Thursday, April 30, 2020


Open Link Night at dVerse, and Kim is
our gracious hostess.  She offers some thoughts
on listening, and shares the poem “The
Art of Listening” by Jonathan Drane.  It occurs
to me we might well pen one titled “The LOST Art
of Listening”. Here are my thoughts (in rhyme,
of course).
Submitted to dVerse
April 30, 2020
all too often we listen
all too seldom we hear
we say “How are you”
the reply falls on deaf ear.

Mother Earth speaks
we block her wisdom
too selfish to care
we build our own prison
From a speech by Chief Seattle of the Suquamish tribe:
"At night, when the streets of your cities and villages shall be silent, and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land.....Even the rocks that seem to lie dumb as they swelter in the sun along the silent seashore in solemn grandeur thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people, "

Wednesday, April 29, 2020


Wednesday Scribblings, and we’re to practice
the art of enjambment.   I am so entrenched in
poetry of rhyme and rhythm, and nicely completed
thought on each line I find it difficult to
enjamb!   I will, however, give it a try.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 29, 2020

Freshly turned earth has a pungent
fragrance that takes me back
to my mother’s garden, which she tended
at the blush of day when the roosters
were announcing sun-up, and the dew clung
to the flowers before the sun burned
it away.

The smell of the rich, black earth
takes me also to the fields surrounding
home.  I close my eyes and see
my father, tall and strong in his overalls,
looking at me with love and a
chuckle as he takes me onto his lap
and lets me steer the tractor
toward home and suppertime.  

child of the prairie
unaware of world troubles
blessed with innocence

Tuesday, April 28, 2020


Lillian has sked us to indulge in virtual travel.
What a delightful challenge.  I've chosen to
feature a marvelous trip up the Rogue River
in Oregon.  What a wonderful memory!
Submitted to dVerse Tuesday Poetics
May 2, 2020

When visiting my daughter, who lives in Salem, Oregon, we chose to take a ride up the Rogue River on one of the jet boats that deliver the U.S. mail from Gold Beach to isolated spots on the river.  There were about 15 people in our group.  It was a glorious day and a glorious opportunity to see the unspoiled and unpopulated course of the Rogue, where we saw heron, cormorant, osprey, a bald eagle, and assorted wildlife   It seemed to be as it had been since the beginning of time, a veritable untouched Eden.

At mid-day we stopped at Lucas Lodge, which is at the confluence of the Rogue and the Illinois River, accessible only by boat or plane. There we were seated at one large table with red-checkered tablecloth, and served a farmhouse style dinner of crispy fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, garden vegetables, hot biscuits with blackberry jam, and apple pie.  It was a quiet group at first, but I suggested we go around the table and introduce ourselves.  What followed was a meal I will always remember.  Conversation flowed freely amongst the varied folks at the table … a pair on their honeymoon (blushing appropriately), an employee of the timber industry, a save-the-white-owl environmentalist, a pharmacist (my daughter), our tour guide and others.   By the time we got to the apple pie, we were a congenial group and we reluctantly found our way back down the hill and boarded the boat for the trip back to Gold Beach. That meal somewhere on the Rogue is one of my most pleasant memories.

Summer on the Rogue
far from civilization
worries fall away

Monday, April 27, 2020


Haibun Monday and Frank presents Basho and
Shakespeare.  We’re asked to produce a haibun
featuring one or both, followed by a Haiku.  An
interesting challenge!
Submitted to dVerse 4-27-2020

While I’m drawn to Basho’s haikus, brief and crisp, it’s the word mastery of Shakespeare that captures me.  His legacy of phrases that are still in common use, and his colorful, descriptive epithets cannot be surpassed.  He played the English language like a theater organ, pulling out all stops, yet he was born to illiterate parents and reared in a small town.  There is no record of his ever attending grammar school or university.  No letters or plays have been found written in his handwriting, and the existing samples of his handwriting are mainly signatures, often with his name misspelled.  So, did this uneducated man who couldn’t spell his own name correctly produce this mass of works?  Mystery swirls around Shakespeare and his works, and many theories abound.  What a fascinating history for the ages!

skillful word pictures
masterful Bard of Avon
we borrow your words

Sunday, April 26, 2020


Writers' Pantry #17 where we choose what
we wish to share.  Mother's Day approaches
and I'm thinking of my mother who had an
answer for everything!
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 26, 2020

Mama said “Stupid is as stupid does”
My Mama said a lot.
She always had a saying
For every bad habit I’d got.

When I made a pouty face
When I didn’t get my way
“Your face is sure to freeze like that”
I’d hear my Mama say.

When I forgot to change my clothes
And keep all nice and neat
I was sure to hear my Mama say
“Remember, soap is cheap”.

When I was feeling lazy
Pretending the work was done.
There she was, and Mama’d say
“Hard work never hurt anyone!”

The years have passed so quickly
Before my very eyes
And it’s only now I’ve come to know
That Mama was so wise.

Saturday, April 25, 2020


It's Sunday Muse #105, and
we're inspired by a photo.
Submitted to Sunday Muse
April 25, 2020

Following instructions
She shelters at home
No social contact
Undeniably alone

She peers longingly
At the world outside
Thinking what pleasure
Just to go for a ride

It’s as if the world ceased
Its clamor and din
She sits in silence
In her world within

No one to talk to
No one to hug
She longs for contact
As if for a drug

When the day comes
There’s an end to this trouble
She’ll appreciate life
Being free from her bubble

The simplest things
Will give her great pleasure
A smile and a handshake
Will bring joy beyond measure

One thing she’s learned
As day followed day
She’s been fooling herself
Her hair’s really gray!

