Category Archives: Poem

Realistic Wedding Vows for RDP, Sept 1, 2025

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Realistic Wedding Vows

I will abide your ego if you will abide mine—
If you ignore my awkward habits, I can exist with thine.
I’ll overlook socks on the floor or an abandoned shoe
if you promise not to mention an extra line or two
you might detect in years to come, scribed onto the place
where I hope you’ll still plant kisses on my aging face.

I won’t make you eat okra if you won’t bring home fish
expecting me to transform them into a tasty dish.
I’ll try to love your mother if you’ll put up with mine.
Poker evenings with your friends that stretch ’til dawn are fine
so long as you won’t rush on through from front door to the fridge
when I have my friends over for a game of bridge.

Stop and talk awhile. Get to know their names.
The sexes aren’t so different. We just play different games.
Our love is a given, so it requires no vow.
The things that I promise thee, in public, here and now
are fidelity and an effort to be the easiest me
that, given what your vows are, it’s possible to be.

 

The RDP prompt is marriage.

Flight of Fortune, for the MMM Challenge, Aug 31, 2025

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Flight of Fortune

Aisle seat in the third row–
a next door neighbor I do not know.
I put my seat belt on and then
look up to her all-knowing grin.
“May I tell your fortune?” is her request,
(It is not made at my behest.)

A pastime really not my choosing,
still, with nothing more amusing
to pass the time, I give consent
and this is how our time is spent
in those first minutes of our flight,
until the ground is out of sight.

My fortune told, I sit and think,
ordering another drink,
pleased by some of her predictions
but finding others contradictions
to how I’ve planned my life to be.
I worry fingers upon my knee.

Does she concoct or does she see
these things that she relates to me?
Some things she mentions have happened, still,
I hope that others never will.
Yet I fear, if I reject
the things she says, I might deflect
the good things so they’ll never be.
This is the choice that faces me.

Can the good that she foretold––
of feats accomplished and love and gold––
be accepted without the rest?
I want the warmly-feathered nest,
but do not desire everything
she tells me that my life will bring.
The illness, sadness, loss of friends?
I don’t like how my fortune ends.

I warmly press her proffered hand,
take off my seat belt and quickly stand.
Perhaps if I just change my seat
and find a seat mate more discreet,
I’ll change my life as easily––
and react less queasily
to conversation that is not rife
with details of my future life!

Strange. This prompt somehow came up and I thought it was a current one, so answered it, but when I tried to pingback, it turns out it is just a few days shy of a year old and comments are closed. I’m going to go ahead and post it since it took me about an hour to find and alter this poem written many years ago.. For the MMM Challenge

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 721, Aug 31, 2025

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Lady in Waiting

A rush of faith has roosted somewhere in her heart––
a spot where shame has luckily never had a start.
But now her heart beats wildly, blood rushing to that place
where passion peaked, but oh too soon, was forced to slow its pace.
An orb of moon projects a strip of light across the road 
by which he has departed to search out the Motherlode,
trading riches of the heart in an action bold.
Her ruby lips forsaken in his quest for gold.
Somewhere on the fringe he wanders in his search,
as her faith roosts steadfastly, on its accustomed perch.

 

 

Prompt Words for the Sunday Whirl Wordle are: roosted fringe strip orb ruby rush beat shame faith peaks spot heart

“Toast” for SOCS (Here’s to the Bride) Aug 29, 2025

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Here’s To The Bride

The groom’s family was titled and a bit anachronistic.
So when they saw the bride, I fear they went a bit ballistic.
Instead of white she wore a dress of scarlet oddly draped.
The mother of the groom grew faint. Her husband merely gaped.
She wore something archaic instead of merely old—
her grandma’s feather boa—a bridal statement bold.
Around her neck, a python, and her arms were densely bangled.
Her veil pinned to a tractor hat of satin, oddly-angled.
The brim turned back as though she were an umpire at a game.
In short, the bride’s ensemble was anything but lame.

As she hip-hopped down the aisle to a tune by Kanye West,
the groom stood fondly watching her in morning coat and vest.
Her lipstick blue, her bustier was borrowed and conditional
on return to its owner in a manner most traditional.
To complete her fashion statement, her combat boots were blue,
and if you’ve paid attention, you could guess that they were new!
Her bouquet was fresh dandelions bound up with some chives.
She held it in one hand and with the other, gave high fives
to friends all up the aisle as she jerked her way on by.
The groom’s mom gave a shudder and his father gave a sigh.

So did this modern wedding  forsake the antiquated
with customs much less stuffy, less predictable and dated.
The wedding fare was tacos, Cuban sandwiches and chips,
jelly beans and donuts, crudités and dips.
No caviar or salmon. Just ribs and Tater Tots.
The toasts to bride and groom were made with Jello shots.
The wedding cake was chocolate with custard between layers.
Good wishes voiced by ministers, gurus and namaste’ers.
In place of rice the bride and groom were showered with quinoa.
In short, it was a wedding to rival mardi gras!

The SOCS prompt is “toast.”

