Tuesday, May 28, 2019


Haibun Monday, and Frank asks us to
adapt a concept that alludes to
MEMORIAL in some way.
Submitted to dVerse
May 27, 2019

I stand with my hand on a weathered stone in
the old pioneer cemetery that lies in a peaceful
glade surrounded by trees and hallowed silence.
“Sarah Sampson lies here”, it says, and I know
her to be my 5th great grandmother.  Five
generations have come and gone since Sarah
and William left the Virginia plantation on
Culpeper Mountain to pioneer this raw, new
land called the Indiana Territory just north of
the Ohio River.  Five generations of strong
women have lived and loved, laughed and
wept, and borne their babies.  I honor
their memory.

hand on weathered stone
honor generations passed
I carry the torch

Thursday, May 16, 2019


It's Poetics at dVerse and Amaya has asked
us to consider the age-old question of what
makes us who we are.  Here are my thoughts
Submitted to dVerse
May 16, 2019

A new moon trickled little light on a meagerly furnished
old farmhouse where an oil lamp illuminated the room
where the woman lay. Her labor, long and exhausting,
ended just before midnight on that February 13. and I
made my way into the world kicking and squalling  
Generations of comingled blood culminated in the DNA,
double helix,  molecules, chromosomes and markers
that carried the genetic traits that would be mine.

Astrologers and seekers of the miraculous mystery of
what makes us who we are have conjectured long the
correlation of the moon, the stars and the planets and
what they tell us about who we become.  They would
say I am Aquarius, witty and intelligent, curious to a fault
that is sometimes annoying, spontaneous, honest and,
under pressure,  sometimes obstinate and sarcastic  
My genetic imprint is impacted and moulded by life
circumstances and serendipity, yet I carry it into the next

 Perhaps my ancestors left their footprints in the sands
of the Nile or deep in some dark forest in Africa; perhaps
they helped erect the stones in Stonehenge,
or worshiped in some kiva in the Southwest.    Do I
sometimes hear their faint voices in those breathless
moments of déjà vu  that leave me feeling I’ve been
there before?  I remain a link in an endless chain.

I am me.   I am unique.

(The art is my own digital art)

Monday, May 13, 2019


Wednesday Muse asks us to write a poem
inspired by the Japanese art of Kintsugi (repair
of that which is broken with golden glue).
Each gold-veined piece has a story to tell!
Submitted to The Sunday Muse
May 13, 2019


Two bowls sit upon the shelf
One pristine, without a blemish,
filled with pride in self
no stories
to tell

The other gold-glued with signs of living
of failures and success
 love and loss
bumps and falls
lessons learned
joy of achievement
life well lived
filled only with love
and stories
to tell

Tuesday, May 7, 2019


Over at the Sunday Muse #54,
we’re presented with a photo
of a baby crow to inspire us.
This will be my first submission
to Sunday Muse
May 7, 2019

Ah, my little crowlet
 you’ll grow big and

One day you may be
the group leader
at the convocation
that occurs in the
woods outside my window
every morning.

You’ll call the meeting
to order with a mighty
CAW! And the troops
will set about a cacophony
of discussion until daily
duties are decided upon.

Missions assigned,
once more your CAW! will
send them all on their way
Silently, as one, their black
wings carry them up and

Think big, little crowlet
It may be you

Monday, May 6, 2019


Quadrille  #79, the word is UP
Submitted to dVerse
May 6, 2019

Armchair travel
carries me
up and away
star skipping
cloud hopping 


out to sea
drifting lazily
with the tides
guided by
friendly porpoises


exploring mysteries
of Easter Island
Machu Pichu
Taj Mahal    


safe to home
 no need
to unpack bags