Monday, July 31, 2017


Victoria hosts Monday night's
quadrille of exactly 44 words
to include the word FEAR.
Submitted to dVerse Quadrille #37
July 31, 2017

I couldn't decide whether to be hopeful,
or  succumb to it, so I've written
two quadrilles.  Bear with me!

Catastrophes and chaos
Calamity and disaster
Clamor with intention
To capture us in fear  

If we let them overtake us
And let our faith forsake us 
We miss all the good things
In the short time we are here.

Believe faith can conquer all.

I heard the rustle beneath my bed
I clung to my pillowcase in dread
I’m glad I wore my underwear
I should’ve brought along a spare 
It’s black as pitch, I cannot see
Is it a monster after me?  
Helplessly, I wait in fear
…and now ,,, it’s HERE!


Thursday, July 27, 2017


Submitted to dVerse
Open Link Thursday #200
July 27, 2017


Joy reigned in the beginning
When love had just begun
One selfish, careless act
And a piece of love was gone.

A door was closed to closeness
That could not be regained
But love is slow to disappear
And still some of it remained.

One final breech of trust
More thoughtless than before
No need to discuss forgiveness
For now love is no more.



Poets United Midweek Motif  asks us
to find a sanctuary.  Also submitted to
Poetry Pantry #364
Submitted  July 30, 2017

In my home there’s a room where I spend my days
And the hours pass in a pleasant daze
In the corner a chair, all plump and comfy
For reading or napping, if it strikes my fancy
A big L-shaped desk for my computer and such
A sewing machine I don’t use much
Paints and pencils and things for my art
Happy pastimes that are dear to my heart.
There’s a bookcase wall with shelves for my treasures
Photos of loved ones and mementos of pleasures
A pocket watch my father carried
Photo of a niece on the day she married
A cage with glass birds my mother collected
Favorite books, of course, as might be expected
Books that transport me to exotic places
I travel the world,  just in my bookcases
From a trip to the Smokey’s, an arrogant duck
A carnival clock my father won with some luck
Painted by granddaughter, a colorful plate
A pair of brass swans from Tennessee state
A cross-stitched Welcome from my daughter, Lori
A shelf of art journals that record my life’s story
Special keepsakes from my friends who are arty
A photoshopped Sinatra from a long ago card party
From Germany a domed clock, a gift from my son
A small oil painting on glass I did just for fun
Notebooks of essays and poems I write
And outside my window, a pleasant sight
Feeders where feathered friends come to call
Such a blessing to see them all
This is my sanctuary, my safe place to be
With a heart full of happy, I’m glad to be me.


Monday, July 24, 2017


It's Haibun Monday at dVerse, subject
of our choice.
Submitted July 24, 2017

She was never the same after he was gone.
In the last few years of their 55 years together,
it was he who reminded her of the day, the
week, the names of their grandchildren, and
the many miscellaneous facts that had faded
from her memory as snowflakes disappear
when they fall on a warm surface. When he
was gone, she spent her days in a gentle state
of bewilderment. Sometimes she tried to retain
her grasp on time and place. I know this,
because I saw written on her calendar
“This is today.”  Now she’s joined him in
the great what-comes-after.  They’re together
again,  no longer solitary halves of a pair
honed and weathered by the passage of time. 
What a comforting thought.

The seasons of life
Parted for a moment in time
Together again

*Photo is my parents' hands on their
50th anniversary.

Saturday, July 22, 2017


My muse hit the road, and I fell
into some sort of celestial Brigadoon.
Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry
July 23, 2017

I dreamed I rode a rainbow to
just beyond Somewhere, in the
land called Neverness.  

In my skiff with gossamer silken sails,
I skimmed  the River of Forgiveness
to the shore of Lake Serenity at the
foot of the Contemplation Mountains.  

I hiked up Mount Awareness and stood
at the  peak,  surveying the Valley of

On the way down, I had a sip from
Compassion Falls and partook of the 
fruit from the Tree of Success.  

I  heard the melodious call of the Bird
of Paradise and …… WAIT! It’s not
the bird, it’s my alarm clock. 

Well, damn!

* Picture is my own digital art.

Friday, July 21, 2017


Meeting the Bar brings us a
challenge from Frank to
write a “minute” poem. Truly
a challenge!
Submitted to dVerse 
July 20, 2017

I’m Roberto, the circus clown,
the best, hands down,
star of the show,
laughter to go.

I excel at playing the fool,
follow the rule,
play for my pay,
day after day.

But behind my greasepaint I hide
pain inside.
Star of the show,
heartbreak to go.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017


Over at Poets United, our
Theme for Midweek Motif
Submitted  July 19, 2017

We hide behind the cheerful fa├žade
Lest hurt be known, now isn’t that odd?
Our hearts are pierced by verbal thrusts
Unkind deeds and broken trust
And yet we smile, our lips are sealed
So … is it a mask, or is it a shield?


