Sunday, February 28, 2021


Writer's Pantry #59 and we're asked to consider Love and Loss.  We all deal with loss in a different way, but there is one common thread -- we grieve at things left unsaid.  I've "tuned up" a poem from long ago that addresses the subject, a lesson we all seem to learn.  


We live day by day always thinking

There’ll be time to say things on the morrow

But death takes away all those chances

And we’re left full of words in our sorrow.

I looked at your lips still and silent

And I wanted to shout “It’s not fair!

We had things to be said to each other

How could we know there was no time to spare?”

Did you know when I sat by the graveside

And words flowed that had been left unsaid?

It seemed the world faded about me

And it seemed I heard your voice instead.

It seemed I heard “Life’s for the living.

There’s no turning back, it’s all done.

Hold close what we had while our lives touched,

But it’s time to pick up and move on.”

It’s true time heals, as it’s spoken

And I find life still good day by day

But when someone does something to please me

I try to take time now to say.

For I know our time here is fleeting

And life rushes by very fast

We must say what we feel when we feel it

Lest the moment to say it has passed.

Saturday, February 27, 2021


 It's Sunday Muse #149, and time to be inspired by the photo given.   This week's photo reminds me the veil of restriction is being slowly lifted, albeit with caution.  I'm wondering how I will respond.

The veil is lifting, and newscasts are encouraging.  This has caused me concern about my re-assimilation into life. 

I fear, for example, the first time I’m in a group I will babble senselessly, euphoric at the pure pleasure of human contact.  I will want to hug everyone, shake every hand, and just reach out and touch because I can.  

I know I won’t recognize new acquaintances because I’ve ever only seen their eyes.  

I have so much information stored to share I will want EVERYONE to come over for coffee and conversation.  

Most worrisome…….. will I adjust to wearing a bra again?   

Wednesday, February 24, 2021


 Weekly Scribblings #58 and we're challenged with a new  poetic form presented by Candy at called the Waltmarie...something new and different.  Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, February 24, 2021.

abandoned stair to nowhere


once to some man’s dream


who marked this stair with


how many years have passed


they took their secrets with them


Monday, February 22, 2021


Quadrille #122, and the key word is "go" or a from thereof.   While cybersurfing, I cam across a fascinating article on Old English words, suggesting we use them again.  What fun!  I tried some of them out on my quadrille.  Submitted to dVerse February 22, 2021



Alas the day dawned moon-blown

and I awoke a-swerk*

I saw those scythe-eyed she-birds

in the corner where they lurk

singing their dust-tongued dirge

'til I'm ear-rent by their talk

fearful of their intentions

knowing it was me they stalk.

Forsooth,  I say,  beGOne!


* Old English definition of swerk is to become gloomy or sad.

Sunday, February 21, 2021


Writers' Pantry #58.  We're having a heat wave!  First day over freezing temps in what seems like forever.   We even had some sunshine!   My thoughts turn to warmer climes, and the ocean, and to endangered coral..  Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, February 21, 2021

nestled on the ocean floor
spiked fingers appearing
to reach upward
for the warmth of sunshine.
hiding its razor edges
from careless swimmers
home to underwater denizens
guardian of sunken ships
and mysteries of forgotten cities
wonder of the deep.

Saturday, February 20, 2021


Sunday Muse #148.  I like to think that some escape!

Candy wasn’t like the rest

She refused to sell her soul

She did what she had to do

Until she reached her goal

The faceless men would come and go

But she held herself apart

Drawn to her air of mystery

They took her body, not her heart

She’d get her education

Four years to a degree

She said  goodbye to the Black Cat Ranch

And hello to the university.

The Ranch remained still the same

The faceless men still randy

The girls still talk of how they wish

They all could be like Candy.


Wednesday, February 17, 2021



Wednesday Scribblings, and we’re given some prompt phrases for inspiration.  Somehow the phrases brought first love to mind for me.  Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, February 17, 2021  The image  is by Smita Urunkar.

first love is a star-spangled

glorious rush of emotion

that takes the breath away.

suddenly the grass is greener,

the sky is bluer,

the night is bejeweled, 

and the stars burst into

constellations of dance.

grasp this golden moment,

lose yourself in the euphoria

revel in the perfection of loving

and being loved .in return.

hold tight to the golden ring, 

for love can be a monster…

or not.

Monday, February 15, 2021


It's  Prosery we're challenged at dVerse today, our writing to include the lines from Yeats " I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head."  My story is fiction, thank heaven.  Submitted to dVerse, February 15, 2021.



Safe in my sanctum in the woods was my hazelwood tree.  It’s where I hid when my father came home in one of his alcohol-fueled moods.  Too many times I’d felt the cut of his belt for some imagined infraction, too many times I was slapped senseless for trying to defend my mother, too many times I went to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head and I was only a small boy with no where to turn, and only the hazelwood knew the depth of my despair. They’re gone now… he first, thankfully, and she put to rest today.  I return to my sanctum in the hazel wood, free at last of the fire in my head, and renew my resolve to give my own son a home filled with love and assurance, a safe place to be.    

Sunday, February 14, 2021


 Writers' Pantry #57.  In the midst of Covid Winter, where we're predicted 6 to 9 inches of snow by tomorrow,  it is good to revisit the blessed assurance that Spring will come and the world will turn green and full of promise, the pandemic will end and we can once again be in the company of friends and loved ones, exchanging hugs and shaking hands.  Oh happy day!   I've been  battling a bit of depression, so I'm engaging in a little attitude adjustment, and revisiting an earlier poem filled with promise and hope.   Happy Valentine's Day to my friends at Poets & Storytellers United.  February 14, 2021


I stand here in this meadow

where tall grasses nod

my weary soul listens

to the voice of God

Cares fall away

worries seem smaller

my burdens lessened

I seem to stand taller

As Spring follows winter

and day follows night

reassurance surrounds me

I am seeing the light

I listen to birdcalls

I feel the cool breeze

The world’s full of promise

I believe, I believe!

Saturday, February 13, 2021


 It's Sunday Muse #147, and we're inspired by the photograph of the Indigo Sky Mares by  Lauren  Burch.


They’ve long been  my friends, the indigo mares, since my mother told

me of their power.. On dark, stormy nights I leap astride, grasping their 

flowing golden mane as we streak through the starlight on the nimbus 

highway,  dodging lightning bolts, asteroids and all manner of space 

junk, hoofbeats drowning the sound of thunder. I fall asleep cradling their 

warm flanks and wake to morning light, refreshed and filled with indigo memories.  

The storm will have passed, and I will be safe and sound....just as mother said.  

Wednesday, February 10, 2021


It's Weekly Scribblings and we're asked to consider the phrase "pulling your punches".   I've spent a lifetime trying to curb my tendency to verbally punch first and think later, and learn to practice restraint.  I wrote this poem ten years ago, but it seems to meet the challenge so well I've resurrected it (and updated my age).  Submitted to Poets and Storytellers United, February 10, 2021,

               PUNCHES PULLED

I’m the queen of blunt, I shoot from the lip

I’m sometimes the queen of complaint

I’ve spent my life with a lesson to learn

And that’s to use a cup of restraint.

I don’t play poker ‘cause everyone knows

If I’ve a full house or a bust

They look at my face which is sure to portray

My excitement, hope or disgust.

I’ve been trying for years, ever since I was young

To get rid of this inborn taint

To master the skill of holstering my tongue

And just use a cup of restraint.

Time’s running short, I’m nearing the end

Goodness knows, I’m eighty-seven

If I can’t learn how to pull my punches 

Do you think they’ll let me in heaven?

Tuesday, February 9, 2021


 It’s Tuesday Poetics, and Sarah invites us to have fun with fungi.  I took her quite seriously, and my fun extended to a limerick nineling poem……and a bit of a devilish play on words.  I’ve been in a bit of a down mood, so this was a refreshing change of pace.  Submitted to dVerse February 9, 2021



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

Hector was lost in a corn field

Overcome with fear

Desperate, he called for help

Saying “Someone lend me an ear”.

Two fun guys I’ve met

Monday, February 8, 2021


 Quadrille # 121  We’re asked to feature the word “embrace” in exactly 44 words. 


I  embrace the memories

of friendly gatherings

    and hugs all around ---    

a symbol of sisterhood

as lives were shared,

our own joys and sorrows

     and those of our children       

and then grandchildren

and their challenges.

Sadly now, I have only

the memories to embrace.

Sunday, February 7, 2021


It's Writers' Pantry #56, the temperature this morning was 4 degrees (yes, FOUR), and I'm having a spell of Covid blues, so I've written a pity poem.   Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, February 7, 2021. (Digital art is mine)


I’m an affable people person

Exchange of ideas is a fix

Discussion is motivation

I crave a social mix

I need a touch on the shoulder

A handshake or a hug

I want to sit at a table 

And see someone else’s mug

I’d love to see a movie

Most any kind of show

I’d be so danged excited

To have a place to go

Now I order groceries

I don’t shop inside any more

It would be exciting

Just to go to the grocery store

I’m known to be loquacious 

But I’m grounded now, you know

It’s winter in Indiana

Walkers don’t work in the snow

I’m having a pity party

But probably no one can come

We’re busy getting our vaccine

Waiting til we all get some


Saturday, February 6, 2021


It's Sunday Muse #146 and we're treated to a beautiful bit of digital art by Susie Clevenger, which spoke to me in an American sentence.  Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, February 6,  2021.


In Covid isolation, I am a caged bird searching for my song. 

Wednesday, February 3, 2021


Weekly Scribblings at Poets & Storytellers United, and Rosemary asks us to consider how we become like our parents.  This occasioned some soul searching for me.  I loved and admired my mother a great deal, but I tended to be a daddy's girl.    Submitted February 3, 2021


Mother loved everything about living on a farm.  She loved to grow things and my father used to say she'd turn the whole farm into patches if he let her.  She was forever starting what she called patches --a strawberry patch, a blackberry patch, a sweet corn patch, a melon patch and so on.  She loved flowers and she loved to garden.  I, on the other hand, would prefer sitting under a shade tree and reading a book.  During my growing up years I dutifully did farm chores, all the while planning to finish school, get a job, and become a city girl! I have often said my mother was like the little hen who hatched a goose egg,  and looked at me in wonderment thinking "where in the world did THAT come from!"  I do find that I inherited some of her good traits, such as frugality, saving something for a rainy day, and being fiercely independent.  I think it would be a great compliment if someone would say "She's just like her mother", but sadly that will never be the case.  One of my childhood memories is lying next to her in bed one night and saying, "Mommy, do you love me?" and she replied "Of course I do", and I asked "Much as there are stars in the sky?" and she replied "Much as there are stars in the sky"  and I wonder why did the child who was me have to ask......   

Monday, February 1, 2021


 Haibun Monday at dVerse, and Frank has asked us to feature the eagle.  I recently came across the story of drone versus eagle which may be of interest,   Here's my recount of the tale.  Submitted February 1, 2021  The photo was taken by my daughter in Ankenny National Wildlife Refuge in Salem, Oregon.  


Erosion has been a serious problem on Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  The Michigan Department of Environment, Great Lakes, and Energy (known as EGLE) determined to use a drone for mapping shoreline erosion near Escanaba to document and help communities cope with high water levels.  

The mapping began, with environmental analyst Hunter King monitoring progress.  About seven minutes into the flight, reception became spotty and the drone began to twirl.  It sent 27 warning messages, one oF which was that it was missing a propeller, before it splashed down into the cold waters of the lake.   The mystery of its demise was solved by two birdwatchers nearby who saw the drone attacked by an American eagle before it spiraled into the lake, and the eagle soared away, apparently unharmed.   

The EGLE drone team is considering how to change the drone's appearance so that it does not resemble a seagull, and the eagle, no doubt, is wondering exactly what manner of seagull it was he encountered!

above Lake Michigan

technology met nature

where the eagle rules