Category Archives: Poem

Drama Queen

Photo by Matthew T. Rader on Unsplash

Drama Queen

Your disingenuous comments come off as less than real.
In fact, I can’t help thinking you display more than you feel.
You feign blustery emotions. You fuss and you emote,
and yet your words seem bigger than the feelings they denote.
Your dialogue is fervent. You shout and plead and bleat,
but I’m afraid your fiery comments seem to lack real heat.
Before further encounters and angst-filled future sessions,
may I make a suggestion? I’d suggest acting lessons.

Travel Primer


Travel Primer

We wander narrow alleyways in countries that are foreign—
negotiate their tunnels, like rabbits in a warren.
We do not pay attention as we ogle and we gawk
who may follow closely—who may observe and stalk.
We are naive travelers. We’re innocents abroad.
One listens to our narratives, then signals with a nod
just as we are reaching to try to reimburse,
for another watcher to swoop down on our purse.
Then they’re off down alleyways where we are loath to go
where they’ll have their own adventures—financed by our dough.



Today’s prompts were stalk, abroad, narrative and foreign. Links are here:

Midnight Misunderstanding

Midnight Misunderstanding

You wrote your pattern on my soul
and carved my heart into a bowl
punctured to catch the esoteric
and let drain all the hysteric
words and anger loosed at night
when at last they came to light
let flow by that spirit’s brew
that turns you into more than you.

Friends found it quizzical at best
that you would be the one to wrest
my heart from back there on the shelf
where I’d stored it in myself.
It is a virtual mystery—
this how I found the you in me
that let me fold myself away
when your mother held her sway,

invading you with anger that
you loosed on me, like tit for tat.
Thus parents birth the very beast
that is what turns out to be least
of what their children might have wanted.
And it leaves us shamed and daunted
to see within ourselves what we
never thought could ever be

passed down from mother unto son
so that when her day was done
she could live on in infamy
through what he’d learned at mother’s knee.
And likewise, I have come to be
what my father passed to me,
retreating in the dark of night
to avoid mother’s bark and bite.

It is as though our parents battled
while we skulk, puzzled and addled
in those parts where when we dare
we perfectly convene to share
those parts of us fully our own
where our natures, fully blown,
meet in a more playful vein
over matters less inane.

The crux of it is this, my dear:
when you rage and bite, I fear,
retreating to another place
where I do not need to face
those dictums passed down by your hands
when you fire off your demands.
At heart, I know it isn’t you.
You’ve merely dropped the other shoe.

The first was one your mother dropped.
It was the second one that plopped
off your foot. Then I sneaked in
to nudge it from where it had been
to hide it underneath the bed
so later, with a clearer head,
we might be who we really are
without those shadow sides to mar
what we know in reason’s glare.
We are the perfect damaged pair!

Love Triangle (Wherein Priscilla Mullins Speaks Candidly to John Alden)

Love Triangle
(Wherein Priscilla Mullins Speaks Candidly to John Alden)

How is it that you come to me today at his behest?
If your nature were more cynical, I’d say it was a jest
that the one for whom affection beats so surely in my breast
approaches asking favor for another suitor’s quest.
Have you, John, decided that you will seek a rest
from your own fond yearnings, abandoning them lest
your friend and fellow suitor’s hopes you might arrest? 
Your words are an anomaly that put me to the test,
yet up is never down, my love, and east is never west.
Forsake the words there on your lips. Convey what you’ve repressed.

It’s our initials on the linen in my wedding chest!
I’ll don my veil and you, dear one, will don your wedding vest.
You’ll graduate from best man simply to the man who’s best,

and instead of groom your friend will be our honored wedding guest.


(After “The Courtship of Miles Standish” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The only concise plot summary I could find was from a film based on the poem, but  the plot line is the same. Illustration from The Courtship of Miles Standish. The famous retort in the poem when John acts as Miles Standish’s go-between is, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?”)


Today’s words were graduate, anomaly, cynical and jest. Here are the links:



Any athlete worth his salt
can row or shoot or ski or vault,
balance, skate or box or splash,
hurdle, sprint, relay or dash.

But I find it curious
that all these actions furious
do not bring us closer to
what mankind really needs to do.

Instead of trying to beat each other,
overcome, defeat each other,
trying for cooperation
among each competing nation

just might serve to be a sample
that could be a good example
for the politicians who
do not seem to have a clue

of how to share our planet’s wealth.
Instead, by cunning, war and stealth,
they seek to get more than their share
of minerals and food and air.

What irony that they can’t see
how much better it would be
if we just learned it’s cheaper to
expand our neighborhood to view

every color, every nation
every man of every station
each the same as every other–
everyone as sister, brother.

There’s enough richness, if we dare
to treat the world as though we care
for every country, every nation
as one giant congregation

and not a game wherein we choose
that one or the other has to lose.

The words for today were splash, curious, irony and vault. Here are their links:

East Meets West

East Meets West

I’m fueled by fire yet pulled by the moon.
Everything used up too soon, oh too soon.
I’m a pig by my nature. I want it all.
I love my home, yet hear the world’s call.
Adventure and travel I had in full measure,
but now it’s my home that affords me my pleasure.
Nesting, then flying patterns my past.
Change chasing change in the past was a blast.
But now I prefer for the nesting to last.
As a crab in my shell, my future is cast.

Born a fire pig according to the Chinese calendar, western astrology brands me as a water sign—moonchild—crab. In the last quarter of my life, I would say that water has quenched fire, but of course all of these elements reside within us always. I just now find more sedate ways to express them.

For dVerse Poets.



I am alive.
Loud morning birds
give testimony to the fact,
and I have started again to write this book
after a lapse of one year.
I sing to celebrate
two miracles,
my backup chorus
fading out behind me
as I warble
my extreme pleasure
in being chosen
to participate
in this wonderful world
and in having the luxury
to write