Category Archives: Poetry

Which Half Shows

Sunday Scribbling: Halfway

I’ve been on vacation and hoping to get back into the swing.  I missed you all!

in my heart of hearts
my inner parts my softer belly
under wonder
scrapes the rocks and
locks me out or
locks me in and sin and pain
and fear like rain
falls over me and
I can’t see but others can and
peel the layers leaving
raw and judge me so
I am left wanting
just cliche all tan
and gray and nothing special
nothing much a touch
can hurt the wounds have healed
and some have calloused
half still raw and all your
malice makes them bleed
and plants a seed
of doubt that creeps
up in the dark and stark
and bleak the colors run
and I am left to
pick up stitch up
fill up empty places
shadowed spaces
that’s the child the
grownup learns to hide
the marks but still I shake
and doubt and take the hits
the pits can be as sweet
as fruit I tell myself and pile them up
and hope that in the end
a tree will grow and you
will know that I
was here.

August 8 Stealing Time

Writer’s Book of Days prompt: Write about something that was stolen

memories often link it
and shrink it
anticipation stretches it
catches it stopping it
waiting and hating the waiting
are hobbies you don’t want to choose
we lose it infuse it
with waste and haste
but a taste of sweet nothing
to do but be in the world
curled with a book or
just look at the sky
think on why we misuse
and abuse it once past
it is gone and you
can’t get it back get on track
like a thief we should sneak
away hide away
run away say that you will
I will too and we’ll steal
all that we need that
we want pay no heed
to the clock tick tick tock
it keeps running we’re
sunning ourselves on the rocks
and we won’t pay a price
or think twice though
the everyday world waits
and skates along fine
with no worry about where we
would hurry back
scurry back it’s still there
and our cares though
we dared we’re not scared
we confess no regrets
do the time take the time
make the time
hold it in hearts take in
filling and swelling
made bigger more room
for the rest now the
test flying colors
of blue, green and gold
flying by through the window
the glass keeps me in
but the air lets me out
throw it wide run outside
breath it in sigh it out
it’s our time we can shout
if we want or be quiet
and dream star filled nights
starlight ridge
builds a bridge between
friends
never ends


August 5 Meteor Shower

Writer’s Book of Days prompt: Write about a summer night….

mamas in the kitchen
with the radio low
the kids are in the bed
and the stars are on show

mama pops the top
on a cold one tonight
and dances in the kitchen
by the little stove light

now I’m in the bed
but the stars are out high
though I can’t see them
dancing in the sky

like insane fireflies
a million miles from here
a meteor shower
bringing heaven near

universe pulsing a
rock and roll beat
I’m a child sleeping
in the summer night heat

somewhere on the timeline
Mama dancin like a star
a light year in my memory
doesn’t seem that far


Mountain Time

Calmed like water

how can I be

worried when God’s own hand

smooths the crags and

crevasses and sand

the rocks the rain

and wind the stain

worn away and I’ll

be gone but they remain

the mountains eased

eternal rest

settled down the test

of time they seem

so solid yet the

ever changing face the

space the trees that cling

the clouds

ring peaks and show

me I am small, I’ll

be gone but they’ll go

on and on and on

July 21 Pack Light

Writer’s Book of Days prompt: Write about packing a suitcase

what would you take
forevermore
the box is small
so you must choose what
will you use to
make the cut
will pride go in
it chafes you know
better to just let it go
a grudge is sludge
that clogs the way
and bitterness
tastes like it sounds
so leave that on the shelf
and disappointment
bad for health
it rips off joy
stop looking back
your suitcase full
will break your back
or heart just
let the bad stuff go
and travel light
regret will leak
and ruin all
and resentment
seems to be too tall
to fit inside and why
you’ll never need
in fact the case is
dead weight too
just leave it all and
hit the road
stepping down
the white lines
the gold mines
the dark pines
into the distance
dream the dance
the chance to make
the words up
as you go the
chorus all the love
that follows

