day is done.
“They sure don’t have much”, some will say
But, then, what good is money anyway?

Thursday, March 16, 2017


At dVerse Meet the Bar, we're challenged by Bjorn
to consider Impressionism in words, a
formidable task!
Painting:  Claude Monet's Cliff at Pourville
Submitted to
 March 16, 2017

Dust devil in the desert
whirl-a-gigging into the air
sailing azure currents
to know not where

Spinagain, spinagain
twirl to the dawn
roundabout gadabout
still moving on

Circuitous, fortuitous
and now at sea
whirlpooling onward
wet, wild and free



Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely intentional……
Submitted to  Poets United Midweek Motif
and to dVerse Open Link
March, 2017

Once upon a time there was an empty man,
filled only with himself.  The Earl of Deceit
dwelled in a golden tower, yet convinced
many he was everyman.  He rose to the
highest office in the land, then spent his
time wreaking revenge on those who dared
disagree with him.   With a careless stroke
of the pen, he extinguished the light of
Lady Liberty, divided families and caused
hardship and grief  to those who had already
suffered much, then retired to his opulent
castle in a southern city for a spirited game
of trick and tweet. 

With swaggering bravado,  no mirror large
enough for his ego, he spouted lies meant to
obfuscate his true agenda.   He denigrated
women, though he married three. 
He smiled little, and blustered much.   He
embarrassed his nation and spat upon tradition. 

Soon (and this is the fairy tale part) he
disappointed those who believed in him, and
became like the emperor with no clothes. 
Everyman came to see his feet of clay, and he
was dethroned.  The country fell to its knees
in gratitude to have escaped self-inflicted
Armageddon.  The torch of Lady Liberty was
re-ignited, and all the peoples of the land
lived companionably ever after. 


Wednesday, March 15, 2017


Submitted to Midweek Motif
March 15, 2017

There are grandiose gestures
about which much is written 
of strangers inordinately kind.
But the kindnesses small
for no reason at all
are meaningful too, I find.

If we became the strangers,
we could all be life-changers,
and perhaps change our own as well
If we look for the chance to
make someone’s eyes dance
we’d both feel a lift, truth to tell.

A compliment paid, a smile and a nod
Small things are time well spent
Some small chore
 like opening a door
and gloom just got up and went!

Tuesday, March 14, 2017


It's Tuesday Poetics, and Lillian asks us to revisit an amusement park.
March, 2017

kaleidoscope of sights and sounds
smell of gasoline engines
fueling adrenalin rush
for frantic thrill-seekers.

ferris wheel view of chaos
smell of sweat and cotton candy
weary parents and excited children
“Once more, Daddy, please”.

tilt-a-whirled and dizzied
sensory overload
merry-go-rounded on wooden steed
nobody wins the race

taken high, turned upside down
scream into the night
right side up and grateful
overcome with revelry

homeward bound,
it slips away
cacophony is stilled