Monday, December 29, 2014


Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love never fails.

But, I do.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Saturday, December 27, 2014

My Ex

My ex Stacy
is crazier than me.
Take her out and see
six new shades of lunacy.

She waylays me
at Starbucks and the mall.
It's like I'm being stalked,
and she doesn't know that she's an ex at all.

Ecstasy in 5 Minutes or Less for Play It Again at Real Toads

Friday, December 26, 2014


"I think the world really boils down to two types of people - those who see shapes in cloud formations, and those who just see clouds."
Danae Pace

There were buds in the funeral bouquet
closed tight as her casket.
One opened on Christmas Day -

and, I googled it.

I'd begged God for a sign.
Something small, anything at all.
But when that stem showed signs of life

I googled it.

There could have been comfort in that bloom.
Rest for an uneasy heart.
Instead, I put fingers to my wounds

and googled it.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

If You Don't Know The Words

Hum, Bug, if you don't know the words.
It's honey suckling time
let me climb your D-fences.
You can take your sweet spriggin' thyme,
just don't blow
off my kisses

like you're wishing on some dandy lion -
my pride's

in my teeth.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Monday, December 22, 2014

Marie Aquanet

Marie Aquanet
of Paris, Texas made a bet

with a girl
about a boy.
We'll call the joker "Floyd."

When Marie couldn't get
Floyd to let her drive his Vette,

she lost her head of hair.
The Glee Club buzzed her bare.
But when people stared, Marie just hollered

"Eat my cake!"

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Silver Tells

I look like bad road, country bad road;
at least forty miles.
Oh, how the season
has aged me.
I grab make-up
and some lip plump -
go camouflage style.
But I can't do a thing with my hair.

Silver tells.
The silver tells.
I'm getting grey hair
for Christmas.
Not a sprinkling.
The whole damn thing.
Soon I'll be old lady grey.

I've got wrinkles
and I tinkle
when I laugh hard or sneeze.
My knees pop and crack their own rhythm.
I've got Depends,
Spanx with sequins,
and handfuls of Aleve.
But I can't do a thing with my hair.

Silver tells.
The silver tells.
I'm getting grey hair
for Christmas.
Not a sprinkling.
The whole damn thing.
Soon I'll be old lady grey.

A bit of parody for Kerry's prompt at Real Toads.  Hope this qualifies, Kerry!

Friday, December 19, 2014

Fast Dogs / Slow Rabbits

This year of fast dogs
and slow rabbits
we've all taken the teeth
and bruise.
But with the Good Lord and a few
bad habits,
we've managed to get ourselves through.

I burned with resolutions
till I used them
to feed fire for you.
In a year of fast dogs
and slow rabbits,
I did the best
any rabbit could do.

For Marian's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Still Here

I made deals with the devil
and peace with God -
flattery and fear.
Mama's still here.
Mama's still here.

Then I settled for each second
as it came along
and held each one dear.
Mama's still here.
Mama's still here.

There were riots in the streets
here in America
where it matters.
Some terrible disease
came to America
where it matters.
But my world
was a small world -
just a mother
and a daughter
this year.

And Mama's still here.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reflecting on the past year and I wrote this draft.  I was thinking about how the world was falling apart right outside my door, but it didn't matter and I didn't care.  My world was the whoosh of an oxygen machine.  Mama was still here.

After a long illness, my mother passed away yesterday morning.  Some of you know me quite well; I thought that you'd want to know.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Red Wheelbarrow 2014

01110011 01101111 00100000 01101101 01110101 01100011 01101000 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110000 01100101 01101110 01100100 01110011 01101 01010 01110101 01110000 01101111 01101110 01101 01010 01101 01010 01100001 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100101 01100101 01101100 01101 01010 01100010 01100001 01110010 01110010 01101111 01110111 01101 01010 01101 01010 01100111 01101100 01100001 01111010 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01110010 01100001 01101001 01101110 01101 01010 01110111 01100001 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101 01010 01101 01010 01100010 01100101 01110011 01101001 01100100 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101001 01110100 01100101 01101 01010 01100011 01101000 01101001 01100011 01101011 01100101 01101110 01110011 00101110
William Carlos Williams in binary code for Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Saturday, December 13, 2014

The Waning

There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings
--- Beginnings, James Wright

The moon
wanes weak
in heaven's wet, hollow eye.
Black iris night
steals stars
from her beside.
being orphaned
by a swallowing sky.
Who will I
in the morning?

For Grace's prompt at Real Toads

Friday, December 12, 2014


It's been a week since my last poem.
I have a picture of a pretty pink lake.
I'm thinking of cheerleaders
and full immersion baptism.
Cotton candy choirs and bubble
breasts breaking the surface
like Cold War submarines . . .
. . . giant stomach shaped holes
full of Pepto Bismol.
Meccas for the mildly
nauseated . . . puddles
of prehistoric piss
left by the last
pink elephant . . . a bulimic
Disney princess riding a unicorn
in a blender . . .
It's been a week
since my last poem.
I have a picture of a pretty pink lake.
I'm thinking.
For Hannah's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, December 10, 2014


I don't deadhead anymore.
I leave leavings for the birds.
There's beauty in decay
if you look at it that way.

I don't deathbed anymore.
I crawl up right beside you.
There's beauty in the way
we still fit together.

No, I don't deadhead anymore.
Dust gathers on the vinyl.
There's beauty in what stays
and what lets you go.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Godspeed, G-Man.

Monday, December 8, 2014


Miranda on the radio.
Glass of sweet ice tea.
Bird dog at my feet.
Open windows.

Red dirt in the sunset.
Smallmouth on the line.
Green tomatoes fresh to fry.
Kids catching minnows

to let go.

Cucumbers in vinegar.
Ham hock in the beans.
Knees ripped out my jeans.
Cherokee eyes.

A truck that's almost paid for.
Most everything I need.
God for in between.
Kids catching fireflies

to let go.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads

Saturday, December 6, 2014

See Mom Run

Run your hose.
Run to the bank.
Runny nosed kid.
Run over the sink.
Run out of coffee.
Run out of gas.
Run, Mama, run!
Fast!  Fast!

Run yourself ragged.
Run yourself raw.
Run one to school.
Run one to the mall.
Run yourself down.
Run yourself dry.
Wave to yourself
as you run by.

For Flash Fiction 55 at Real Toads

Friday, December 5, 2014

Elf On The Shelf, Terrorist

Dexter Elf

I feel felt 
scrape my thigh,
but I stay still
eyes closed tight,
faking sleep,
thinking he might . . .
just go away.

But I lose my last shred of hope
when a cinnamon stench fills my nose
and my wrists are wrapped in mistletoe;
"hush!" I hear him say.

"I've been whispering to your child
gift ideas so crazy wild
that you'll never, ever find them
to put beneath the tree.

I promised her a reindeer.
Then I vandalized the manger.
I would have sodomized the savior,
but he broke in 2003.

And I'm just getting started
with my holly jolly party.
I've a dozen days and a million ways
to give you holi-hell.

Now sleep and dream of sugar plums,
but don't forget, when morning comes
and you're up staggering before the sun,
you gotta move this fucking elf!"

For Shay's prompt at Real Toads

Thursday, December 4, 2014

A Night Bloom

Bird in the belly of a worm.
Blue of a dead man's dreaming.
Initials in a heart
carved in a hangman's tree.

A Breeze through broken glass
teasing tatters in a suicide's window.
Home is where there's horror;
I bloom in unnatural things.

For Suzy's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Like Apples

Bond of Union, 1956, by M.C. Escher

God peels us
like the apple we ate.

Peels us with snakebite
and birth.

Through fruit flesh rotten
and sweet

to heirloom seeds
for the garden.

For The Mag

Monday, December 1, 2014


Wild fruit won't wait
for your hands to harden.
A little flesh for the thorns is fair.
Reach deep
back where the birds haven't gotten
before ripe runs to rotten,
and Fall claims its share.

For Open Link Monday at Real Toads