Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

Overheard In the Home for Retired Musicians

Overheard in the Home for Retired Musicians

I’m stymied by your crepitus. Your embouchure’s divine.
If you don’t have your own tune, would you harmonize with mine?
Your tonality is breathtaking, your rhythm right on beat.
Your syncopation’s perfect. I fear I can’t compete.
As we play, our joints keep time. My knees snap, crackle, pop.
If our music were to lead to love, you’d have to be on top!


The prompt words today are crepitus, stymie, breathtaking and embouchure.

Home is the Sailor


Home is the Sailor

Homecomings call for clemency and memory that is short,
for when a sailor comes back home to his favorite port,
he doesn’t like returning to atone for past mistakes.
He’d rather do his penance for the new ones that he makes.

This isn’t any riddle, no mystery is involved.
It’s simply that some other bad habits  have evolved.
He finds he cannot take the time to mend what he’s forgotten
when he has so many other newer habits ill-begotten.



The prompt words today are homecoming, clemency and riddle.

New Again



New Again

So, one more number to remember
now that we’ve escaped December.
Drop an eight and add a nine.
So far, I am doing fine.

But I can’t anticipate
what will come to be my fate.
Will I be skinnier or bolder?
What new duties will I shoulder?

What new enigma to be pursued?
Will I be shunned? Will I be wooed?
What new Kardashian of late
will they want me to emulate?

I cannot predict anything.
No telling what the year will bring.
All its mystery is free
and that is simply fine with me.

No resolutions will I make.
Whatever comes, I’ll simply take.
Cross my fingers, cross my toes
and hope its pleasures outweigh its woes.

This year will spin out as it will
Until we all have had our fill,
and just when we feel we’ve had plenty,
it will change to 2020!

Breaking Tradition

Breaking Tradition

A tradition is a habit that we’re loath to break,
a memory that our hearts continue stubbornly to make.
It is our continuity, our chain link to the past.
We make a resolution that it’s always going to last.

And yet our lives must segue to what future we might grow.
We cannot drag the past with us wherever we may go
lest it become a ball and chain that keeps us from what may 
be an opportunity that may come our way.

Traditions are so comforting. They deal with what has been.
They make tiny departures seem a sort of sin,
but sometimes they just hold us back, keep us from being free,
and we must let loose of tradition to see what we can be.

Revenge can be tradition and one that’s hard to break,
causing backward facing hearts to fester and to ache.
As hard as it may be for us to turn around and heal,
it’s the only course that may enable us to feel.

When we peel away tradition, it gives hearts room to grow.
We plant seeds of new memories and tend them row on row.
The garden of our consciousness so fertile and so vast
that there is room for new traditions as alluring as the past.


The words of the day are segue, revenge, resolution and traditions.

Out with the Old

Out with the Old

When I plant that New Year’s kiss,
just what is it I’m going to miss?

I certainly won’t miss the news,

which has not failed to unamuse.

I will not miss my aches and pain,
lest I invite them back again.

I will not miss the expense and cares
occasioned by my roof repairs.

I will not miss my aged appearance
or my young cat’s disappearance.

I’m looking forward, all-in-all
to having no regrets at all.

I’ll take my year unmarked, uncreased, 
with all past worries now released.


For Daily Inkling’s New Year’s Kiss prompt.

Stop and Go

Stop and Go

My goals in life were nebulous. I didn’t know quite what
it was that I most wanted—except out of my rut.
A picket fence and cottage were never my dream.
I didn’t want to produce children by the ream.
I only wanted travel and to see who I could be
if I could search far enough to discover me.

I finally found a part of me everywhere I went,
but had to keep on traveling to know the full extent
of who I wished to grow into—how much I wished to find—
how much I could reveal of me and still have peace of mind.
But now I’ve seemed to settle. I’m content with what I’ve found.
The place where I have come to seems like holy ground.

Perhaps true wisdom really comes from knowing when to stop—
knowing when we’ve climbed enough because we’ve reached the top!


The words today were nebulous, cottage and goal. Here are the links:

I’m Not Dreaming of a White Christmas


I’m Not Dreaming of a White Christmas

I’m not dreaming
of a white Christmas
bedecked with tinsel
and mistletoe.

That bougainvillea spilling down the wall
is festive enough.
Who said a Christmas had to be 
composed of personal memories decades old?

I like a little sand in my Christmas,
good friends and not a holly sprig in sight—
our memories being made,
not dwelled upon.

Where was the snow in Bethlehem?
On what day did Santa finally arrive,
bag laden with gifts more frivolous
than gold, frankincense and myrrh?*

What we celebrate at Christmas
is more than anything
Bing Crosby
might have devised.

The warmth of friendship.
Finding those things,
in spite of our many differences,
that are the same.

That first Christmas
celebrated in the desert,
there was a star.
The animals were its first celebrants.

Only afterwards
came those wise men
who in their gifts
predicted its ending.

*The three gifts had a spiritual meaning: gold as a symbol of kingship on earth, frankincense (an incense) as a symbol of deity, and myrrh (an embalming oil) as a symbol of death. This dates back to Origen in Contra Celsum: “gold, as to a king; myrrh, as to one who was mortal; and incense, as to a God.”

The word prompts today were white, compose, bedeck and festive.