Category Archives: Poetry

Poems in many categories: Loss, NaPoWriMo

What the —-? Palinode for dVerse Poets.

The Invitation

“You are invited to a party at our house, Saturday at 7.
Please bring a dish to share and what you want to drink.”


The Reply

Pot Luck?
What the F—?

If I’m to bring a dish to share and also what I drink,
just who’s throwing the party? It sounds like me, I think.
If I’m going to cook a dish and also buy the wine,
I think I’ll just stay home instead, where all of it is mine!
The purpose for a party is for entertaining friends—
Not the other way around. This said, my poem ends!

En Mass Transit

En Mass Transit

Traffic comes and traffic goes,
but where they all go, no one knows.
They gun their engine, shift a gear
to be anywhere but here.
North goes south and south goes north,
driving, driving back and forth.
Wearing tires out, burning gas,
changing where they are en masse.
In New York, Paris, Pittsburg, Rome,
Nobody seems to just stay home!


The Word of the Day Prompt today is traffic.,

Goodbye Note to Harvey

Goodbye Note to Harvey 

I’m gobsmacked by your foolishness, tired of your guff.
Your tales of glory are too much and this girl’s had enough!
Your mercurial rise to fame, your hobnobbing with stars,
only bought you membership in a club with bars.
Now they are behind you, the power, women, booze.
I trust they’re not available in the cellblock where you snooze.

Prompt words are gobsmacked, mercurial, snooze, membership and guff. Image by Grant Durr on Unsplash, used with permission.

Ta Ta and Good Riddance

Ta Ta and Good Riddance

He wants to know what’s all this fuss
about being unscrupulous.
Honor to him is just a fable—
His every act meant to enable
a law or bill or legal tort
as a means to then exhort
his cronies to increase his fame
to pad his pockets and laud his name.
His vacant eyes contain naught

of what he did for  what he’s got.
A patriot for sure he’s not.
If I were forced to make a list
of all the ways he is not missed,
I fear the list would stretch so far
as Katmandu or Zanzibar.
And though I know them all by heart,
I do not have the time to start
at the beginning and reach the end.
So I’ll just say, here and anon,
that I’m relieved that he is gone.


Prompt words today are enable,  scrupulous, vacant, list and exhort.
Photo by Srikanta from Unsplash, used with permission.



I’m waging a campaign against your excesses.
You don’t need more shoes or jewels or dresses.
I’m sending a notice to wherever you shop
that your random purchases just have to stop!

Your profligate spending’s way out of control.
Abstemious behavior should be your new goal.
I abhor that I’m having to start this campaign
and hope that my efforts will not be in vain.

I’m not suggesting that you turn ascetic,
It’s simply that your present life is pathetic.
You buy and you buy and you buy and you buy
’til the Amazon boxes are stacked to the sky.

Then you head to the mall to buy a bit more,
’til your closet is fuller, I swear, than the store!
Now my salary cannot keep up with the strain,
so I must insist, dear, you try to refrain.

To help, I have cancelled your credit cards, then
tackled your charge accounts, closing all ten.
I’ve taken you off my bank account, too.
hoping to try to educate you

to the fact that life’s more than spending and spending.
I hope that my excessive acts will be ending
your own excesses, and that you’ll find
new hobbies to fill your acquisitive mind.

Prompt words today are random, abhor, abstemious, ascetic and campaign.



Men whistle, catcall, stare and stalk
and even vagrants stop and gawk.
Old ladies cluck their tongues and talk,
but I can’t help the way I walk.

My talent was not learned of late.
It’s rumored that it is innate.
My mom, a flapper in her day,
was zany, silly, clever, gay.

And now I ooze with her pizzazz,
her craziness and all that jazz,
or so Dad says. And long-dead embers
spark in his eyes as he remembers.

She’s only stories heard, a name,
a face within a silver frame
on the nightstand of my dad—
the mother that I never had.

She never held me in her arms
or schooled me in feminine charms,
but I have her spirit and her butt.
In this I am most fortunate.

So I resurrect her daily,
imagining her as I gaily
sway and flirt. It is a token—
a eulogy with no word spoken.

Prompts for today are pizzazz, fortunatevagrant, innate and frame. The photo really is of my mother, but the poem is fictional. My mother taught me lots of things, but not how to walk seductively!!! ;o)

Mad Poem: NaPoWriMo 2021, Day 26, Parody

Mad Poem

We’ve been pinned to our homes
for a year, maybe more,
and after a month
it’s turned into a bore.
We’ve stared at computers
or the walls of our rooms,
our social encounters
just tweets, Skypes or Zooms.
We’ve missed our Starbucks,
the beach and the mall.
Our range of diversions
has been nothing at all.
Restaurant after restaurant
called on the phone
has said they were closed
and to leave them alone.
When we called up our friends,

we had nothing to say
for we did the same things
for day after day.
We yearn for the freedom
that will come with a vacc.
It’s not fair that our elders
can get what we lack!


My poem was a parody of the Dr. Seuss poem below:

Sad Poem


The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a parody of another poem. 

Baby Talk


Baby Talk

They are not merely drivel, these noises that you coo.
You accent their importance with everything you do.
Your waving arms and thrashing feet, your pooched lips all implore
that we try to learn your language to see what they are for.

I guess it is inevitable that our efforts fail
to try to learn your lingo beyond giggle, frown and wail,
for although we’re sympathetic, we do not get your gist.
So please forgive our ignorance of messages we’ve missed.

We’ll shoulder all the blame for this lack of understanding,
knowing all too well that by the time that you are standing
you’ll have learned our language, making you the fastest starter—
proving once again that you are by far the smarter.


Prompt words today are inevitable, sympathetic, drivel and shoulder.

Bad Words!!!!


Prompt words today are encephalopathy, such, cattywampus, comminatory and partner.

Bad Words!!!!

I’m feeling vengeful toward “comminatory,” a term I find absurd.
Fatigued by “encephalopathy.” Who heard of such a word?
Has the world of prompts gone “cattywampus?” Have you all gone mad?
Can such words be shaped into a poem that isn’t bad?
How can one partner such weird words? What’s a scribe to do?
Except to face the challenge and write a poem she’ll rue!

How My Life Story Wound Up in the Sentinel: NaPoWriMo 2021, Day 13


How My Life Story Wound Up in the Sentinel

Startled awake by the end of the rain,
I rise to the quiet push of air
against my face and brain. I light the fire,
then lie on the couch under quilts.
One gray cat lies on top of me,
and the other jumps up soon after;
so for this long time before full light,
I am a warm bed for cats.

They fit themselves along the curves of my body,
pressing into the empty spaces.
My shoulder and arm are tucked
and held in place by the large male cat,

my folded knees and legs
pinned by the smaller yet heavier female.

As I reach for yesterday’s Sentinel
and the crossword puzzle pen clipped to it,
the male cat spills from my shoulder and arm
and moves to my hip.
Forsaking the Sunday puzzle,
I instead stroke his soft fur—
this stroke becoming an addiction
to both me and the cat,
who butts my hand with his head when I quit.

With my other hand,
I squeeze words into the margins of the newspaper—
the only paper within arm’s reach.
I have filled the margins of page one and I am writing
over the picture of a Maine house with no power.
My ink partially obscures the name of the female cadet
who has dropped out of the Virginia Military Academy
as my pen nudges closer to the comic pages.

I am telling my life story in the Santa Cruz Sentinel.
Over Dear Abby, my pen sails like a schooner.
When she says to practice tough love,
my words are over her words and my words say,
“I let the cat out
to the cold morning that fills the spaces
between the redwood trees.”

Five minutes later, he’s back again
crying at the door,
and I tell of it,
crossing the obituaries with details
of life in the mountains with cats
and a husband still sensibly in bed.

I write of rain that sits like a box around us
for five months of every year,
pressing our minds down to crossword puzzles
and mystery novels until,
huddled in bed under the electric blanket,
we find each other curled up
in the same cocoon.

His body spooned to my body
like a cat,
under the covers of rain,
we draw again into
the small bit of magic that powers
our crowded lives.

Outside, crisp air stands still, expectant,
as  from very high above, a squirrel
drops cone shards like confetti
from a swaying redwood branch,
her crooning forest calls
falling with them.
The sun is rising
and clear air beckons me to walk
to the end of our long rain-soaked driveway
to retrieve today’s paper.

In  the long hours spent awaiting dawn,
I’ve filled up with these words
the margins of yesterday’s paper.
I’ve crosshatched the want ads
and the “Bay Living” section
and the comics,

So that a  gray squirrel
zips across Blondie’s nose,

and a redwood tree spills its needles
onto Hagar the Horrible.

Somehow, my spouse ends up
nestled into bed
next to Dagwood,

and Cathy is almost obscured
by the curled bodies of cats.

Moving away from, then settling back into
this safe nest we’ve made,
I add one last description of my journey
down my driveway

and a life that for this moment
is released from rain.

And that is how my story—
what fills up my life—

came to fill up
the pages of the Sentinel.

The NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow.