Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo



Love is not contractual. It is not trite or buyable.
It’s not dependent on reason to render it as viable.
It depends on qualities more visceral than seeable—
makes one’s considerations more  youable than meeable.

In its beginning stages, love may seem aleatory
as though the price of love is to squirm in purgatory.
Waiting by the telephone, in an abject state,
love wonders, “Will or won’t he ask me for a date?”

But this abject terror sometimes gives way to calm
as our object of affection furnishes the balm
that soothes our rash and fearful hopes and turns them to reality,
refining hopeful crushes into mutual love’s  finality.

True love is always waiting to drop the other shoe
as “Will he? Will she? Dare we?” finally gives way to “I do.”

Word prompts for the day are visceral, trite, aleatory and abject.

Restoring Qi

Restoring Qi

Standing on the corner waiting for my qi
to recognize my face and get in touch with me.
I could use its help in restoring my zing,
for I haven’t had exuberance for much of anything.

All the troubles of the world seem to cling to me,
provoking pain and worry. I just can’t let them be.
My need for an infusion of qi has grown so dire
that I fear without it I’ll probably expire.

I hear the bells a-ringing. Could they be a clue
that my chi’s catching up to me to infuse me anew?
But since it’s the good humor truck coming into view,
I guess a double-decker cone will simply have to do.

Photo from Unsplash used with permission. Word prompts today are qi, exuberant, cling, provoke.
Chi, (Qi or Ki) is the energy of life itself, a balance of Yin and Yang, positive and negative, electromagnetic energy which flows through everything in creation. So Chi can possibly be described as an electromagnetic phenomenon, as a form of light energy, as a form of bio-electromagnetic energy or electricity.

Grandma’s Escape Note

Click on photos to enlarge.

Grandma’s Escape Note

I’m juggling my remembrances of all you said and did
way back in the past when you were just a kid,
when I was so uptight and the scalawag was you,
causing all my looks of disapproval and of moue.
But now that I am seventy and you’re a kid of fifty,
the fact that things are changed around is somehow sorta nifty.

I’m the one who’s acting up while you are disapproving.
You registered your angst when you heard that I was moving
off to wild Mexico, away from kith and kin,
leaving far behind me all the things that I have been.
The stuff stored in the attic? I’ll leave it all to you.
I don’t have time to deal with it. I’ve still so much to do.

The house is up for sale, so you’ll want to get right to it.
I’ve planted a surprise up there. You’ll know it when you view it.
I’ve cashed out the investments that your dear dad and I
saved up for the future—he was such a frugal guy.
But now that he is gone, I want to be off, too,
so I split up all the money, some for me and some for you.

My part is for my future—a small sweet  hacienda
and provisions and comestibles I’ll buy at the tienda.
Your dinero’s in the attic, some tucked here and some tucked there
to insure that you look closely and make sure that you take care
in examining the past and all those years I cared for you
so you do not dispute what I’m about to do.

If I have twenty years left, I’ll be lucky, so it’s fair
that I have another chance at letting down my hair.
I want to go out dancing and drink shooters and get wild.
I’m tired of a life that is grandmotherly and  mild!
And so I don’t embarrass you, I’m moving farther south,
away from prying eyes and away from word of mouth.

I’m doing you the favor that you didn’t grant to me
all those years you got in trouble and I was there to see.
Now I’ll be the adolescent and you can click your tongue,
for I’ve waited all these years for me to be the one who’s young.
Kiss my grandkids and your grandkids and tell them it’s from me,
but that I can’t stick around because I’m off in search of me!!

Prompt words for today are moue, scalawag, juggle and remembrance.

A Culinary Manifesto

A Culinary Manifesto

I cannot overlook your incredible zeal
in polishing off the remains of your meal.
I surmise as you gobble up every comestible
that you are finding it very digestible.

The suspense that I felt as I chopped and sautéd it—
all of that angst that I felt as I made it—
seems unwarranted now, for it is amazing
how contented you seem to have been in your grazing.

You devoured the potatoes and chicken and peas.
You sopped up the gravy and licked all the cheese
from your plate before sucking the grease from your fingers.
And I see that your look of contentment still lingers.

Could that expectant gleam that I see in your eye
be because you have noticed the hot apple pie
that cools on the counter? I hereby assert
I’ll complete your seduction over dessert!

Word prompts today are suspense, surmise, zeal and amazing.

