Thursday, July 30, 2015


Starbucks, Starbucks;
why don't we go to Starbucks?
They write your name right on your cup,
and I won't have to explain

that though I'm pretty good with faces
and we've shared our private places -
groomed and roomed in each other's spaces -
I can't recall your name.

So . . . 

Starbucks, Starbucks;
let's just go to Starbucks.
They'll write names on both our cups
and spare us both some shame.

Inspired by the Dustin cartoon in today's paper and submitted to Marian's prompt at Real Toads.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015


It was a doom filled day in '29
when our superheros lost their lives;
when Batman fell from a perilous height,
and Superman succumbed to kryptonite.

When Captain America took the field
and left it carried on his shield,
and Wonder Woman
finally died
of hypothermia.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Jungle Without A King

Inside shook and echoed
with the roar of a left foot lion.
was a jungle with no king.

Bottom land and pasture -
barbed wired, but barely captured.
Blackjacks growing
nearly wild as me.

Down by the creek, I'd dream
up dragons from the stars
and feed them
my weakness and fear.

By the storm split tree, I'd scream at things
for being what they are
for a cicada girl
in her 13th year.

A bit of Cadence in Free Verse for Play It Again at Real Toads.
Also submitted to Poetry Pantry

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Sunrise Ruins

Sunrise ruins a dream
of speaking

shimmers of heat
and fear/offering

so much of me

that nothing needs
or wants to feed anymore.

It's sad, sorry, spineless relief
this being kept and becoming meat.
Losing tongue / keeping teeth
and silence


For M's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Salt On The Rim

Too quiet means there's trouble,
as every mother knows.
A little salt on the rim of paradise
preserves a humble soul.

Got wine to cleanse the palette.
Vinegar for scrubbin' the floor.
Honey to draw the flies to your fingers;
duct tape for the old screen door.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday, July 20, 2015

Chasing Rabbits

I fed my head a photograph
hoping for some second sight.
Or, whatever else might shed some light

on who you were
outside of me,
where you've gone,
who I'm to be.
Is there a story left to tell
or is the bottom of the well bone dry?

I fed my head.
Just like Gracie said,
I fed my head.

For The Mag

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Woman Of Faith

When I lost my mama,
I wept in the arms of a woman
who had just lost her only child.

My grannie is 82 years old,
and she is a woman of faith.

She stayed with mama
right up to the end.
Nursed her.
Soothed her.
Came when she called in the night.

My grannie is a woman of faith,
and she bears what she has to.

Yesterday, I called her.
She had spent most of an unusually warm
January day cleaning out her flower beds.
"Clear away the dead, and there's already new
trying to come up.  Can you believe it?"

My grannie bears what she has to,
even my doubts.

For Karin's prompt at Real Toads