Category Archives: Poem

Forest Shadows, for dVerse Poets, Aug 5, 2025

Forest Shadows

A man is bending his wife—
melding their shadows with the green forest.
They do not listen
to the nearby cannon’s roar––
will not imagine
that their life together,
so new,
might
not
stretch
into
the
future.

When he looks at his pocket watch,
someday children
ringing a well-stocked table
vanish in
her imagination.

He lifts his musket to his shoulder,
trying to believe
in a future
and in it,
this memory:
two shadows
joined as one,
invisible against
the forest wall.

For dVerse Poets, the prompt is “Forest”. If you’d like to participate, go HERE.

“Spreading Wings” for What Do You See> Aug 4, 2025

 

Spreading Wings

Animals’ phases allow them to dare
to turn into something more special and rare.
Tadpoles swim landwards, developing legs.
Pupae to butterflies, chickens from eggs.

Rain falls and water runs west to the sea.
We try to go with it, my sister and me.
With leaves for our sails and vine pods for our ships,
what we wish for remains behind eyelids and lips.

The gutters are swollen and culverts are full.
We harness our boats, and we push and we pull.
But still they escape––rush away on their own.
I envy their future–unfettered, unknown.

In faraway places, I thought I’d be free
to discover new parts I was fated to be;
so I went after life like a kid at a fair,
from her carousel horse, reaching out through the air.

I could not resist the chance of surprise––
to  grab the brass ring and capture the prize.
And yes, I did travel and how I did roam.
Life got faster the farther I wandered from home.

Now I’ve been through the phases from child to wife.
I’ve traveled and struggled and had a free life.
I’ve been on large vessels for months at a time,
and on most of my travels, I’ve had a good time.

If I’d known that the slow times were not going to last,
I would not have hoped for my time to go fast.
For now when the ending comes faster and faster,
The pace of my life is just courting disaster.

Though other seas beckon, my boat is well tethered.
My new dreams are tamer, my old dreams well weathered.
Now that I can go anywhere, do many things,
I wish for more time just to fold up my wings.

 

for Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt., Image by Hirzul Maulana. poem by Judy.

“Some Advice for Touchers” for Esther’s Limerick Challenge

Some Advice for Touchers

Most people don’t mind a touch,
and though others may like it too much,
you have learned,  I am hoping,
when it comes to groping,
that no one is fond of a clutch.

 

 

for Esther’s “Laughing Along With a Limerick” Challenge:  Touch

The Couch Potato’s Creed for Word of the Day, Aug 4, 2025

img_1458

The Couch Potato’s Creed

Though he who hesitates is lost,
impetuosity has its cost.
You should look before you leap,
because still waters might run deep.
Though early birds might get the worm,
rash actions trip up the infirm.

So all-in-all I think it’s better
if you aren’t a go-getter.
I guess the moral to this tale
is lest you lose or lest you flail,
if you’re up against the proverbial wall,
it’s best you do nothing at all!

I’ve discovered an interesting fact about Morrie.  He frequently sleeps with his eyes wide open!  In the above photo, taken at the house I rent at the beach, he’s on the couch, which I’d put a sheet on so a visiting friend could sleep there, but I snapped the below photo one morning when he had usurped my bed as well:

 

img_1206-1
The boy knows how to make himself comfortable.

For Word of the Day: Couch

“Coup d’état” For the Three Things Challenge 141, Aug 3, 2025

 

Coup d’état

Build up all your borders. Put truth behind a scrim.
Remove all your immigrants. Trim and trim and trim.
Box up all your freedoms and lock them safe away.
Amend the 10 Commandments to “Ye shall not be gay.”
Dumb down all our children to increase control
so you can assure that you’ll retain control.
Tear apart two hundred fifty years of “free”
to put into your control what once was liberty.
Subjugate your citizens and say it is God’s will.
Then provide the Kool-Aid to see if they will swill.

Prompt words for the Three Things Challenge are: BORDER, TRIM, BOX

“Souvenirs” For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 717, Aug 3, 2025

 

Souvenirs

Not all souvenirs are ones that we can touch––
statues, postcards, T-shirts, baskets, rings and such.
We buy such things to crack the windows to the past
to try to free those memories that we know won’t last.
Yet memory itself is a siren that can free
remembrance in melodies that we cannot see
except in mental echoes that come wave after wave,

showing us for free what our mind chooses to save.
Whether they prompt nostalgia to excite or soothe or sting,
deep within our minds are souvenirs of everything.

