Sunday, September 27, 2020



 Sunday Muse #127, where we’re inspired 

by a charming photo of girl and cow.

Submitted to The Sunday Muse

September 27, 2020


There’s an admirable complacency about a cow

She seems to avoid worry, I don’t know how

On a hot summer’s day, she finds cool creek mud

And just stands in it while chewing her cud

When it’s milking time, she heads for the shed

She’s no written schedule, it’s all in her head

The life of a cow, to the best of my knowing

Is just giving milk and occasionally lowing.

Saturday, September 26, 2020


In trolling my poetry archives, I came across this poem titled Yesterday and Tomorrow, which I wrote in about 1985 when I was leading the busy life of a lady executive.  How strange to read it now, and see how prophetic it really was. It's like my 51 year old self talking to my now 86 year old self! I have now reached the time to savour!

Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, Writers' Pantry 39,  September 26, 2020


As I speed along the freeway

In the usual morning race

My thoughts turn back to other times

When life had a slower pace

When there was time for dreaming

And wriggling our toes in the mud

And close examination 

Of each leaf and flower and bud.

For listening to autumn breezes

As they rustled through fields of grain

And for smelling the wondrous fresh bouquet 

Of a late spring evening rain

For idling under a shade tree

When no one knew where I was

And studying the intricate mechanics

Of what makes bumblebees buzz.

For listening to trills of songbirds 

As they flit from tree to tree

While I looked for four-leaf clovers 

In grass like a great green sea.

It seems now my days are so busy

These pleasures are things of the past

I try to find time for dreaming

But life races by too fast

I think of the time when I’m older,

With time on my hands again.

How I’ll treasure those special moments

Much moreso than I did then.

For God in his infinite wisdom 

Has bestowed a very great favor

What in youth we take for granted

In old age we have time to savour.

Thursday, September 24, 2020


Meeting the Bar, and Grace challenges us
 to write protest poetry. Pandemics, natural 
disasters, lying politicians and protests are 
difficult times for a hopeless optimist. I seek 
release in verbal nonsense! 
Submitted to dVerse 
September 24,2020 














Wednesday, September 23, 2020


 Wednesday Scribblings where we're asked to

consider things of temporary or hidden support.

Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United

September 23, 2020


We Crawfords have moved to the burbs!  Just as the folks at Downton Abbey had their house staff, we here at Crawford Abbey have our electronic house staff.  Our electronic assistants, Echo and Alexa, assist us with turning lights on and off, setting morning alarm when necessary, handling grocery lists, reminding us to check oven when baking and washer or dryer when doing laundry, and provide entertaining music of our choice, among other light duties. Our Ring surveillance camera lets us know when someone is at the door, and captures their image.  We have added a valuable member to the household staff.  Roomba.  Roomba resides at her docking station behind a chair in the gathering room.  On command she leaves her dock and vacuums the entire house!  Mission completed, she returns to her docking station, empties herself, and recharges her batteries in preparation for her next mission.  We run an efficient household here at Crawford Abbey…Echo, Alexa, Ring, Roomba, my  son, his wife, and I.  A power outage would be the stuff of nightmares.  

Tuesday, September 22, 2020


 Tuesday Poetics, and we’re to be

inspired by the delightful surrealism

of Catrin Welz-Stein.

Submitted to dVerse

September 22, 2020


Midnight epiphanies 

when the brain runs free

imagination unfettered

presents wonderful visions

of serendipity….

unlikely things in likely places

glorious in new surroundings

Why not cradle 

a swan in a hat, I say

let them all float off 

on a cloudy day


Monday, September 21, 2020


Quadrille #112, and we’re asked to

include the word sky in our 44 words. 

Submitted to dVerse September 21, 2020 

man dreams 
ships that go 
beyond our sky 
to space mysterious 

where asteroids cruise 
galaxies unknown 
and planets hide 
beyond our sky 

at night we peek 
above the clouds 
to vast infinity 
beyond our sky 

 we seek to know 
the secrets 
 beyond our sky

Sunday, September 20, 2020


 It’s Writers’ Pantry #38 at Poets & Storytellers.

Submitted September 20, 2020


I lost another dear friend this week---my friend, Marie, who was a bright light in my life.  I will miss her so.  At her passing, it occurs to me I have more friends on the “other side” than I have here.  I soldier on.  It’s as if the world is a great theater and my life a stage.  Players enter stage left, and play their designated role in the drama of my life, then exit stage right, leaving memories and vestiges of themselves that make me who I am.  Go well, Marie, and tell the others I said hello.  I’ll be along one of these days. For now, there are new faces on the stage, new lessons to be learned.  In the meantime, life is good and I continue to practice for my curtain call.  

