Sunday, August 30, 2015

Nothing Left To See Here

It's lonely in the future.
It's lonely in the past.
The present is just boring,
and it lasts and lasts and lasts

forever and this heartbeat -
single, slow, and small -
between nothing left to see here
and already seen it all.

For Poetry Pantry

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Blank Canvas Face

I had a blank canvas face,
till it happened to me -

My eyes were right,
bright, and clear
till it happened to me -
pass of years.

I've found I'm just like the rest.
Born for what comes next.
Of life, there seems so little left.
It'll happen to me -


For Bjorn's prompt at Real Toads

I wanted to let everyone know that it might take me a while to get around and visit.  I'm having some health issues.

Edit: It just occurred to me that announcing health issues immediately following a poem about death might be bad juju.  Have no fear; it's not that serious.

Friday, August 28, 2015


Pixie stick
in a cotton candy
and sugar center
mini skirt -
go home.

Pop rocks
in soda pop
sweet tooth
brain rot
lollipop -
go home.

Playing with modifiers for Meeting the Bar at dVerse

Thursday, August 27, 2015

Bread And Water (after "The Summer Day")

Who made you?
Who made you imperfect?
Who made you imperfect,
but failed to flaw
the swan or the bear
or the grasshopper
perched there on the arm
of my lawn chair
content to spit tobacco or jump
completely unrepentant and unimproved.
He is a prayer
so full of gratitude as to move
any god to grace.
Like him, I will sup on sugar and drink dry this place
of every flame and flower.
Tell me, what else would you have me do
with these gifted hours?  Deny?
Tell me, when it's over, will you have loved
your bread and water life?

For Corey's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

Calling Myself

I never wanted to be an astronaut
though I craved the stars.

Didn't dream of dance;
still, I learned to tiptoe.

I call myself a poet,
but I'm just a vessel

channeling spirits to breathe life
into my own.

For Midweek Motif at Poets United

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Leather Tongues

Curious devices teach the young
and numb the mothers.

economies of scale.

Tales are often told
of the older and the better

by leather tongues long

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Would You / Do You (A List Of Answers)


absolutely not

yes (in the dark)

A Fireblossom Friday inspired List for Play It Again at Real Toads

Friday, August 21, 2015

If My Mouth

If my mouth were mine, I'd ask the dream
why my hands crumble
before I can touch,
why I welcome the dust -
a chrysalis shroud -
and why waking tastes
so foreign now.

For Open Link at dVerse

Thursday, August 20, 2015

First Car Wreck

I saw the stop sign.
I just didn't stop.

Didn't even try
               to look in my mama's eyes
               when I lied about it
               Police car in the driveway
               red and blue lights

to hit the brakes
               mistake, officer,
               I hit the gas by mistake

or explain
               the urge
               the surge of adrenaline
               the raw, fleeting joy.

They said I must have been chasing some boy.

I saw the stop sign.
I just didn't stop.

For Susie's prompt at Real Toads

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Grain Of Salt

I took my silence with a grain of salt -
it grew an ocean.

Waves ate the sands of my cerebellum; my amygdala swims free.

My head is a slosh of white noise
and whale song.

The tides are still.  There's no higher ground for me.

For Midweek Motif ~ Silence at Poets United

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


Peppermint tea.
Stars through the branches.
A fire.
No dishes
in the sink.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday, August 17, 2015

The Longest Road

The longest road
I've ever known
brought me here
and away from home.
Stole my borrowed dreams;
made me craft my own.
Turned me from childish things
and left me grown.

The longest love song
I've ever sung
ended old,
but started young.
Kingdom born,
kingdom come.
The longest love song
I've ever sung.

The longest days
burn into nights.
Darkness gathers,
then gives way to light.
Ain't no wrong time.
Ain't no right.
The longest days
burn into nights.

For Karin's prompt at Real Toads

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Sundown Town

I'm the wrong kind of bride
for this moth / must church,
this trip-ya-twice gown,
this sundown town

where they roll up the streets
and pull the shades down
till the sun's back up -
this sundown town.

I'm the wrong kind of wife
for a white picket fence
keeping outside out
and inside in;

for two shiny kids
and a new Frigidaire
(just fifty dollars down,
bought in sundown town).

I'm the wrong kind of widow
for coffee and books,
weeping once a week about losing my looks.
Withering and waiting till they plant me down
in my half of the plot
here in sundown town.

For Poets United

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Skinner In Love

sugar rock -
beautiful, terrible things.

Rewarded at random
and consistently punished,

my pigeon flaps its wings.

I wonder what
my pigeon will do if its free.

Rewarded at random
and consistently punished,

my pigeon flies right back to me.

For Izy's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Paper Dragons

Close to broken, I fold poems -
paper dragons lacking fire-

tinder for the burning box
with sonnet locks.
A poet's pyre.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Monday, August 10, 2015

Working Girl Wisdom

Every hen house
has its good eggs and bad eggs.
Every cathouse
has tail, teeth, and claw.
Every nuthouse
has a member of the family.
And every poorhouse
has a begging in-law.

For The Mag

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Women And The Moon

"Women believe in the moon"
                                          - Judith Wright

Is there some spiritual,
feminine divine
to that great glowing clit in the sky?
As a woman,
am I naturally
lunar aware?
No, I believe in the moon
cause I can see it right there.

For Grace's prompt at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.

Thursday, August 6, 2015

When Ravens

When ravens hung the sun,
nested the moon,
and brought forth fire,
I walked on many legs
through not quite creation.

Not formless,
but faceless -
I was the smell of rain.
but the mud-vased seed
of an apple.

For Artistic Impressions at Real Toads

Tuesday, August 4, 2015


We swam the humidity to the moon.
Left Earth behind, all doomed and blue.
Set up shop
for astronauts,
but I've only seen
two or three.

Now every what-might-be late afternoon,
you quote The Waste Land (like you do),
and I pretend to understand it (like I do).
Here, even Eliot
lacks gravity.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Edge Of Seventeen

Toes on the ledge,
book in my hand;
a prayer to the gods
and an offering for man.
This ain't the edge
of seventeen anymore

when I fledged and I flew
too close to the light
on fraudulent wings
thick feathered with lies,
and everyone said
"girl, just one more -


 we'll let you fall."

55 words for Kerry at Real Toads