Monday, July 17, 2017


Time for a quadrille.  The word
is "flicker".
Submitted to dVerse Quadrille #36
July 17, 2017
Related image

Evening campfire.

Amid night sounds
the flames flicker
and memories unfold
family stories of
those long gone
but remembered still .

Young ones listen.
One day they’ll tell
the next generation
the campfire stories
of who we are, and
from whence we came.

It’s tradition

Saturday, July 15, 2017


Reminding myself to keep things
in perspective.
Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry #362
July 16, 2017

I flew on the great silver bird
High aloft in the sky
It was wonderful for my perspective
As I thought “How small am I”

I gazed down on a crazy-quilt landscape
Spread richly to left and right
And I guessed that all of life’s spectrum
Must lie there below in my sight.

Somewhere hearts were happy
As they shared the miracle of birth
While other hearts were heavy
As a loved one passed from this earth.

Some were amassing great riches
Others struggling just to survive
Some contemplating suicide
Others rejoicing to be alive.

Somewhere babies were crying
Young folks were falling in love
And farmers were tilling the soil
As I viewed from my seat above.

I thought to myself, “Remember,
When you question the path you’ve trod
Others are facing life’s challenges
You’re but one of the children of God."


Wednesday, July 12, 2017


Submitted to Poets United
Midweek Motif, where we’re asked
to contemplate movement.  I
chose to submit a haibun.
July 12, 2017

I refuse to dwell on political upheaval,
death, environmental problems, and
despair in general.  I choose to dwell
on the gentle breeze and the graceful
dance of the leaves on the large maple
in my view,  and the lazy, drifting clouds in
a sky of softest blue.   I savor the sight
of the cardinal, the dove, and the finches
at my bird buffet, companionably having
their lunch side by side, while bees are
stopping in flight to visit the lilies blooming
by the front walk.   I am blessed. 
Soothing gentle breeze
Reminds me to count blessings
Dwell on what is good

Saturday, July 8, 2017


Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry #361
July 9, 2017

On most any night in some local pub
Regulars show up to their private club
Seeking libation for broken dreams
Enough to quiet their silent screams
A shot of inspiration, a bottle of hope
A cure-all, they think, to help them cope.
Familiar faces tell the same old war stories
And the same listeners hear of long ago glories
Smoky haze hangs like tattered gauze
Over shallow smiles and drooping jaws
Speaking of what almost was and might have been
And how they wish they could start again
The friendly bartender orchestrates it all
And bides his time til he issues last call
The cast of characters leaves, having silenced their din
… but they return the next night to do it again

Wednesday, July 5, 2017


Submitted to Poets United Midweek Motif,
where we’re asked to write of independence.
July 5, 2017

As he was helping draft the Declaration of Independence
of the United States of America, Abigail Adams wrote to
her husband, John, “I desire that you would remember
the ladies and be more generous to them than your  ancestors”.  
And John replied, “Depend on it.  We know better than
to repeal our masculine systems”, and they did not. 
John expressed that giving up their role as masters would
"subject men to the despotism of the petticoat”.   

I am woman
I am wife and partner
I am mistress and courtesan
I am laundress
I am cook and dishwasher
I am housekeeper and confidant
I am fashion consultant
I am cheerleader
I am bookkeeper
I am assistant breadwinner
I am social secretary
I am finder of lost things (Honey, where is …?)

I am petticoat.


Sunday, July 2, 2017


Some melancholy thoughts on a sunny
Sunday afternoon. 
Submitted to Poets United
Poetry Pantry
July 2, 2017

For more than 30 years, my three good friends and I spent a week every autumn in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.  Creatures of habit, we stayed in the same room in the same lodge for all those years.  We spent long hours on the little balcony over the mountain river, and slept listening to the sound of its tumbling progress over the rocks below.   We shared our lives, our joys and tribulations, and marked those long hours with sometime tears, but always with much laughter.  The years passed, and two of our foursome  passed on to what comes after.  Last year, a careless spark ignited a dreadful fire that swept down the mountainside and burned to the ground the lodge we loved so much.  I was bereft.  One day soon, I thought, the last two of us shall follow our friends, and we’ll all be gone … the four of us, the lodge, and the balcony where we shared our lives.  We’ll all be but a blip in the passage of time.  A new lodge will replace the old, and new young housewives will come for their annual girlfriend getaway.  But I wonder, I just wonder,  if our spirits may not linger in the green hills above,  the sound of our laughter be heard faintly as the water tumbles over the rocks below, and our names be written in the smoky mists that hang over the mountains.

Smoky Mountain autumn
spirits linger in green hills
laughter in the air