Tuesday, May 26, 2020


Poetics Tuesday, and we're asked to
write of a room important to us, in
Laura's words "a room in the literal,
functional, metaphorical, imaginary
and/or fantastical sense".  Some of what
I've written may have been included in
poems in the past, but I've written of the
one room that impacted my life in every way.
Submitted to dVerse
May 26, 2020

Deep in the windy prairie of Illinois, miles from a city of any size, was a one-room country school where lessons learned impacted the woman I became.  My teacher for the first seven years filled many roles in our lives.  He was janitor, and responsible for building a fire in the big pot-bellied stove on cold winter mornings; and, with the some help from students, keeping our schoolroom tidy.  We learned responsibility by being assigned small tasks, and pride in doing them well.   He was music director, and played the piano for our rousing renditions of  “America, the Beautiful”, “God Bless America and other patriotic songs that instilled a pride and love for our country.  On the playground, he was umpire, coach and athletic director.  It was here we learned life lessons that would stand us in good stead for all our lives.   We learned to play fair, to negotiate, to respect others, to look after the little ones, and always to do our best.

Perhaps the greatest gift for me was the time he set aside two or three days a week to read to us from a book of his choice.   In mind I see him still, taking up the book from the corner of his desk, opening it almost reverently, and, in his measured voice, beginning to read to us of faraway cities and  events so very different from our rural part of the world.   He would read two or three chapters, then close the book until the next session, leaving us in breathless anticipation.   I became enamored with the written word, and thirsty to read every book that came my way.  My studies ended after a year in business college, but my education has lasted my life long, thanks to the thirst for knowledge instilled in me in that single prairie room.  Many years later, in what proved to be the last year of his life, I had occasion to see that teacher again, and to thank him for the gifts he had given me.  I am so grateful I had that opportunity, and for that one room school.

Monday, May 25, 2020


Haibun Monday, and Kim has presented a visual prompt .. “Broadway Boogie Woogie” by Piet Mondrian.  We’re asked to study the image and write how it makes us feel.  I have been painfully honest with my impression.  Perhaps I’ve opened myself to psychoanalysis! At any rate, here it is, with my apologies to Mr. Mondrian!
Submitted to dVerse
May 25, 2020

I am a pragmatic soul and when it comes to abstract art and/or fantasy, I seem to find myself out in left field somewhere. The piece makes me feel claustrophobic, much as when I find myself in a crowd, I feel I can’t breathe freely until I get to the edge and space.  “Broadway Boogie Woogie” just disturbs me.  It seems to be a maze, and the primary colors lead me to believe the artist works within rigid parameters.  Were I not given the title, it would not lead my thoughts to Broadway … or any city, for that matter.  It evokes sympathy for the artist, thinking perhaps he felt boxed in with no clear path to the outside.  No small wonder, since his arsenal of tools seems limited.  Mondrian seemed to have progressed from Dutch traditional to cubism and hence to abstract art, an interesting journey.

any way I turn
anger red and sunshine hot
an endless summer

Sunday, May 24, 2020


It's Writers' Pantry #21, where we consider
something old or new.  I seem to be thinking
of my grandmother a lot of late.  Maybe it's
because I just discovered I'm to be a great
grandmother at year's end!.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 24, 2020

There was a trunk in Grandma’s attic
Where we children used to play
It held bits of lace and “special things”
My Grandma used to say.

Life went on as it’s known to do
Time has passed on golden wings
Now my children play their games
Near the trunk of “special things”.

This old house is growing older
Still to its memories it clings
Soon another generation will play
Near Grandma’s “special things”.  

Saturday, May 23, 2020

Sunday Muse #108

Sunday Muse #108
Our photo is titled “Snow White and Rose Red”
By Kerry Darlington.  I hope she forgives
me for where it led me!
Submitted to Sunday Muse
May 23, 2020

I fell asleep one dreary night, and had
the strangest dream. 
I tried to learn the signs it brought
and wondered what it means
they say a bear dream means you’re strong
and very independent
my bear was accompanied by
ladies quite resplendent
I pondered long and hard
just what they said to me
and, if you’ll “bear” with me
this is what I see
Snow White is sleeping,
waiting for her prince to appear
Rose Red reminds me it’s
not likely this year
The alarm clock sounded
I woke with a yawn
fatigued with my dreaming
I welcomed the dawn.
the moral of the story
at least so it seems
is that pizza at midnight
makes for puzzling dreams.

Thursday, May 21, 2020


It’s Meet at the Bar for dVerse,
Frank Tassone our host.  We consider
the 5 line Japanese poem forms…
 tanka, kyoka and gogyohka.  As best
I can understand, I’ve chosen to write
a gogyohka.

in cobwebbed corridors of my mind

I seem to see it still

the winding lane beyond the hedge

grandma in her apron

waiting on the porch   


Wednesday, May 20, 2020


Weekly Scribblings leads us to
poetry and art of Christina Georgina
Rossetti and her brother Dante Gabriel
Rossetti.  We’re to be inspired by either
the poetry or the art.  I chose “The Harp”
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 20, 2020

Pluck the strings of lessons learned
Sip from the pool of sorrow
Know what it is to have loved and lost
And still believe in tomorrow
Let the harp song fill the air
Soothing troubled brow
Its dulcet tones a bridge in time
Traversing from then to now

Tuesday, May 19, 2020


Tuesday Poetics and HA has asked that our
poem this week be about portals. 
Submitted to dVerse
May 19. 2020

Presidents and garbagemen, priests and whores
Children and old people all passing through doors
Lives lived in chapters, choices untold
Portal by portal our lives unfold
The boat we’re sailing in the river of time
Speeds through the shallows, stops on a dime
We’re the sum of our choices, fate is our friend
 We’ll know how we did when we reach journey’s end
Image my own digital art.