Wednesday, April 22, 2020


Wednesday Weekly Scribbling and we're
asked to choose from a list of re- words
for our poem or prose. I've chosen reveal.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 21, 2020
She awakened to the plaintive wail of the 7 a.m. train.  The view from her window revealed yet another of those gray, bleak winter days, remnants of the last snowfall now dingy and gray.  Sighing, she arose and shuffled to the kitchen, where she set about making her morning coffee.   How she longed for the sense of well-being that comes with the first hint of Spring! In the long winter, each day seemed the same as the one before, a progression of sameness which left her struggling with depression. The door gave its usual complaining squeak as she opened it to pick up the newspaper. Morning coffee was always accompanied by the daily crossword. She opened the paper, picked up her pencil and began the ritual.  One across.  Five letters.  “A pervasive sense of boredom”.  She penciled in the letters E-N-N-U-I…and the irony of the word did not escape her.

Monday, April 20, 2020


Monday Quadrille #102, and the
word is FLUSH, which we’re to
use in our poem of exactly 44 words.
Submitted to dVerse
April 20, 2020
on nights
when the sky
is a carpet of stars,
I think of you
and the long ago
flush of golden moments
we shared
before it all went away.
I wonder,
when your sky is a
carpet of stars,
do you think of me?

Tuesday, April 14, 2020


It’s Tuesday Poetics at dVerse
and Laura asks us to consider
our relationship to order… do
we need it, want it, or ….
Here are my thoughts.
Submitted to dVerse
April 14, 2020

Consider the communal dishwasher
I don’t know whether to kick or punt
It seems so obvious to me
To load it from the back, not front

And then there’s the bathroom story
And the case of the toilet tissue
There’s no way but to roll from the top
Who’d think that would be an issue

Let’s keep things in order
That’s just what I think
So I find it quite stressful
Finding dishes in the sink

I’m such a simple person
And my weary heart sings
When everyone understands
The required order of things.

Monday, April 13, 2020

Sunday Muse #103

Another Sunday muse, this time on
Easter Sunday, and we’re inspired by
a beautiful photo. 
Submitted to Sunday Muse #103
April 12, 2020

On days when it all seemed too much
Hurtful words and deeds and such
The girl fled into her forest glen
Cool and green and safe therein.
Creatures welcomed the maid so fair
With crown of twigs upon her hair
The bunny snuggled soft and warm
In her place of safety, free from harm.
The trees stood guard, strong and tall
And she had no worries, none at all.

Monday, April 6, 2020


Writers’ Pantry #14.  A rhyming midnight epiphany
occurred last night, half scribbled in the dark and
finished this morning.  There is no accounting where
the brain goes when the TV turns off!
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 6, 2020

an advantage of being old
if any advantage there be
is contemplating the many faces
the world has presented to me

dream catcher, shady lady
tale spinner, and singer of songs
web weaver,  rough rider
collector of multiple wrongs

smooth talker, heart breaker
old timer and nervous nellies, a few
big spender, great pretender
a fancy dancer or two

city slicker, cotton picker
sharp dresser and magic bean buyer
fast talker, slow walker
do gooder and occasional high flyer

nincompoops and popinjays
and wolves in sheep disguise
bootleggers, fancy dressers
and soothsayers wonderfully wise

this led me to the conclusion
made as simple as I can
after all this time, it seems to me
we’re all of the family of man

stripped of our fancy clothing
and our grooming so meticulous
stand us in a naked row
and we all just look ridiculous

I don’t know why we bicker
and fan the flames of war
we’re all on the same journey
aiming for the golden shore.

Saturday, April 4, 2020


It’s Sunday Muse #102 and we’re
given a photo for inspiration.
Submitted to Sunday Muse
April 4, 2020

everyone knows a woman’s job
is to stay home, cook and clean
but, knowing this, one wonders
about this happy scene.

houses clean and dinner prepared
they carefully plan their stunt
their goal is to save the foxes
their men have gone to hunt.

Thursday, April 2, 2020


Weekly Scribblings and we're asked to consider
the importance of small things.  Certainly our
present situation gives us time to reassess our
values and realize the importance of small things
we've taken for granted.  A timely subject for
this week's poems.  The image I found on Facebook.
It seems lightning has truly struck our rainbow.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 2, 2020
Also submitted to Bjorn's challenge on dVerse
to write a "pandemic poem".
April 4, 2020

Been living in the land of plenty
If we wanted it, we put it on plastic
No need to save for a rainy day
Nothing would happen so drastic

Our values fell into decline
No time for church or Sunday dinners
The edges had seemed to blur
Between the good guys and the sinners

In the span of a month our lives changed
We’re closeted behind a closed door
Our friends and loved ones are dying
And we long for the days of yore

Perhaps it’s a time to reassess
The things  of enduring value
The people we really care about
And what has proved honest and true

It doesn’t matter if we’ve the biggest house
Or drive the fanciest car
We have time now to think about it
And realize who we really are.