Category Archives: Poem


Forgottenman said I have to write a birthday poem, so here it is:


I will not curb my inhibitions, and so I will not sail
off on new adventures out beyond the pale.
That powerful compunction to be off on an adventure,
ever after, I declare to have my sincere censure.

Apathy is my new creed. I simply do not care
to meet with any challenges or answer any dare.
I’ll gaze upon my garden and watch its petals fall
and when faced with challenges? Reject them one and all.

I’ve officially retired. I’m taking up TV.
I’ll sit here eating popcorn, a cat upon my knee.
I’ll make up for a lifetime of my lack of viewing
and rail against what all the youngsters of today are doing.

I’m done with being active and current and involved.
I’ve lost my former need for being current and evolved.
Forget that I exist and let me moulder in my den.
I’m both used up and giving up on all that I have been.

Three-quarters of a century’s enough for being me.
Now I will investigate what else there is to be.
I’ll expire before the date that I am due for expiration,
and simply coast along for the rest of my duration.

(Don’t worry. It is meant tongue-in-cheek.)

Prompt words today are sail, apathy, powerful, suppress and petals.

Another Class Reunion

Another Class Reunion

The housewife and her classmates have staged a small reunion
to munch and drink but mainly talk—an annual communion
wherein they build a campfire and the drunker that they get
the more that they tell stories they’re afraid that they’ll forget
if they don’t repeat them yearly, so they tell them to their spouses,
who, I must admit, wish they’d remained home in their houses.
Yet, most don’t blame their loved ones for their memories of the past,
although they know they’ll hear them for as long as memories last.
They are ambassadors of patience as they hear each tale again,
about the wild and zany things their spouse did way back when. 


I’ll be going back to my class reunion/ town reunion in less than two weeks, but alas, with no spouse in tow. Stretching the truth a bit above. They only occur every 5 years and actually not that much drinking goes on. Poetic license, you know. The photos are, however, from  my town and class reunions of the past.


Prompts today are: classmates, housewife, munch, ambassador, blame and campfire.

Tree of Love: For Wordle 559

Tree of Love

Your hair, tangled in the breeze, streams wickedly away
as though that breath that moves the clouds has you in its sway.

The seeds of love that you have sown grow  branches that deceive,
for as I try to climb them, they offer no reprieve.

The song you cast upon the wind is no boon to me,
for as I climb ever higher in affection’s tree,
the effort steals my breath away and in my lovelorn greed,
both hands and heart are pierced by love and begin to bleed.

That mouth that bestowed kisses earlier on the heath,
as you turn to chart my progress, has suddenly grown teeth,
and as I recall your kisses, no matter how sublime,
I decide that their rewards are, alas, not worth the climb.

For The Sunday Swirl Wordle 559 the prompt words are: tangle breeze stream clouds sway reprieve teeth bleed seeds climb branches boon.
First image by Adrian Fernandez on Unsplash. Second image by me.

She Passes By

She Passes By

Each variation in your eyes
betrays their normal veiled disguise.

Wistfully they follow one
by whom you have been undone.

As they follow, hither and nigh
each time your former love walks by,

she who trampled on your heart
once more upsets the apple cart

and affection tumbles out
and draws you like a waterspout,

wistfully to tumble there,
your tender hopes high in the air.

But false illusions must fall to earth
where they discover their true worth
as they are trampled into earth.

Prompt words today are eyes, tender, trample, nigh, variation, wistfully.



Mankind has been no bargain. They’ve scorched the living earth,
determined to exploit it to improve their worth.
Bargaining for diamonds, drilling for fossil fuels—
with each new excavation, proving they are fools.

They release noxious gases into the atmosphere,
and with each new admonition, shift to a higher gear.
Who will console our children as they forge ahead
following our example after we are dead?

We leave them with a dying world, and who is to blame?
First, off, those politicians who see it as a game
to increase their power in spite of consequences,
building up their war toys, strengthening defenses.

Extending greedy fingers, needing ever more.
Selling off our future, profiting from war.
While the wise men warn us, who in power listens?
Too busy filling pockets with everything that glistens.


Prompt words today are: fossil, scorch, gas, console, example and bargain.

