Wednesday, October 10, 2018


Owl is the word for our Midweek Motif
For some reason Edward Lear's "Owl and
the Pussycat" came to mind, and I had a
bit of fun with it.
Submitted to Poets United
October 10, 2018

The owl and the pussycat, so it’s said
Set sail in a pea green boat
Their travel as told from there to here
Was surely hallucinated by Edward Lear
What wild fantasies were in his head
To think this odd couple should wish to wed
Pussycat is featherless despite all her prowess
And everyone knows the owl is meowless
Nonetheless, they set sail in search of a ring
Which they found on a pig, imagine that thing
From hereon the tale gets even more murky
Seems they were wed on a hill by a turkey
And after a repast of quince and mince
They danced in the sand forthwith and hence
Fur to feather they waltzed by the light of the moon
But alas it all ended quite too soon
The owl discovered his bride couldn’t fly
And pussycat asked herself Why oh Why
They divorced, I heard, on a coral reef
Thankful their adventure was mercifully brief.
They had no band to play, no horn to toot
“Cause an owl can’t meow and a pussycat can’t hoot.

Monday, October 8, 2018


It's quadrille Monday, and De has asked
us lighten up and introduce a bit of levity
in the form of a YUCK.  Since I'm a rhyming
poet, this seemed a bit dangerous (ahem), but
I managed to escape my baser instincts.  Without
further adieu , here's my Yuck.
Submitted to Quadrille #66, dVerse
October 8, 2018

Modern life is nifty. 
Inhibitions are cast aside.
We have what’s called sexual freedom
The selection is vast and wide
Male/female roles are changing
The men must share their cup
Now the women are wearing pants
But they cannot keep them up!


Sunday, October 7, 2018


These are my thoughts on Balance. I missed
getting them posted to Midweek Motif (admittedly
preoccupied with the matter of balance in our
Supreme Court). so here they be, humbly
submitted for your consideration.
Submitted to Poet Pantry #423
October 7, 2018

Seeking balance, I’m a tad atilt, somewhere between
the feisty one I used to be and the little old lady
I’ve come to be; trying to balance the young me,
strong and bold, with the one I see now who’s
just plain old.  I want to be the young me,
witty and classy; but it’s hard to do now
with my aging chassis.   Balance! I cry, but
honest to Pete* it’s darned hard to find balance
given all the words I have to eat.

*An American idiom meaning honestly
or truly.

Tuesday, October 2, 2018


It's Poetic Tuesday at dVerse and we're
asked to write a poem about a smell
that takes us to a place of comfort and
safety.  There are too many to choose!
Here's a reprise of my Six Scents Worth.
Submitted to dVerse
October 2, 2018

In the attic of my mind,  memories
are like dust motes riding sunbeams,
set in motion by scents linked to
sometimes seemingly insignificant
moments in life’s journey.

The subtle scent of lilac takes
me back to the yard gate of my
childhood home, where the
lilac bloomed profusely every
Spring, its sweet fragrance a witness
to my learning to roller skate, and
later to my first kiss.

The delicate scent of new-mown hay,
its sweet smell released by the kiss
 of  prairie sun, conjures memories
of pedaling down country roads
where pheasants nested in the fencerows
and red-winged blackbirds perched  on
fence posts singing their joy to the world.

The pungent scent of coffee brewing
is reminiscent of the battered burbling
percolator on my grandmother’s big cook stove
that sent a wake-up call to all and sundry to
gather at the big round table for country ham,
biscuits and gravy, and a huge platter of
sunny side-up eggs glistening with ham drippings.

The glorious smell of a coming rain
kissing the air with its fragrance before
it makes its way across fields of grain
takes me to mother’s garden, where first drops raise
puffs of dust before they soak into the rich
black soil. nurturing the fruits of mother’s
labor that sustain us through the winter.

The smell of sunshine and sweat is linked
to memories of my father returning from
work in the field, responding to my cry of
“Lift me, Daddy”, swinging me high in
his strong arms, instilling in me a sense of
being loved and special,  the greatest gift of all.

The smell of wood burning carries
me to a cozy room with fireplace in the great
Smoky Mountains, where I hear again
the voices and laughter of dear friends now
gone and awaiting me in the great what
comes after.

Scents are the gossamer golden strands
of our lives that enfold  moments
and people we hold dear, so that we
might savor them time and time again.

Saturday, September 29, 2018


Bjorn has challenged us to write narrative poetry, a
story, new or ancient.   I’ve chosen a story that
happens all too often, and how reality has a way
of overtaking youth. 
Submitted to dVerse
September 20, 2018

He sat in the only room he’d ever known, the Taylor Swift poster on the
 wall, various trophies on the shelf, the baseball he’d hit to score the
winning run in the state championship, the photo of the bass he’d caught
on a fishing trip with his father, the picture of him with Alicia at their senior
prom, along with other treasures that told the story of his young life.  But
now his thoughts were in turmoil and the decisions before him seemed
insurmountable.  A father!  Tim thought of his own father and the things
they’d shared in his 17 years,--the backyard games of catch, the fishing
trips, and the advice his father had given him.   How he wished he’d paid
better attention and been more careful.  But, he and Alicia had fallen
head over heels for each other, and allowed their teenage hormones to
overcome their best intentions.  Now he’s to be a father himself.  At 17.
He wanted to do the right thing.  But, could he finish school,  go to college
and establish himself if he had a wife and a baby to care for?  How could
they tell their parents?  Alicia was as frightened as he.  Yesterday, he was
young and carefree and the world was his oyster.  Today it felt as if the
world sat squarely on his shoulders.  A father!   Tim felt a churning in
his belly.  He felt old already.

Thursday, September 20, 2018


I've been having fun updating nursery rhymes
of late.  I posted several to the Poetry Pantry at
Poets United recently.  I can't seem to stop, so
here are yet more nursery rhymes tweaked and
torqued.  Forgive me for being irreverent!
Submitted to dVerse Open Link Night
September 20, 2018

Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow
You didn’t mind your parents
Now you reap what you sow

Rub a dub dub. 3 men in a tub
Found a hole in their boat
They all knew how to paddle
But they couldn’t make it float

Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his trousers on
There’s one lesson mother skipped
She didn’t teach him to keep them zipped.

Hickory dickory dock
The mouse ran up the clock
He got gonged at the stroke of one
Can you fix Hickory Dickory, Doc?

Row row row your boat
The current’s getting stronger
Whoever said life’s a dream
Should’ve rowed a little longer

There was a crooked man,
Who walked a crooked mile
He thought folks would believe the lies
Behind his bluster and smile
But folks finally figured it out
And ultimately got his number
Behind that bluster they found he was
The epitome of dumb and dumber.

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
Wee Willie Winkle and Cock Robin too
Met with high expectations
But alas they were a motley crew

Winken, Blinken and Nod
Got lost in their wooden shoe
They forgot to bring a woman along
To tell them what to do

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
And doesn’t know where to find them
Leave them alone  ….

Pat a cake Pat a cake, Baker’s Man
Isn’t sleeping very well
Remembering when he stole a kiss
From unconsenting Nell

Tuesday, September 18, 2018


Submitted to dVerse Tuesday Poetics
September 18, 2018
In their heyday, traveling circus trains were a mile long
and included living quarters for performers and 
animal keepers.  In the day of long ago, farm boys
were given free tickets to the circus for pasting
the advertising posters on barns, most likely the birth
of American advertising!  It's those posters of long
ago that cling to the corners of my mind.

Somewhere in mind's cobwebbed corners 
I see the weathered barn
Proudly wearing the posters
The circus is coming to town!

Photo is my own digital collage.