Monday, May 31, 2021


 Quadrille  #129, and our word to consider is CURIOUS or a form thereof.  Everyone who knows me knows I suffer from terminal curiosity.  Submitted to dVerse May 31, 2021


What makes boats float?

Why do airplanes fly?

No one is more anxious to know

Who What Where When and Why  

What makes the bumblebees buzz?

Why do lightning bugs light?

I’m curious, and I must discover     

Why do bats only fly at night?

Saturday, May 29, 2021


 THE SUNDAY MUSE #162, submitted May 28, 2021


It appeared the moon had fallen 

Leaving the blackbird, in quite a muddle

Just himself and this other fellow

Found it in a puddle

He thought “We must tell the others

They’ll be wondering why

Like us, they’ve become accustomed

To find it in the sky”

Well, what comes next, he wondered

As he pondered with a frown

T’will be a frightful puzzle

When the sun comes falling down 

Thursday, May 27, 2021


 Open Link and Writer’s Pantry, idle thoughts on a lazy day.  We all walk such diverse paths in our way through life, I suppose this poem could be endless, but mercifully I reached its conclusion!   Submitted to dVerse, and to Storytellers and Poets United.   May 2021



Comers and goers

Lovers and dreamers

Slow walking fast talkers

High flyers on the down low

Losers and winners

Mathematicians and magicians

Escorts and pole dancers

Lost with nowhere to go

Architects and demolition experts

Teachers and seekers of knowledge

Risk takers and tale spinners

Those who travel alone

Tree huggers and street muggers

Each in their own way bereft

While thinking little of others

They enter stage right, exit stage left.

We wander through our lives

Some doors we go in, and some out

But there’s one common thread among us

Wondering what it's all about.

Wednesday, May 26, 2021


Weekly Scribblings, and Rosemary challenges us to consider the word "wait".  None of us escapes it!  Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, May 26, 2021



In the great, grand pecking order of words,
WAIT must be considered highest,
I presume.
It has, after all, been assigned
its very own 

Tuesday, May 25, 2021


Poetics Tuesday, and Mish has given us a delicious list of quotes from popular movies, and suggests we choose one to be included in our poem.  I'm afraid I've over-achieved.  Submitted May 25, 2021


My Precious, 

Where we’re going we don’t need roads,  

We’re headed to infinity and beyond.  

Everything the light touches is our kingdom.  

I’m your huckleberry---a glass case of emotion.  

You complete me.  Every time a bell rings, 

listen to the children of the night.  

What music they make!  

You like jazz, the stuff dreams are made of ?  

I don’t want to survive, I want to live.  After all, 

tomorrow is another day and you can’t be a 

proper writer without a  touch of madness.  

You’ll need a bigger boat to round up the usual suspects.

 Go ahead, make my day. I don’t know how to quit you.

Sunday, May 23, 2021


Writer's Pantry when we choose a poem or prose of our choice.  As is often the case, my thoughts turn back to days of long ago.  I'm submitting my memory to Poets & Storytellers United, May 23, 2021



When I was a youngster one of the highlights of our long summers was the Friday night free movie which was shown on a screen in the open area behind the drug store in the little town where we lived.  I guess it was the prairie precursor of the drive-in movie.   The parents parked along the grassy area edge, and watched from the relative comfort of their cars.  After much coming and going to the drug store soda fountain for nickel cups of ice cream that had movie stars’ photos on the inside of the lid, it was time to spread blankets on the grass and settle down for the big show.  

Once I’d spread my “blanket”, a denim patchwork made by my mother from pieces of my father’s worn overalls, my friends joined me, and it was time to watch for my childhood sweetheart.  On a clear night, the evening star would appear just over the top of the make-shift screen. I remember gazing skyward and with all due childhood fervor thinking “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight….I wish Willard would come to sit with me.”  Most times, just at dusk as the movie was beginning, my wish would come true and he would join me.  I still remember the thrill when his hand accidentally touched mine as we sat and watched “Swiss Family Robinson”!

The years have come and gone.  My life journey took me to the city life, and his kept him on the prairie, farming the land he inherited from his father.  On a bright summer night when I see the twinkle of the first star of evening, I think of Willard Cashmer and I wonder if he ever thinks of me.

Saturday, May 22, 2021


 Sunday Muse #161, submitted 5/22/2021


Gemini, Gemini

let me count the ways

star filled nights and sunny days

stormy weather and rainbows

just when I know who you are

you aren’t

carefree frolic and laughter

joys and happy ever after


dark and moody comes to call

immense displeasure over all

Gemini, Gemini

let me count the ways….