Mall Maven

Mall Maven

Before the next party, she’ll cut a wide swath
looking for outfits from trendy to Goth.
Choosing her next style can’t be speculation.
It’s got to be something that prompts adoration.

While stalking her merchandise, she walks the walk
that other girls emulate and the boys stalk.
Though she’ll chance being different—ahead of the herd,
if she goes too far, she might look like a nerd!

She saunters the mall looking cool and sanguine,
ignoring her minions, though she wants to be seen.
She’s nubile and nervy and lissome and lean—
a virtual attention-getting machine.

The other girls try to see what she buys,
but the pieces she chooses are not meant for eyes
that might imitate her before the reveal.
She won’t take the risk that somebody will steal

her next novel look before she has the chance
to stun her admirers at the school dance.
Until her grand entrance, she’ll feel a bit queasy,
Being a trend-setter isn’t that easy!


Prompt words today are swath, merchandise, stalk, speculation, different and party.

The Littlest Zombie

The Littlest Zombie

Three small travelers, each attired in a different disguise
observe the  lambent candlelight filling the pumpkin’s eyes.
Its outside is a Jack-o-Lantern, while all its insides 
were scooped out for the candle, and then turned into pies.

A lurching small cadaver reaches out a hand,
intent on trick-and-treating, though he can barely stand.
He’s had a whiff of candy, which has made him come alive.
He’s seen the tiny Hershey bars. He hopes they’ll give him five!

Leaving, he now remembers to walk with legs unbent.
He breathes hard through his mask where his sister cut a vent.
He imitates the groans and huffs of the walking dead,
though if he’d had his druthers, he’d have been a dog instead.

But brother said a dog just barks and never moans and groans
and that barking trick-or-treaters are only given bones!
And so he screws his face up and puffs on down the block,
scaring all the littler kids with his zombie walk! 


Prompt words for today are whiff, imitate, cadaver, lambent and candy and also for OctPoWriMo.


Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon

Peeking in the window,
blanketing our dreams,
It is a welcome harvest moon
whose straight and narrow beams
filter through our window blinds,
bathing us with light,
coming once again
to fulfill its yearly rite—
a calm and soothing presence
that  mitigates the night.

For the dVerse Poets Quadrille Challenge: blanket.

Creepy-crawlies in the Moon’s Eclipse

Creepy-crawlies in the Moon’s Eclipse

They congregate at night, they do—the newts and snakes and frogs—
to discuss the art of slithering and their new pollywogs.
But if the night is moonless and the stars covered with cloud,
They start to think of evil things that can’t be voiced aloud.
And if the night gets dark enough, they’ll probably conspire
to wiggle in through door cracks, ooze in on router wire.
They’ll squirm across your carpets and right up to your bed
to snuggle down in armpits or to circle round your head.
The snake will peek into your ears and travel up your nose,
investigating your insides as he comes and goes. 
The frog will croak accompaniment to echo in your dreams.
The world when we’re asleep, you see, is not quite what it seems.
And if you dream about it during the next eclipse,
It’s just your memory of the truth you heard from these two lips.




My prompt from Tourmaline’s Halloween Challenge is frog.

White Owl

White Owl

In the plaza,
or lifting over the hot pool at midnight,
the white owl carries a message.
Life or death?
Joy or pain?
Perhaps the white owl knows.

Its dropped feather,
on pavement or the surface of water,
may be a hint of what’s to come.

Once I flew,
a white owl
frozen in place in the winter air.
Once I roasted, too warmly dressed,
more accustomed to fir tree than palm.

The white owl
may know its place or may not.

We are the ones
who bring him here,
out of his climate,
off his familiar branch.

Who has brought him?
What, what is the message?

On the Night of the Blood Moon

On the Night of the Blood Moon

Last night I rose to watch the full eclipse––
a blood orange moon, full in the dark night sky,
around it, scattered stars and tall palm tips.

It was as though in this world, only I
watched the last fingernail of glowing moon,
chewed at by shadow, slowly wane and die.

And then the night birds with their lonely croon
gave timbre to this darkened night soon joined
by lonely burro, braying for the moon

as though they mourned for vision now purloined
or simply sang for joy of adding to
the beauty of this dark moon newly coined.

Then once again the moon’s edge came to view.
Earth moved aside in favor of the sun
and for an hour, I watched as moonlight grew.

Then sought my bed, the pageant not yet done,
as light increased and shadow slowly waned.
Inevitably, once more light had won.

The ending known, no mystery remained.

For Tourmaline’s Halloween Challenge: Blood