 

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 717, the prompt words are: souvenirs free touch know cracks siren window waves sting show ring give. Image by Bianca Ackerman on Unsplash.

“Forest Sunset” for Friday SOCS

Version 2

Forest Sunset

In the forest, wild and lush,
hear the music of the thrush
break the stillness of the brush.
If else disturbs it, make it hush,
for we have fled the world’s mad crush
with all its craziness and rush
that grinds sensation into mush,
distilling it as mindless slush.
The world flares up, the clouds are plush
as we see all its bloodshed flush
into the sunset’s subtle blush.

The Friday SOCS prompt is “blush.”

“A Bone to Pick––Versed Versus VerSED” Prompt from Forgottenman, July 31, 2025

Yesterday, I phoned Forgottenman from my bed in the frigid prep room of the hospital I’d gone to in Phoenix for a bone marrow biopsy and told him that although I’d be conscious during this operation that two years ago I’d had done fully-sedated and unconscious, that this time I’d just be administered a weak dose of Versed and Fentanyl to relieve anxiety. He of course did his usual “thing” and researched both of the drugs thoroughly, and when I got back to my sister’s house after this 5-hour process–most of it spent in registration, waiting and preparation–I found the blog you will read below drafted in my blog, along with a challenge that I answer it.  The following section in italics is his. My response to him in bold print is below it:

Not sure you’ll recall my mention of this with all the twilight drugs you are/were on, but somehow, “Versed Versus VerSED” sounds like some first-year Latin student was trying to convert “Veni Vidi Vici” to a past participle (or some such grammar thingie) like “I will have come, I will have seen, I will have conquered.” I had to look it up, and in case you don’t know what it is either, here’s a definition from Wikipedia of the drug VerSED. 

And although I had texted him after the operation, describing it, I hadn’t seen his above draft in my blog, which he suggested I answer. Here is my response to Forgottenman’s above posting:

Versed in VerSED

Now that you’ve read
my text A to Zed,
of that place I’ve been led
by the reins of this med
that I have been fed
through a tubular thread
meant to remove a dread
that had long gone unsaid,
have you “got” what I said?

Fears have been put to bed
in my well-VerSED head!

In short, it was not at all as bad as I suspected.  After the initial insertion of the needle, the only way I can describe it was a sensation for a minute or two of someone sipping something with sharp edges up out of my bone through a soda straw. 

Sorry for this rather contrived poem. I simply cannot turn down a challenge and it was the best I could do, given my own nature. Too late to blame it on the drugs!

“Song of Mexico” for dVerse Poets, July 30, 2025

(And yes, if you were wondering, the skull is actually part of the helmet of a man driving by on his motorcycle!)

Canción de México
(Song of Mexico)

This small café sits on the square,
or rather the rectangle.
The gas trucks pass by, blaring “Gaaaaas,”
their grounding chains a-jangle.

Trucks and cycles lacking mufflers roar by every minute,
accompanied by the beat of bass drums
pouring out the windows of the passing cars,
drowning out the music they were meant to accent.

The guinea fowl make such a ruckus that they sound insane,
but to complain about the noise in Mexico’s inane.
The daily garbage trucks, the water truck and all the rest
all live by the assurance that what’s loudest is the best.

I drink my coffee, eat my muffin, try to grin and bear it;
but when she sets a napkin down, I grab at it and tear it.
And even though one part of me says that I shouldn’t dare it,
I use a bit to wipe my lips. The other part? I wear it!

I stuff a wad in either ear, and though I still hear all,
I go by the illusion that I hear it from afar.
Sometimes I feel the threat of age, so quickly it is nearing;
but if I lose one faculty, dear God, please make it hearing!

This song is in jest, for in truth, I love Mexico, even her sounds, for in spite of this poem, not all of them are loud. Go HERE to read another piece about the music of Mexico.

The prompt for dVerse Poets was to write a poem about music that is meaningful to me. Go HERE to read poems others wrote to this prompt.

Deep Voice for Esther’s Writing Prompts 76

Deep Voice

I am being visited by words.
Some come from the world
immediately around me.
Travel, experience.

Some come from my grandmother.
I listen to their shadows.
The voice of my mother
echoes from the center of our house.

Poems of the body,
where do you come from?
Books,
Sunday School
and Saturday night movies,
all equally determining
my voice.

Some fade away
but remain backseat drivers
as one after another takes control.
Nothing ever lost.

The Writing Prompts prompt this week is “Voice.”