Thursday, May 20, 2021


 Meet the Bar Thursday and our challenge is to consider a poem with the beat of a waltz.  Easy as one, two, three!  Submitted to dVerse May 20, 2021


One two three
Waltzing, said he
Seeming to float

Round the floor
One time more
Missing nary a note

Wrapped  in her arms
Enfolded in charms
Cares of the world remote.

One two three
Captured was he
Dance is poetic, he wrote.

Wednesday, May 19, 2021


Weekly Scribblings, and Rommy asks us to write in the form of a list.  It occurs to me I need a list to remind me which musical tone in our new home is telling me what.  As I compile the list, I’m wondering if any of us remember what silence is!

1.  The musical beep from the stove when it has reached the heat level requested.

2.   The slightly different tone from the Air Fryer when it’s reached requested level, the second double beep when it’s time to turn the food items over, and the final multiple beep when the cycle is completed.

3.   The happy little tones of our Roomba leaving her station for cleaning duty, and her different little tones when she’s returned to her docking station for recharging.

4.   The washing machine signaling its cycle is complete.

5.  The dryer with its companion signal when drying time has expired.

6.  The Ring signal from our surveillance system to let us know someone is at the door.

7.  The beep of the Echo monitor in the kitchen when it has a message.

8.  The sweet tone of my Alexa monitor in my office reminding me to check the washer, the dryer, the stove or whichever bell and whistle I have managed to ignore!

9.  The voice of the Alexa monitor in my bedroom giving me the weather update.

10.  The musical tone from my iPhone when someone has left a message.

11.   The different musical tones when I have an incoming call.

12.  Occasional alarming tones when scammers are alerting me my computer is going to implode if I don’t respond to their request.

13.   The chimes of the grandfather clock marking the hours of my life.

14.  The tune of the upstairs clock that plays a classical tune every hour on t he hour.

Indeed, do you hear what I hear?

Tuesday, May 18, 2021


 Poetics challenge is to feature a favorite poet, use his name in our title, and write something in his style.  I’ve chosen Ogden Nash for his pithy humorous poems, specifically “A Word to Husbands”  I've chosen to write a sequel.  Submitted to dVerse May 18, 2021. Here's Nash's poem:

"To keep your marriage brimming

With love in the loving cup

Whenever you’re wrong, admit it

Whenever you’re right, shut up"


....and my sequel is as follows


To keep your woman happy

With love in the loving cup

The simplest rule is sacred

Don’t leave the toilet seat up

Monday, May 17, 2021



Created for the Sunday Muse, and for the Monday dVerse quadrille where Lillian asks us to consider the homograph “wound”, which we may opt to use once or twice in our 44 word quadrille.  Submitted  May 17, 2021.


queen of bad choices

mistress of pain

wound tightly

tried by fire

formed in ice

wounds hidden

scars forbidden

buried past

free at last

                     new approach                     

strength renewed 

fist raised

victory signal

second chance

fierce resolve

peace at last

music heard

time to dance

Thursday, May 13, 2021


 Open Link #292 and Linda has shared with us the word euphony or a form thereof.   New words are always fun, and I’ve used it in a silly, jabberwockian ditty.  Submitted to dVerse, May 13, 2021



Behold! Forsooth!
There’s a raven on the roof
and he’s shouting “Nevermore”
Begone, foul bird
say nary a word
Edgar Allen lives next door.

So raven, my friend
it’s misled you’ve been
if you’re looking for Mr. Poe
remove yourself from my house
and, if she’s with you, your spouse
find somewhere else to go.

I crave a life harmonious
simple and euphonious
I’ve no patience for pretense
I want to live quietly
feel at peace nightly
yesterday, today and hence

Tuesday, May 11, 2021


Blue Tuesday, and Sarah asks us to write a blue poem.  Submitted to dVerse, May 11, 2021



Blue eyes....he had blue eyes

he was a daydreamer, a night schemer

a song at dawn

a risk taker, a deal breaker

here and gone

sweet talking, slow walking

midnight kiss

skip to my lou, digideroo

introduction to bliss

a sip from the horn of plenty

left me in a flood of tears

Blue eyes

 he had blue eyes

Sunday, May 9, 2021


Weekly Scribblings.  Magaly has asked us to write from the point of viewof a character hunting or being hunted.  I'm the hunter, always hunting inspiration for a worthwhile poem, usually at night when I'm trying to get to sleep.  Submitted this in error at Writers' Pantry.  Here is it in its proper place!  Submitted May 12, 2021



I’m a dreamer by day and a thinker by night and, 

when I lay me down to sleep, will-o-the-whispers 

wander in and out of my thoughts in a rustle of 

satin and silken swish, flinging words and phrases 

like tangled skeins spun by some shape-shifter’s loom. 

