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.

Sunday, September 16, 2018


Seems to me it's time the rhymes of Mother Goose
need to be updated.  I'd like to think she agrees.
Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry #420
September 16, 2018

Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle
Played a mournful tune
Democrats and Republican will get along
When the cow jumps over the moon.

Baa Baa Black Sheep
Man of Honor and True
Where oh where are you hiding
We’re certainly needing you

Eeny Meeny Miney Moe
Catch a liar by his toe
If we’re lucky he’ll tweet and go
Eeny Meeny Miney Moe

Politicians, pudding and pie
Kissed the girls and made them cry
But when “Me Too” came into play
All the lechers ran away

Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack broke the rules
What a dick

Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater
Cast his vote for Trump, the Tweeter
Now he’s sorry, truth to tell
Class and decorum have gone to hell

My apologies to Mother Goose
And what I’ve done to her rhymes
I just felt the need to bring them
Up to modern times.

Image is of a book illustrated
by W.W. Denslow

Thursday, September 13, 2018


It’s time for Meet The Bar, and
we’re to write a sestet -- six lines
in sequential letters of the alphabet.
I try to avoid political rants, but today’s
outrageous tweet has me incensed.  I
believe I’ll have a whiskey sour,
Here’s my PQRSTUV
Submitted to Meet the Bar at dVerse
September 13, 2018

Prophet of doom seems everywhere
Quick to disseminate threats
Ready to tweet outrageous falsehoods
Such a  legend in his own mind
Too self-absorbed to bother with class
Uninformed, unprofessional, unmitigated ass
Vow to vote an end to this insanity.


Wednesday, September 12, 2018


For this week's Poetics, we are asked
to link back to something we wrote on
or around the infamous 9/11.  In my
case I chose a senyru written on 9/7/17.
Submitted to dVerse Poetics
September 12, 2018
The senyru:
we are but actors
and we choose the role we play
in this game called life.

Time has passed since that fateful day
But the scars linger long and deep
So many have gone from the scene
Denied time their promises to keep

On that day the game became evil
Striking fear in the hearts of men
It loosed its reign of terror
And we’d not be the same again.

Lord, send us leaders with wisdom
And hearts that are straight and true
In this era of political chaos
They seem to be dreadfully few

We must choose the role we play
And act on our convictions
Building  not walls but bridges
Challenging the tweets and fictions.

For when we come together
Our voices raised as one
We can approach the difficult task
And manage to get it done.

Monday, September 10, 2018


For this week’s quadrille, we’re
challenged to use the word Quick in
44 words, no more, no less.
It seems my needle stuck.
Submitted to dVerse Quadrille #54
September 10, 2018

Ah, the plight of Quinella.  Her friends
were quick to listen, and slow to speak,
while Quinella was quick-witted,
quick tempered and quick to judge.  
Needing quick action and a quick fix
lest she sink in emotional quicksand,
Quinella  asked for help PDQ.*

PDQ  - Pretty Darned Quick

Thursday, September 6, 2018


 Open Link Night at dVerse
Rhyming words have always held
fascination for me.  This little ditty
is a nonsensical exercise in rhyme
that came bouncing into the cobwebs
of my brain in the wee small hours
last night, lingering until I turned
on the light and committed them
to paper….a thankful diversion from
political rhetoric not fit for publication!
Submitted to dVerse Open Links #227
on 9/6/2018

Sadie was a rebel, a word weaver,
a dreamer and midnight believer
She flew in the face of decorum
She chased life’s treasures
In indiscriminate pleasures
If given rules, she chose to ignore ‘em

As her days filled with regret
She tried vainly to forget
Empty promises and broken dreams
She was a rogue wind that saddled lightning
But life’s storms became all too frightening
Alas, Sadie lost her way, so it seems

But she’d heard of  “due diligence”
She drew on her resilience
And learned from her checkered past
She made better choices
And now she rejoices
Sadie’s charted a new course at last


Tuesday, September 4, 2018


Poetics, and this week Frank has asked
us to feature Frustration and Heartbreak.
Bingo!   At just such a time in my life, I
wrote this poem!
Submitted to dVerse
September 4, 2018

Lord, here I stand bruised and bleeding
I’ve collided on life’s rocky course
When I thought I had found my direction
I’ve taken a detour or worse.

I suppose, Lord, you have no patience
With the way your children drive
And I admit in my headlong collision
I’m just lucky to be alive.

I know, Lord, life’s a difficult journey
And we must watch for the pitfall and trap
But I never claimed to be perfect …
And you forgot to give me a map!

The woeful sketch is a Bev

Monday, September 3, 2018


Haibun Monday at dVerse
and we’re asked to feature “Morning”.
My thoughts, as submitted
on September 2, 2018

The face of morning has changed in the phases of my life.  My memories are of childhood on the farm and waking at sunrise to the crow of the rooster and the lowing of cattle;  school years and sleepily getting dressed and gathering my books to meet the bus as it made its way down our country road; and young adult years, living the heady life of independence, greeting the mornings sleepily after dancing or partying far into the night, making my way to the job that paid my bills; then the mornings of my married life with two babies whose sweet sleepy morning faces started my days with love.   The next phase is a kaleidoscope of the busy years of rearing my children,  becoming a widow and re-entering the working world, building a career and reaching retirement.

And now retirement.   I’ve become a night person, sleep being elusive, and arise at my leisure.   I watch the morning news, all of it depressing, with my remote in my hand ready to hit Mute when the Trumpet sounds.  I shuffle to the kitchen for my morning coffee, fruit and toast, then head for my computer, where I spend much of my time.  My huge window gives me a wide view of the neighborhood and my bird feeder, which offers constant entertainment.  My mornings are quiet, sedate and uneventful.  I have reached the age of contentment, and gratitude for a life well lived.

seasons of my life
captured in my memory 
time for gratitude