Thursday, August 17, 2017


I only dance
with other girls -
suns with coronas
of swirling skirts

or younger men -
moon blind
and easily eclipsed.

My dance
is a bellied beast,
a planet
panting drums.

I dance
till I'm slick with stars
and here gives way
to there.

For Susie's prompt at Real Toads

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Things Found When I Wasn't Looking

The Hanged Man in the spokes
of the paper girl's bike.
A tin cup
salt ringed like Saturn.
Wings without wounds
shed in favor of walking.
A key and a memory
of trees.

For the Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Fair To Say

I guess it's fair to say
I grew up
oil field trash.
Never knew a man
to wear a suit
except the preacher.
Every Sunday
I put a quarter
in the collection.
Oh, Lord, may I
wake one day
with wings.

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Starfish Quilt

Great-Grandma stitched
this old starfish quilt;
she never saw the sea.

Not with barns to build,
Mason jars to fill,
and children to feed.

I never knew her, but I've heard tell
she slept every night with a shell
held to her ear till she fell
into a salty dream.

For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

The Green Corn Rebellion of 1917

In the Age of Lynching

a Working Class Union

was the Green Corn Rebellion

of whites, blacks, and Indians

draft dodgin' trash

saw a rich man's war

hid up on Spear's Mountain

and swore to resist

with dynamite and guns

all the way to DC

till a thousand man posse

hungry for justice

come to Seminole County

in August of '17

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads