Thursday, April 28, 2016


I'm the angry music
of feral girls
and boys with black balloons.

Every word is the right word.
Every word is a night word.

I tuck the pennies
I earn for my thoughts
deep down in my sing-song shoes.

I once had bangs and the blues,
but I've since recovered.

For Words Count at  Real Toads

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Tea Ceremony

The killer takes his tea with honey;
just a drip
on the tip
of a truck stop girl's tongue.
Salty   bitter   sour   sweet;
he hates to eat and run.

Seven times he rang her,
then cut crescent her bowl belly moon;
scooped the sun from her skull -  he'd smoke . . .
but that would be rude.
She'd been a lovely host,
blue in a burning room.

She'll make a lovely ghost
inside him,

Inspired by Rommy's Japanese Tea Ceremony prompt (believe it or not) at Real Toads.  Happy Birthday, Rommy!

Monday, April 25, 2016

Nocturnal Women

I come from nocturnal women.
Paper read and coffee on.
Beans set to soak on the counter;
a day's work done before dawn.

I got it from my mama.
My daughter, she gets it from me.
We spend hours knitting the bones of nights,
but we never flesh them with sleep.

For Susie's prompt at Real Toads

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Honey Bee

Honey, honey, honey bee
show your hidden hive to me.
My biscuit's buttered; pretty please!
Honey, honey, honey bee.

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Thursday, April 21, 2016


In this room full of elephants,
no one forgets
we're gifts
that nobody wanted.
Poachers pirouette
through with drinks
and wait
for the perfect pink.

We're vacant houses on a seller's market
too big
for a family of four.

We're not afraid of mice anymore,
but we've nowhere to fly.

For Shay's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

A Wish

A woman
made a wish
to be less
of a lady
and find the bedtime story
in the heart
beneath her hands.
She wanted certainty of endings
in the making of her midnights,
strong arms for a cradle,
a lullaby, a man
to call her his- to call her baby,
but something in her wish went wild.
Now she's treated less a lady;
she's treated like a child.

And the rough drafts just keep getting rougher!  This one's for Magaly's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Rocking Chair

The old rocker creaks
to speak its mind -
the behinds its held
through too long nights.

String pulling kittens,
napping dogs,
teething babies,
and diapered dolls.
Heartbroken girls
kindergarten to grown.
Giggling girls
just glad to be home.

The old rocker creaks
just doing its job
for a third generation -
the throne of a mom.

Written for Hedge's 3 prompt, but posted late to the Tuesday Platform at Real Toads