Saturday, September 19, 2020


The Sunday Muse #126, wherein we’re

To be inspired by the photo by

Brooke Shaden.

I dreamed I stood clothed in black lace

in a field of golden wheat

arms outstretched, pleading to be free

free of the miasma of life’s tragedies

free of divisiveness and hate

free of leaders speaking with forked tongues.

free of the dark entities that tested my soul.

I dreamed I heard a powerful voice

saying “I set you free”

and the cloud of darkness left me

evaporating beyond my outstretched arms

I dreamed……I dreamed……I dreamed

I watched it fade away into healing light…

and so it came to be.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020



I want to leave my footprints

Upon the sands of time

But how will those who come after

Know which set of prints are mine

I hope they’re the ones who stand steady

On issues that are right and just

Who yet take the time to dance gaily

Barefoot in prairie dust

The ones who speed bravely forward

To drink from life’s flowing cup

But pause in their forward motion

To help a fellow up

The ones who slow to walk with the aged

And toddle to walk with  youth

Who walk toward new horizons

With honesty and truth

If someone who comes after

Should choose to follow my way

May they walk with pride in the footprints

That I have left today.  


It's Weekly Scribblings #37 and we're asked to consider last messages or death poems,

termed Jisei in East Asia.

Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United

September 16, 2020

Monday, September 14, 2020



Safe at last

No more shouting and deriding them in his
alcohol-fueled rages.  At last, he'd crossed the line, and
he was serving a long jail sentence for his last battering that
nearly killer her.

Now her babies were safe.  
The woman watched the sleeping children.
The nightmares were gone, and now they smiled sweetly in their
sleep, reliving happy times in their dreams.
They sleep with the moon shining in their window, she thought
moonbeams lighting their way to happy places, safe and secure in
the knowledge of her love.  No matter that he'd left her alone to raise them
Working two jobs was a small price to pay for their new life of peace and laughter.

Safe at last.

Prosery Monday, and Merrill has challenged
us to write prosery including a line from 
Mary Oliver’s “Death at Wind River”, that
being “in their dreams they sleep with the moon
not to exceed 144 words.  I am still struggling with
the new Blogger format.  (The adage is apparently
true about old dogs and new tricks!)

Sunday, September 13, 2020


Writers' Pantry #37, and Megaly asks us to consider autumn.
I've many happy autumn memories and some that are rather 
sad and nostalgic, and this is one of those. Forgive the format.
 Blogger's "new and improved format"is confounding
 me at present.
 Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United 
September 14, 2020 
 I once knew a man with laughing eyes
Who caused my heart to dance
Who made me believe in love again
And, trusting, I took a chance.

I loved the man with laughing eyes
And, ah, love was so sweet
I believed no challenge could be so great
That together we could not meet.

Sometimes we loved by firelight
And sometimes we loved by day
Then one day the man with laughing eyes
Seemed to have gone away.

I said to the man with laughing eyes
“It seems you’ve built a wall
I’ve tried to scale it, but I cannot
It’s really much too tall.”

And so went the man with laughing eyes
Away from my life for good
I guess I knew it could never last
But oh, how I wished it would.

For a moment we had it, my laughing eyes
But alas it was just for a day
And quickly as snowflakes can disappear
Our bright tomorrows slipped away..

Saturday, September 12, 2020


The Sunday Muse #125 The sad eyes of the fox spoke to me. Submitted September 12, 2020 ***********
I’m here where we met, my friend, but you are not here. I find only a feather reminder of the friendship we forged that others derided. We learned the difference in our appearance meant nothing. Our common interests were one and the same…. We wished to be acknowledged, respected, and allowed to live our lives without fear, to have a safe place for ourselves and our loved ones, and the freedom to enjoy the wonders of nature about us. We spoke the common language of love as we each came to know and respect the other. We planned to carry our message to the legions who are oblivious to it and persist in practicing anger, hate and discord. Where have you gone, my friend? How will I carry on alone?

Wednesday, September 9, 2020


Weekly Scribblings #36.  We're asked to
consider the phrase "first a phoenix must
burn".  No poem or philosophy come to
mind, only glaring reality.  The photo is
the sky in Salem, Oregon at mid-afternoon.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
September 9,  2020

Somehow this challenge seems all too close to reality when so many in western states are dealing with loss from the raging infernos there. The fires are 20 miles from my daughter’s home in Oregon and her city is on standby for evacuation.  Small towns not far from her have been reduced to ashes, and her city fairgrounds have been turned into a tent city for evacuees.  No doubt these little towns and their citizens will rebuild and rise like phoenix from the ashes of their devastating loss, but that seems far away at the moment, when the air is thick with smoke and the sky is red at mid-afternoon.  My heart is heavy and my prayers are raised for the brave firefighters who are fighting these fires.

Tuesday, September 8, 2020


Poetics Tuesday at dVerse.  Sarah wants
us to present ourselves via selfie or
description.  What an intimidating task
she’s set for us!  My "portrait" is for
Submitted to dVerse
September 8, 2020

I can tell you when I look in the mirror
this is what I see
 it’s that old lady who gets between
my bathroom mirror and me

Her eyelids sag and she has wrinkles
every which a-way
and what’s more to my amazement
her hair is really gray

I can’t seem to see around her
any which way I turn my head
when I go to brush my teeth
she shows me hers instead

I put some lipstick on her
even though the tube is mine
I give it up and fix her up
and tell her she looks fine.

Monday, September 7, 2020


Quadrille #111 at dVerse, and we’re
asked to include the word “eavesdrop”
or a form thereof in our 44-word poem.
Submitted to dVerse
September 7, 2020

Egbert was a dapper philanderer
who thought he’d never be caught
his wife, Justine, was  clever
his plans therefore came to naught
unbeknownst to unsuspecting Egbert
she picked up the art of eavesdrop
using the art exceedingly well
revealing him to be a duplicitous fop.

Sunday, September 6, 2020


Writers’ Pantry #36 and we approach the
change of seasons….spring in  the land “down under”
and autumn in northern climes …a nostalgic
time of year for me with happy memories.
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
September 6, 2020

A hint of coolness in morning air and a bit of morning haze are precursors of my favorite time of year. The first crisp morning opens the attic of my mind and memories come tumbling out.  Childhood memories of hayrides, when a group of friends would be seated on a hayrack pulled by a tractor to a spot in the woods where a bonfire awaited, roasting wieners, making s’mores*, and sitting around the fire telling ghost stories.  Everywhere fall displays of pumpkins, gourds, chrysanthemums, and scarecrows welcomed harvest time and my rural world prepared for winter’s cold and snow.  Later memories are of my dear friends and travel companions…four housewives and mothers who enjoyed a girlfriend getaway every October for more than 30 years to one of God’s special places, the Great Smoky Mountains, where we shopped and shared life experiences and giggled like schoolgirls into our own autumn years.  Eighty-six autumns have come and gone, and now my autumns are more sedate.  I’m grateful for my memories, and a life well lived.
*S'mores.   Roast a marshmallow, place it on a graham cracker, top with a square of chocolate and top with a second graham cracker.  A bonfire dessert!

Saturday, September 5, 2020


The Sunday Muse #124, where we are
inspired by photo.  My offering is
short and sweet (I hope!)
Submitted September 5, 2020

I am woman, hear me roar
my motto used to be
I seem to have lost my cutting edge
and now I'm up a tree.

Thursday, September 3, 2020


Reconsidering the challenge to write
erotica.  This is a bit more adventurous.
Submitted to dVerse
September 3, 2020

She came to him in the night
her skin dewy and fragrant from the
lotions she uses after her shower.
Her lips touched his lightly, then
seeking, tongue touching tongue,
her fingertips trailing down his chest,
his waist to his loins, wanting, needing,
in the way with which he’d become so
familiar.  His body responding, he
drew her close, and they began the
dance as old as time.

Wednesday, September 2, 2020


Weekly Scribblings  #35, and we’re asked to consider
the Joy of Rest.  So many ways to use the word.... I
couldn’t resist. 
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
September 2, 2020

Let’s wrest calm from Covid chaos,
you and I and all the rest
Our case rests on solid ground
Having said that, I rest my case.
Now I’m tired, and need some rest.

Tuesday, September 1, 2020


We're invited to explore erotica for Poetics Tuesday.
I'm reminded of a courtly old southern gentleman
who once explained it to me thusly, "Ah always say,
Miss Beverly, if the wit outweighs the vulgarity it's
a good story".  I pretty much agree.  For my offering,
 a pair of mildly bawdy limericks.
Submitted to dVerse
September 1, 2020

There once was a fellow quite charming
Who went by the name of Bruce
He was attracted to all the girls
But preferred the ones who were loose

There once was a lady named Sadie
Who was wondrously well endowed
Her friend was smartest in the class
But it was Sadie who drew a crowd