Scattered Dreams, for RDP

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Scattered Dreams

Scattered Dreams

She mourns the loss of everything as the crescent moon
fades away to nothing this putrescent June.
Orange blossoms drooping in their wedding urns,
an empty flag of wedding veil wafts outward and then turns
to fall from spinning fan blades where it has been tossed—
all its beauty shredded, its inspiration lost.
Her hopes and dreams now fatuous, their ending is now lore
written in tattered satin and petals on the floor.

The RDP prompt today is “Scattered.”

Hot off the Presses

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My new book “If I Were Water and You Were Air” is hot off the presses. You can buy it in soft cover or ebook HERE.
Like water that nourishes life or brings destruction, love can be both a blessing and a curse. This memoir in verse spans five decades and three countries with poems that reflect on love, loss and life’s complexities, drawing from personal experiences and emotions. “How many loves, senora?” my helper in Mexico asked me wistfully, during my first months after my move to Mexico. “Oh many,” I had answered. “I was nearly 40 when I married and I had traveled the world,” 

If you’d like to hear 10 of the poems now, capture the the QR code in the upper right of this cover with the camera on your phone. Double click, and It will take you to Youtube. Click the youtube rectangle on your phone and then the “tap to unmute” rectangle that then appears on your phone.  You’ll hear me reading 10 poems  from the 105 pages of  poems in the book. You can do this from the image here..or by doing the same to the cover of the actual book.

Word Choice for The Three Things Challenge

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Word Choice

Poetry’s got metaphors, similes and rhyme,
and a bit of meter to make it sound sublime.
But prose has plot and conflict, and compared to verse
is of course much longer whereas poetry’s more terse.
But either genre that you choose, for sure you can’t go wrong.
A book of prose or poems is really good to have along
in waiting rooms or buses, on airplanes or on trains.
They fill in time for shut-ins in times of snow or rains.
In fact, to entertain you or to cancel out your woes
there is nothing better than poetry or prose!

For the Three Things Challenge, the prompt words are: Poetry, Prose and Verse

 

 

First Flight Jitters, for the Sunday Whirl Wordle 720, Aug 24, 2025

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First Flight Jitters

He lingers on the runway, doing a little dance
as though he has a virus living in his pants.
Bounds right up the plane steps, wishing they were shorter,
reaches in his pocket and tips the stew a quarter.
Rugged he-man that he is, he cannot veil his terror
over the coming takeoff, for he is is no brave wayfarer.
He quavers as he finds his seat, hoping that it’s right.
Notes its number on his ticket , listed just under his flight.
His fear of flying preys on him, his hands and shoulders shaking.
The papers in his suit pocket are rustling with his quaking.
When the plane lifts off the ground, he fears that he is dying.
The next time, he will take a train. No more will he be flying,

 

For The Sunday Whirl Wordle the prompt words are: virus dance name note lingers runway rugged quaver paper prey veil wish

Our Emperor’s New Clothes, for the Weekly Challenge, Aug 23, 2025

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Our Emperor’s New Clothes

How do we mentor our burgeoning youth
in these times of unequalled stretchings of truth?
Teach them to sort out these rash acts of treason,
to approach them with heart and strain them through reason.
Teach them hating is wrong and exclusion is selfish—
that plastic’s destroying our coral and shellfish.
That medical care should be something for all
and that hoarding of wealth brings a country’s last fall.

Teach them the future is theirs to decide.
Teach them the truth of whom to deride.
Teach them that facts being taught by their teachers
may rival what they’re being taught by some preachers
and those who would rule to win their own gain,
lining their pockets again and again
with tax cuts that only extend to the rich
while the trickle-down theory develops a hitch.

Teach them to sort out rhetoric from fact.
Teach them to care and to vote and to act
to stretch out the privilege to blanket us all.
We are not alone on this spinning great ball.
Our former meddling and incredible gall
is why we’re considering building a wall
to keep out the hungry and frightened downtrodden
who come to us weary, exhausted and sodden.

They ask for asylum and our protection
from dictators who have prompted defection
much as many Americans are fleeing south
to avoid the stupidity and the vile mouth
of the dictator who is now ruining our land
with illogical thinking and truth that is canned.
Who will mentor whom in this crazy new world
once the last hateful invectives are hurled?

Our world has been sold out for profit and gain—
overseen by leaders opportunistic and vain.
Perhaps it’s our youth who will now mentor us
to sort out the truth from this internet fuss.
As in the old legend, They’ll teach the uncouth
to forsake propaganda for naked truth.
It’s hoped that our youth wake us up from our doze
to point out the truth of our Emperor’s new clothes!!

 

The Weekly Challenge Weekend prompt is “burgeoning.”

Where Have They Gone? for dVerse Poets, Aug 22, 2025

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Where Have They Gone?

Where has it gone, that memory
that matched names to faces,
attached today
to  the day of the week
by which we call it?

Where have they gone–
my favorite cape,
my car keys and my iPhone,
the lid to the butter dish
and my reading glasses?

Gone with that wind, perhaps,
that blew away last autumn’s leaves,
then snow from the sidewalk
and that errant downspout
from its final weak attachment.

Where went lost loves,
my parents
and departed friends?
Dogs, birds and cats
and other loved, once-living things?

Gone, too, with the wind?
If so, this  final question:
where goes the wind
and someday,
where go I?

For dVerse Poets, the assignment is to construct a poem centered around the line “Where is?” of “Where are?