Carousels and chapel bells, cowboy boots 

and vagabond’s loot, lamp shades and nines of spades,

ballet slippers and champagne sippers, smooth talkers 

and sky walkers drift through my mind on their way 

to some future poetic adventure.  Occasionally there 

springs from this abyss of word salad, a midnight 

epiphany worth recording in my bedside journal, and

turning into what I hope is a poem of interest, making 

for a happy hunter.

Ah, bliss!



Saturday, May 8, 2021



This week's image brought to mind one of my favorite books as a child..."The Girl of the Limberlost" by Gene Stratton Porter, and the legend of Jim Miller who became lost in the wetland of northern Indiana called Loblolly Marsh.  Jim was known as Limber Jim, and the area became known as Limberlost in memory of Jim's fate.   My poem is loosely structured around Jim's fate



.Deep in Loblolly Marsh the creatures
gather to converse
to consider Limber Jim’s fate
they say he’s lost, or worse
They follow the blazes on trees
Jim left to mark his way
hoping someone would find him
before his very last day
But his fate is lost to mystery
the creatures’ memories dim
In the land of Limberlost 
they say they still look for Jim. 

Wednesday, May 5, 2021


 Wednesday Scribblings and we're to feature a place that is special to us.  There's one place that will always hold a special place in my heart, enfolded in memories throughout a long portion of my life. In autumn, when the leaves begin to turn, my heart goes to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, and my favorite place.   Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, May 5, 2021.


For more than 30 years, my three good friends and I spent a week every autumn in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains.  Creatures of habit, we stayed in the same room in the same lodge for all those years.  It was our favorite place.  The Riverhouse Lodge sat at the base of a mountain beside a gurgling little river called The Little Pigeon River.  We spent long hours on the balcony over the river, and slept listening to the sound of its tumbling progress over the rocks below.   We played rousing card games, snug by the fireplace, with the bounty of our shopping sprees lining the perimeter of the room.   We shared our lives, our joys and tribulations, and marked those long hours with sometime tears, but always with much laughter.  

The years have passed, and the other three of our foursome have passed on to what comes after.  I was left with my memories and the hope of returning to the Riverhouse one more time, but it was not to be.  A couple of years ago, a careless spark ignited a dreadful fire that swept down the mountainside and burned to the ground the lodge we loved so much.  I was bereft.  One day soon, I thought, I’ll follow my friends, and we’ll all be gone … the four of us, the lodge, and the balcony where we shared our lives.  We’ll all be but a blip in the passage of time.  A new lodge will replace the old, and new young housewives will come for their annual girlfriend getaway.  But I wonder, I just wonder,  if our spirits may not linger in the green hills above, and the sound of our laughter be heard faintly as the water tumbles over the rocks below.  

Tuesday, May 4, 2021


 It's Poetic Tuesday, and Ingrid is our guest host.  She asks us to consider narrative poetry.  In my city this week, two young people died in an auto accident who were on their way to their high school prom when they collided with another car of young people.  The city mourns. No cause for the accident has been published.  My poem is supposition only, submitted to dVerse on May 5, 2021.


Come, sit with me, let’s chat a while
My days are lonely here
I’d so much living left to do
Too quickly it was through
The car was fast, the road was slick
And I paid no attention
Before the night had ended
I was in this new dimension
My heart is heavy as I learn
I’m not the only one
Other lives were lost that night
When I was out for fun
I sit alone on this stone bench
No chance amends to make
I pray forgiveness from those they loved
Their lives were not mine to take.

Monday, May 3, 2021


Quadrille #127.  We're inspired by the words "planting seeds".  I thought immediately of my mother, and her annual excitement when her seed catalogs arrived.  In her garden was a plaque which read "The kiss of the sun for pardon, the song of the birds for mirth. One is nearer God's heart in the garden than anywhere else on earth".   Submitted to dVerse, May 3, 2021


Each Spring she anxiously awaited
arrival of the annual seed catalogs.
She spent hours perusing the pages
and plotting her garden.  She used 
the ancient tiller to till the soil, and
     she planted expectantly. Her happiest 
hours were spent  in her garden     
communing with God.


Sunday, May 2, 2021


Writers' Pantry and I thought we might need to consider the extraneous stuff we all accumulate, and what happens to it when we're gone.  Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United  May 2, 2021



Seems we think we never have enough

When drawers are full,  we yet acquire more stuff

We don’t even recognize, I guess

that our accumulation has reached excess.

We rent a storage pod to take the overflow

when we run out of places for stuff to go,

keeping this and that and those, in fear

we might need them come next year.

Yellowed letters and forgotten lockets

Forgetting caskets don’t have pockets

Gotta remember when we talk to God

Tell him we’re coming with a storage pod! 

Saturday, May 1, 2021


 Sunday Muse #158


There once was a girl named Vanity

Who walked above city depravity

She took a big chance, got some implants

And lost her center of gravity