Tuesday, January 15, 2019


Tuesday Poetics and our challenge is
to write confessional poetry.  I fall
short of the eloquence of others here;
nonetheless, my heart speaks.
Submitted to dVerse
January 15, 2019

Once I stood atop the mountain
Mistress of all I surveyed
How sweet to survey my kingdom
It seemed I’d so dearly paid.

But I slipped from the promontory
Which it seemed I had only just gained
And I found I stood in the valley
With the mountain before me again

I vowed I would conquer the mountain
It seemed I’d climbed time after time
And, grasping familiar handholds,
Once more I began to climb.

Digital art is my own.

Monday, January 14, 2019


Quadrille Monday at dVerse
Whimsygizmo has chosen “change”for the featured word.
My daughter and granddaughter recently took a photographic
tour of Gary, Indiana.  Change dealt a cruel hand to Gary.
As its steels mills closed, its workers fled.  It’s once opulent
downtown (City Methodist Church pictured here) is a ghost
town with once gleaming buildings abandoned and in shambles.
It conjures an overwhelming feeling of sadness, and the
realization of the fragility of man and his efforts.
Submitted to dVerse
January 14, 2019

Inexorable in its progress
Change came to the City of the Century
Steel mills stand silent and abandoned
Once proud buildings fallen to ruin
Photographers flock to capture
Tattered sentinels of fragility of man
Now become a modern Angkor Wat
Seeking illusion of hope

Thursday, January 10, 2019


It’s Tuesday Poetics, and Lillian has asked us to consider some cherished treasure that “speaks to us” and enjoys a place of honor in our home.  This is the story of the carnival clock, my treasure.  I was too late to get it submitted to Tuesday Poetics, so here it is on Open Link Night. (As for the sonnet, forgive me, I'm afraid it's far beyond my ken!  It seems a bit like asking an artist to do a painting, but taking his palette away!)
Submitted to dVerse
January 8, 2019

It’s a rather gaudy china mantel clock, but it is a  treasured possession to me.  It conjures memories of a long ago time when a traveling carnival came to the small town near where we lived.  I was perhaps 7 or so.  I  remember my excitement as we walked  among the pitch-penny and ball-toss tents, with the large prizes on display.  A china mantel clock caught my father’s eye.  It could be his, the hawker said, if he tossed 3 of 5 balls in the pocket, 3 balls for a quarter, I seem to recall.  Each time my father fell short he eyed the clock and reached in his pocket for another quarter.  And when his quarters were gone, he got out the bills.  He was on a mission.  My mother, who could make two nickels scream for mercy, kept pleading for him to stop, but he soldiered on, and finally the clock was his.  I don’t remember how much the clock cost, but they had little, and it seemed much.  Dad beaming and Mom grumbling, we took the clock home.  Dad built a niche for it above the kitchen cabinets, where it marked time for all my years of growing up, often a topic of conversation with visitors.  The clock moved to town with them when they retired from farming, where it marked the time of their last years.  Today, the clock sits on a shelf in my den, marking the time of my own last years.

It’s said “Memory is like a child walking at a seashore.  You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things”.  Just so is the memory of that long-ago evening, and the winning of the china clock.


Monday, January 7, 2019


Haibun Monday at dVerse, and
Kim asks us to consider January.
Submitted to dVerse
January 7, 2019

Remnants of pine needles and tinsel cleared away, the long, 
bleak days of winter are upon us.  The maple out my front 
window dropped its crimson leaves weeks ago, and now 
stands naked in the cold winds of winter.  The ornamental 
pear and flowering crabapple join it, and the leaden sky 
contributes to the dreary landscape.  A scarlet red cardinal 
visits my birdfeeder, a single bright spot in the January 
days when dark comes early and lingers long.  Perhaps 
snow will come and turn it all into pristine magic.  

Time to savor the warmth of the fireplace, a comfy chair 
and a good book to transport me to faraway places.  
Time for a pot of soup simmering on the stove, and filling 
the house with its wondrous fragrance.  Time to count the 
blessings of the past year and be thankful.  

the season of drear
building anticipation
for excitement of springtime

Tuesday, January 1, 2019


dVerse is back after a holiday break, and we’re
asked to consider “What if?”  I’m reminded of
Shakespeare’s “whirligig of time”.  It’s an age-old
question, is it not?  Here are my idle thoughts.
Submitted to dVerse
January 1, 2019

What if our life is serendipity like a leaf tumbling
in the wind.   What if we’re masters of our fate, and
where it all will end.   Life is long with many curves;
perhaps we’re presented a choice.  Or, is it simply
preordained .. when to weep and when to rejoice.
If, indeed, it’s truly left to chance, I have to
say in retrospect I’ve sure enjoyed the dance.