July 20 For The Days

July 20 Writer’s Book of Days prompt: Write about passing time

how far is home
I want to go
I bear the marks
a girl of ages
book of pages
written on a story
not of glory
just of living in
the days of years
of family choices
other voices
songs are sung
the pictures hung
with care each move
a home to prove
that I am here
and not a ghost
the most is best
the rest a test
it’s all perspective
eyes corrective
lens clad can see
beyond the trees
across the seas
the memories
the hopes are
forward not behind
the time has passed
and nothings ended
some pretending
act the part
and soon the heart
becomes the role
the chosen goal
the shore in sight
a warm clear night
we’ll sing a hymn
and dance the wind
will fill our sails
and all travails
will pass and land
we will our hands
to better work the morrow
no more sorrow
saved by grace we
face the sun forever

July 18 Recurring Dreams

Writer’s Book of Days Prompt: Write about a recurring dream

where do they come from
these dreams of running
something cunning
is there a meaning
a missing something
throw the bones
read the runes
the calendar of days
of trees of magics
older than we are
older than the beetles
crawling in the graves
that wait for me
what saves me
is this one thing
that grace will give
another chance
a dance
for us no thought
for dreams and hopes
fear of what I wish
I knew I run and run
and feel the something
over my shoulder
on my heels the wheels
of my mind frustrate me
I know me not and fear
that if I did I would
find me boring
if I were more able
more social more stable
more willing to try
to buy into the ways
of you and yours
would you accept
I’ve kept it light
you never liked it
deep too sad
you said let’s drink
and laugh and time
will pass
but something stays
behind and buried
cannot breathe
this withered atmosphere
a shriveled tear
left on the table
traded for a smile


Simple

Word of the day: folderol

Poets United prompt: diamond

all the folderol and fluff
nothing but a bunch of stuff
not even diamonds in the rough

when troubles come and come they do
importance changes nothing new
and stuff’s the first to go it’s true

how intentional life would be if we
could keep that focused way to see
and furnish heart rooms simply

July 16 Broken Morning

Writers Book of Days prompt – an hour before sunrise

you’ve heard it said
that morning has broken
as though it were pieces
shattered and tattered
with some that are missing
the holes left are hissing
and starshine is leaking
the moon peaking out
through cerulean skies
is confusing enough
can you fix it it’s tough
to have night showing
through when dreaming is due
but she said that she could not
or would not I think but I
smiled as the sunset and sunrise
both pink blended into each other
and clouds hid the mistakes
til thunder could shake
and the lightening illuminate
all of the problems the rain
would erase and washed clean
we all sighed in relief
as that thief of a morning
stole over to afternoon
showers and golden eve
bowers shade all from the
harshness of summer sun
sinking what’s that you ask
thinking another strange way
to describe the sun travels
as daylight unravels and
sunlight gives way to the
lamps and the fireflies
and stars wink like ladies
in blue satin dresses
and moonlight flows down
like a lover’s caresses
It twists in my mind and
makes me quite tired
it’s work to use words
to describe this creation
so give me a pillow
and something to read
the simple things really
are all that I need

July 15 Waiting

Writers Book of Days prompt: It was that kind of day…

I was never good at waiting
itchy antsy
pantys in a wad
need to know the now
the how the why
and wherefore
what’s the deal
you ask I’ll tell you
if you give me answers
fast
hurry worry
scurry around like rats in a
closet closer to
my heart apart
my heart
I want to know
so show the down low
slow to listen
quick to smart off
but sorry all the laters
alligators
after while
crocodile I’m outa here

Windsong

Three word Wednesday CXCVII
gentle, praise, vulgar

the wind it sings a lullaby
and tells me where it’s been
and though my body sleeps below
my soul as if on gentle wings
takes to the air where souls will sing
all gathered in amongst the stars
from all the corners of the earth
sing loudest harmonies
of praises to the one who made
us all and as we gather
angels watch in silence til
the dawn is raised in chorus
no vulgar words can ere compete
with glory blowing through the night
amid among around and round
through starshine moonshine
raining down as softly
as a mothers touch
each soul arrives back home and then
earth gravity settles all to stir
in waking heartbeats
memories pure
of nightsongs heard not
through the day but
we will once again be free
when sunsets pillowed wrapped
in quilts of deepest blue and
purple take us to
the midnight chorus once again
where we will soar in majesty

Treasure

Writer’s Island #11 prompt: Treasure
we search and lurch
from dream to dream
hoping for well
anything
that makes us less
or makes us more
underwater
yearn for shore
on the shore now
thirst for
what was first but now
is last beginnings never
last for we
are moving ever
forward when we
only want to stop the clock
and stay a moment
for a day or maybe longer
time to hold it in
be stronger than
we were the daydream
passes without notice
hours and minutes
taken from us
by the choices
voices of
the ones we love
and those we don’t
the soundtrack in
the background wind
will blow the treetops
over and the shade will hover
for a second then
the sun will out again
our breath our heart
beat from within
without the hands that
hold our days and ways
of passing time
the search is quest is
journey through
the best is still
a part of all our
memories of days
and trees

Ruminations

Three Word Wednesday cxcvi acrid bane tepid

Hello from a motel in Opelousas 🙂

chocka chocka chocka
road seams keeping time
wheels turn wheels turn
taking me to and away
miles and miles of separation
mind numbing vibration
other lives not chosen
distance closing
change is coming
I am going home
other eyes other hands
trailing memories in my wake
what to take
and what to leave behind
years of days good times passing
in between the standing still
seconds ticking moments picking
what to choose what to lose
the pieces of
puzzle unfinished
would have wished for
less or more
a closing door
while I would throw
the window open
acrid smell of smoking
ashes burned up past
I cast aside the tide
the trees the sands of
dream stuff trickled
through my fingers
scent that lingers in
my hazy waking thoughts
we fought but kept
the peace the signs
were there
the choice we bear
hours of discussion
scenery keeps on rushing
past the kudzu frosting
we are lost in
separate but together ties
that bind us
still remind us
of the roads that swallow
up the miles
that start as inches
late night conversations
day to day familiar
obligations passions cooled
to tepid hesitation
future is a blacked out game
wishful thinking
all a bane
eternal as the pines and rain
I hold my breath a beat
or two
fingertip to fingertip
I walk with you

Vacation Begins

Writers Island: Imagine

There is a feel to Florida
like nowhere else I’ve been
the ocean softens the air
lazy hazy heat
back in the day
palm trees made me smile
tall and thin
strong and I
eager to run in the sun
I can still imagine that girl
and love the feel of sand
between my toes
but now I feel more kinship
with the liveoaks
dripping with spanish moss
I would sit in their shade
and listen to the bullfrogs
smell the ocean
and watch the palms sway
like so many ladies
fanning themselves
whispering secrets

Morning Waking

One Single Impression: Ochre

morning dawns with ochre beams
blanket warmed and pillow soft
fetching me from wandering dreams
sprawled and tangled set adrift

nothing moves, disturbs the quiet
days flow into honeyed days
outside sunlight summers riot
peaceful slow and easy ways

Shadows Sleep

One Single Impression: Ochre

and I would lay me down
in leaves of ochre and pine green
soft forest shadows all around
cool and misty dreams

and as the shadows grow
midnight blue and charcoal deep
fear is driven far below
enfolded in the wings of sleep

Weather

Writers Island: Change One Single Impression: Dawn and One Word: Tide

if I held the moon
in my hands
I would command
the ebb and flow of
ocean tides
hidden strings
wolves would sing
their night song
gazing at my face
my light would paint
the trees and streams
and though I change
and disappear
I would return
huge and bright
haunting  dreams

if I held the sun
I would pour it out
flowers lifting faces
following my path
I wake the birds
to sing you the dawn
while I bath the sky
watercolor ballet
delicate traces
bring forth sweat
as you toil
then rock you at eventide
a symphony of royal purple
and flame
setting and rising
warmth my name

But if I could breathe the wind
I would cover the sun and the moon
with clouds and
blow them all away again
make you chase your hat
while I laugh
the trees would dance and bow
as squirrels cling
the oceans leap and burst
spraying the sky with diamonds
seeds scatter to wait
for the sun
carry the birds
fill the sails
in darkness and light
power of butterfly wings