Sunday, May 31, 2020


Sunday Muse #110
Our photo of ispiration is titled
“Rocket” by Brad Phillips.
I rode the rocket for a dream.
Submitted May 31, 2020

I dreamed I rode a rocket ship
To the land of could it be
Where people lived in harmony
With respect for all they see

Where color didn’t mean a thing
And no one lived in fear
Where leaders worked together
And statements were sincere

Where my homeland had no claim to shame
And death didn’t come wearing blue
Where people lived with dignity
Oh, if only dreams came true

Tuesday, May 26, 2020


Poetics Tuesday, and we're asked to
write of a room important to us, in
Laura's words "a room in the literal,
functional, metaphorical, imaginary
and/or fantastical sense".  Some of what
I've written may have been included in
poems in the past, but I've written of the
one room that impacted my life in every way.
Submitted to dVerse
May 26, 2020

Deep in the windy prairie of Illinois, miles from a city of any size, was a one-room country school where lessons learned impacted the woman I became.  My teacher for the first seven years filled many roles in our lives.  He was janitor, and responsible for building a fire in the big pot-bellied stove on cold winter mornings; and, with the some help from students, keeping our schoolroom tidy.  We learned responsibility by being assigned small tasks, and pride in doing them well.   He was music director, and played the piano for our rousing renditions of  “America, the Beautiful”, “God Bless America and other patriotic songs that instilled a pride and love for our country.  On the playground, he was umpire, coach and athletic director.  It was here we learned life lessons that would stand us in good stead for all our lives.   We learned to play fair, to negotiate, to respect others, to look after the little ones, and always to do our best.

Perhaps the greatest gift for me was the time he set aside two or three days a week to read to us from a book of his choice.   In mind I see him still, taking up the book from the corner of his desk, opening it almost reverently, and, in his measured voice, beginning to read to us of faraway cities and  events so very different from our rural part of the world.   He would read two or three chapters, then close the book until the next session, leaving us in breathless anticipation.   I became enamored with the written word, and thirsty to read every book that came my way.  My studies ended after a year in business college, but my education has lasted my life long, thanks to the thirst for knowledge instilled in me in that single prairie room.  Many years later, in what proved to be the last year of his life, I had occasion to see that teacher again, and to thank him for the gifts he had given me.  I am so grateful I had that opportunity, and for that one room school.

Monday, May 25, 2020


Haibun Monday, and Kim has presented a visual prompt .. “Broadway Boogie Woogie” by Piet Mondrian.  We’re asked to study the image and write how it makes us feel.  I have been painfully honest with my impression.  Perhaps I’ve opened myself to psychoanalysis! At any rate, here it is, with my apologies to Mr. Mondrian!
Submitted to dVerse
May 25, 2020

I am a pragmatic soul and when it comes to abstract art and/or fantasy, I seem to find myself out in left field somewhere. The piece makes me feel claustrophobic, much as when I find myself in a crowd, I feel I can’t breathe freely until I get to the edge and space.  “Broadway Boogie Woogie” just disturbs me.  It seems to be a maze, and the primary colors lead me to believe the artist works within rigid parameters.  Were I not given the title, it would not lead my thoughts to Broadway … or any city, for that matter.  It evokes sympathy for the artist, thinking perhaps he felt boxed in with no clear path to the outside.  No small wonder, since his arsenal of tools seems limited.  Mondrian seemed to have progressed from Dutch traditional to cubism and hence to abstract art, an interesting journey.

any way I turn
anger red and sunshine hot
an endless summer

Sunday, May 24, 2020


It's Writers' Pantry #21, where we consider
something old or new.  I seem to be thinking
of my grandmother a lot of late.  Maybe it's
because I just discovered I'm to be a great
grandmother at year's end!.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 24, 2020

There was a trunk in Grandma’s attic
Where we children used to play
It held bits of lace and “special things”
My Grandma used to say.

Life went on as it’s known to do
Time has passed on golden wings
Now my children play their games
Near the trunk of “special things”.

This old house is growing older
Still to its memories it clings
Soon another generation will play
Near Grandma’s “special things”.  

Saturday, May 23, 2020

Sunday Muse #108

Sunday Muse #108
Our photo is titled “Snow White and Rose Red”
By Kerry Darlington.  I hope she forgives
me for where it led me!
Submitted to Sunday Muse
May 23, 2020

I fell asleep one dreary night, and had
the strangest dream. 
I tried to learn the signs it brought
and wondered what it means
they say a bear dream means you’re strong
and very independent
my bear was accompanied by
ladies quite resplendent
I pondered long and hard
just what they said to me
and, if you’ll “bear” with me
this is what I see
Snow White is sleeping,
waiting for her prince to appear
Rose Red reminds me it’s
not likely this year
The alarm clock sounded
I woke with a yawn
fatigued with my dreaming
I welcomed the dawn.
the moral of the story
at least so it seems
is that pizza at midnight
makes for puzzling dreams.

Thursday, May 21, 2020


It’s Meet at the Bar for dVerse,
Frank Tassone our host.  We consider
the 5 line Japanese poem forms…
 tanka, kyoka and gogyohka.  As best
I can understand, I’ve chosen to write
a gogyohka.

in cobwebbed corridors of my mind

I seem to see it still

the winding lane beyond the hedge

grandma in her apron

waiting on the porch   


Wednesday, May 20, 2020


Weekly Scribblings leads us to
poetry and art of Christina Georgina
Rossetti and her brother Dante Gabriel
Rossetti.  We’re to be inspired by either
the poetry or the art.  I chose “The Harp”
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 20, 2020

Pluck the strings of lessons learned
Sip from the pool of sorrow
Know what it is to have loved and lost
And still believe in tomorrow
Let the harp song fill the air
Soothing troubled brow
Its dulcet tones a bridge in time
Traversing from then to now

Tuesday, May 19, 2020


Tuesday Poetics and HA has asked that our
poem this week be about portals. 
Submitted to dVerse
May 19. 2020

Presidents and garbagemen, priests and whores
Children and old people all passing through doors
Lives lived in chapters, choices untold
Portal by portal our lives unfold
The boat we’re sailing in the river of time
Speeds through the shallows, stops on a dime
We’re the sum of our choices, fate is our friend
 We’ll know how we did when we reach journey’s end
Image my own digital art.

Monday, May 18, 2020


It’s Quadrille #104, and our
poem of exactly 44 words is to
include fix or a form thereof.
It was so difficult to stop at
44 words!
Submitted to dVerse
May 18, 2020

a woman’s heart has no filter,
she falls for a pretty face
it doesn’t seem to matter
if his habits are a disgrace
he’ll suffice, she tells herself    
as she blindly picks him  
but trouble will surely follow  
as she sets out to fix him.

Sunday, May 17, 2020


It's Writers' Pantry #20, and I'm sharing
idle thoughts on a cloudy Sunday afternoon,
about what's really important in life, what
really matters.....or so it seems to me.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 17, 2020
Funny, it’s not the grand material things that bring lasting pleasure, but the small things that validate us.  When we’re gone,  it’s not likely we’ll be remembered for the material things we’ve accrued in this life,  but for the small kindnesses we’ve extended that linger in the memory of those whose lives we touched along the way.   It brings such a rush of pleasure to know, even with all the stumbles and  less than glorious moments during my life journey,  I have left some fond and positive memories  with others.   Nothing pleases me more than to be with my children and hear them speak fondly of things I did or said in their childhood;  to hear an ex-employee say “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t be where I am today” or “You were a good boss” (never mind that their secret nickname for me was “Old Ironpants”!).  Recently, a long-time dear friend showed me a note I’d written her long ago during a difficult time for her that she’d kept all these years.  I was incredibly touched.  I guess you could say my greatest pleasure is simply knowing that I mattered.  

Saturday, May 16, 2020


Sunday Muse #108 presents to us the
historic Aztec Theater in San Antonio.
A bit of research left me totally enchanted
and longing to visit.  My reverie of the
stories it might tell left me simply writing a
Submitted May 16, 2020
A toast to the Aztec!  Six stories tall, in its heyday the Aztec dominated the theater district of downtown San Antonio.  Built at the time the River Walk was being established, with its 2 ton chandelier in the lobby and the ornate pillars and Aztec and Mayan sculptures, surely its storied walls are home to the spirits of those who trod the corridors through the years.  Some say it’s cursed, driving the long succession of owners daft.  What stories might emanate from the famed Tequilla Bar, home of late night assignations.  One wonders if the spirit of Montezuma might wander the floors in the dead of night, passing the spirits of young revelers whose fondest memories feature secluded theater seats where romance flourished.  If only the walls could talk!  Here's to the Aztec.  Long may she grace the River Walk!  

Thursday, May 14, 2020


I was reading the other day about NASA’s Mars
Exploration Program.   Must have gone to sleep
thinking about it.  Here’s the resulting “midnight
Submitted to dVerse Open Link
May 14, 2020

In these days of tribulation, you gotta wonder why
We need to look for more, by exploring our sky.
We dress up our heroes in spacesuits slick as a whistle,
Give them a flag, and send them off in a missile.
If there are aliens out there, they probably have seen us
From their vantage point on the planet of Venus,
Or perhaps from Jupiter, in their own space cars
When they’re off with their family for a trip to Mars.
Stopping by Mercury or lunch on the moon,
Passing by Earth, they‘ll head on to Neptune.
Enjoying the cosmos and its glorious pattern
They‘ll take a left turn so the kids can see Saturn..
Circling the sun, they’ll send a message to pain us
“When we get there”, they’ll say, “we’ll study Uranus.”
Oh dear!

Wednesday, May 13, 2020


Weekly Scribblings and Rommy presents
the dilemma of telling the truth or to lie.
Sailing the waters between truth and a lie
can be confusing, to say the least.  I’ve
chosen to take a humorous look.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 13, 2020

It’s hard to teach our children
The concept of a lie
How sometimes untruth is necessary
Just to protect the other guy

If you dye your hair purple, for example
And it’s my impression you seek
You’ll get what I call a little untruth
I’ll just say “It’s sure unique”.

But if you bought the piecrust
And “it’s home made”, you say
That’s a bold-faced lie, my friend
And that is not okay.

Monday, May 11, 2020


Bjorn is our host for Tuesday Prosery, and we are instructed
to write prosery not to exceed 144 words and including a quote
from the poem "Caged Bird" by Maya Angelou.
   "his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream".

Deadline approached for my next book, and my muse seemed on sabbatical. Since
I’d done my very best work in a getaway cottage deep in the woods, I booked it,
hoping it’s magic would work once more. Parking my old VW van by the door.
carrying my venerable Royal typewriter inside, I placed it on the beat-up desk.
Mysteries are my forte’. Tired but determined, I was soon happily typing a scenario
fit for mayhem and murder, lost in my creation of a forbidding haunted house.
Suddenly, without warning, a  shadow formed in the cabin corner. Dark and
foreboding, he drifted toward me and suddenly “his shadow shouts on a nightmare
scream”.  Kicking over my chair, I matched his scream with one of my own, gasping
for breath….and slowly realized I’d fallen asleep at my typewriter and fell into my
own Chapter One.   

Sunday, May 10, 2020


Writers' Pantry #19, Birthing Hope
I so like our topic of birthing hope.
Often in these troubled times, our poems
are filled with the angst we're experiencing.
It's pervasive.  We do so need an infusion
of hope!  My last poem was about a sip
of hope, so here I'm counting blessings.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
May 10, 2020

I’ve just watched the news, and now have the blues
Dear Lord is there no good news anywhere
It’s a day to honor mothers, still looking after others
By not venturing out with faces bare

But, Lord I see the grass is green, I love the flowering trees I’ve seen
And the birds are still finding cause to sing
Things are coming up in the garden plot, petunias are blooming in the old clay pot
In spite of it all, here comes Spring!

It’s so easy to get caught up in detritus, not being thankful as each day greets us
So often we don’t take time to just be. 
I’m grateful, Lord, for each new day, sorry I don’t always take time to say
How good this old world has been to me

Thursday, May 7, 2020


Frank challenges us to write a poem of
exactly 14 lines in any form we wish.
I'm weary of the gloomy news of the day,
longing for better times and clinging to hope.
Submitted to dVerse
May 7, 2020

Weathered barns in distant places
Sun-kissed fields and open spaces
Tidy gardens weeded and hoed
Little white chapel by the road
Remembered faces, smiling and kind
Childhood lessons come to mind
Now jet flights and concrete jungles
Internet and traffic tangles
Drive-by shootings, prophets of doom
Everywhere, it seems, there’s gloom.
I wish we could bottle those carefree days
Of loving kindness and simple ways
And when we’re burdened and out of cope
We could open the bottle and sip some hope.

Wednesday, May 6, 2020


Weekly Scribblings asks us for
poetry inspired by pandemic street
art and our world today.  My efforts
are tongue-in-cheek.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers
May 6, 2020

will we recognize our neighbors
when pandemic releases earth
they’re all displaying roots of gray
and much expanded girth

while sheltering at home
mask makers are busy stitchin’
taking breaks for time, of course
for visits to the kitchen

the price of gas has plummeted
what a wondrous happenstance
alas we have nowhere to go
afraid to take a chance

if we beat this cursed pandemic
there’s no good news in sight
murder hornets are on their way
to be our newest fright

Monday, May 4, 2020


Writers' Pantry #18    and I've taken some time
to consider things I used to think on life's
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
April 4, 2020

Life's been good to me, and I consider lessons learned and some of the things I used to think......

* I used to think there is always tomorrow; but, as one by one people in my life have passed into what comes after, I’ve  come to know there are no guarantees and each day is a gift.
* I used to think if I gave someone my very best, I’d get their very best in return.   I’ve learned, however, that with some people,  their very best  falls far below my expectations.
* I used to think people with a college degree were superior to me.   I‘ve learned that being,  perhaps,  more knowledgeable does not equate to being superior.
* I used to think it was crucial to be at the head of the line at the traffic signal.  Unfortunately, I still tend to feel this way.
* I used to think one day I’d be a size 10.  I’ve come to realize time is running out.
* I used to think I was always right.   I’ve learned that, on rare occasions, I can be wrong.
* I used to think “cough” and “sprinkle” had nothing whatsoever to do with one another, but I’ve come to know there’s a certain synchronicity.   Think about it.
* I used to think everything was black or white, right or wrong; but I’ve come to know there are infinite shades of gray.
*  I used to think John Edwards and Tiger Woods were honorable men.
*  I used to think I would always wear stylish shoes, but now I’m comfortable in my orthopedic wedgies.
* I used to think “by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin” was about a bearded man, but now I know it is just about an old woman.

Sunday, May 3, 2020


Sunday Muse #106.  We know the
routine -- be inspired by the photo.
This is by no means autobiographical,
it's just where my muse took me.
Submitted to Sunday Muse
April 3, 2020

I’m tired of wearing this mask
trying to be what’s expected
    of me

I want to follow the
trail of fallen petals
that speak of poor choices

back to my wishing tree
in the meadow ….
I want to start over