Tourist Trap

Tourist Trap

“Any gremlins hereabout?” a tiny woman queried,
inspecting piles of autumn leaves for any bodies buried.
I’d feared she was a tenderfoot when she had signed up
for this Halloween adventure, but I evilly quipped, “Yup.”
Every freckle popped out as her face blanched to pure white
and her muscles tensed up to prepare for fight or flight.
She surveyed every shadow on the path that led us up
to the haunted mansion where the group of us would sup.
The scene was dark and moonlit and the shadows all reached out.
A most effective scary atmosphere, without a doubt.
The spooky creaking of the door as we reached the house
was echoed by the squeaking of every resident mouse.
The furniture was draped with ghostly sheets covered with dust,
and every metal object wore a crumbling scab of rust.
Eerie portraits on the wall. Thick drapery that soon
we’d draw back so the diners could view a harvest moon
as they supped on boiling cauldrons of steaming witches’ stew
and rich red wine in lieu of blood would simply have to do.
What is it about Halloween that makes folks crave a scare
so much that they would pay us to bring them to this lair?
Mortals are so gullible, and now the time draws near
when they’ll become the spirits who’ll conduct the tour next year!


Prompts today are tenderfoot, scene, gremlin, hereabouts, freckle and furniture. The photo is of the Lord Crewe Arms in Scotland, an abbey built in the 12th century and later turned into a hotel. My mother and I slept in its haunted room overlooking the graveyard in 1985. If you want to hear what happened, go HERE.

The Waystation

The Waystation

Awakening in the half light, upon investigation,
I find the sun is still in early stages of gestation.
As the day swells out her stomach from its early morn enclosure,
her womb is still half empty, eschewing full disclosure,

I sink into my pillow and wait for the full light,
held prisoner by the darkness, promised freedom by the light.
One part pulled by sleep, the other rues this hesitation,
caught here once again within the dawning day’s waystation.


Prompt words today are half light, eschewstomach and investigation.

Familial Disapproval

Familial Disapproval

When he swears when the champagne cork hits him in the eye,
my brother’s new fiancee utters a “My, my!”
then swipes the bubbles from her upper lip with  polite tongue.
(She’s squeamish about swear words and she calls the cork a “bung.”)

Her brow furls with referrals to anything unsavory.
(She prefers her history minus genocide or slavery.)
“If you can’t say something good, then don’t say anything at all.”
she says, and then says little but “Oh, really?” and “Y’all!!!”

She’s a proper southern girl with mild disposition.
She would not think to put you out or cause an imposition,
yet when I ask if she is hungry, she admits, “Yes, just a bit,”
and when I put the tea cake out, she eats three-fourths of it!

She never wastes her precious time when visiting by sitting
and conversing with the family. Instead, she brings her knitting,
and bottom lip between her teeth, she counts her knit and pearling.
concentrating on her knitting needles’ rhythmic twirling. 

You might surmise she’s not my favorite, or second, third or fourth
girlfriend he has brought home from East and West and North.
This Southern girl sticks in my craw, I just cannot get used to her.
And you can bet I’m dreading the day my bro’ gets fused to her.

Prompt words on this Solstice morning are: hunger, disposition, squeamish, bung, referral and knitting.

Excessive Angst

Excessive Angst

He suffers not from nuance. His moods are all too blatant.
He bares his anger to display a violence once latent.

His colossal fits of rage reveal that he abhors me.
His reputation slips a notch, and in the end, he bores me.


Prompts today are colossal, display, reputation, bare and nuances.Image by Alessandro Bellone on Unsplash

Solstice Memory–For Wordle 557

Solstice Memory

One dark starless Solstice night
devoid of stars or moon or light,
cross my heart and hope to die,

I saw a blackbird flying high
with wings of flame that fanned the air
and rode the wind to spark the hair
of a woman, meek and mild
who stood beneath holding a child
who seemed to search the sky as though
it held a creed for those below.
It passed two times and then the bird
spiraled higher, but not a word
escaped the lips of those beneath,
pinned  below to earth and heath.
The flames that fell sparked out and died.
The mother took the child inside
and combed the ashes from their hair,
and though that night was splendid rare,
was the fire gleaned from Heaven or Hell?
So mother told me not to tell
about that night the sky was lit
and nothing more was said of it.

For Wordle 557 the prompt words are: blackbird flame wind time cross me woman meek seem creed search earth  Image by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash