Tag Archives: poem

Long Story


Long Story

Your makeshift fidelity is now a laughable matter.
I have grown bold in my approaching old age
as my own life story now seems more fable than reality.

Every good tale needs its falling action—
its climaxes mainly based on comparison,
and, ironically, you were also its denouement.

But, we are the authors of our own drama,
and, much as I would have chosen otherwise,
you were just the coda of the second act.


Prompt words today are bold, makeshift, fidelity and laugh. Here are the links:




My mind is turning derelict. It often wanders on.
While I am still in need of it, I discover that it’s gone.
My thought processes aren’t uniform. They come and go at random.
Will and concentration no longer come in tandem.
It never ceases fascinating me that what was once
a certified ace student has turned into a dunce.
I know it is the fault of age and yet I often ponder
about this vagary of mind that sends it over yonder
when I have need of it at home. I find it most distressing
when common words are wanted, that my mind now leaves me guessing.

The prompt words today were fault, uniform, fascinate and derelict.Here are links:

Odd Couple


Odd Couple

She had a nature most erratic
whereas his was mainly static.
She was a girl who liked to rock.
All day he sat and watched the clock.
Few pleasures did he ever find
in his life work’s daily grind.

When they first met, I must confess,
he questioned how she chose to dress.
High heels with socks were not the way
that ladies dressed back in his day.
She was eighteen and he was forty.
She dressed funky. He dressed sporty.

He liked golf. She loved the clubs.
She chewed her fingernails to stubs
worrying about the planet’s fate.
She slept around. He didn’t date
and worried not about emissions
nor those Save the Earth commissions.

What soul who knew them both would guess
they’d ever meet, or even less
imagine that they’d get along—
he with his pipe, her with her bong?
Let’s put them in each other’s way.
See how they’d act. See what they’d say.

She meanders through the park
in the evening, before dark.
He’s walking home from the ninth hole.
She rounds the corner, he crests the knoll.
They meet soon on the walkway path.
They have to pass. You do the math!

She eyes his clubs. He eyes her socks.
Her expression questions, but his mocks.
He doesn’t nod, she doesn’t greet.
If you were wishing they might meet,
you’ll have to write your own romance.
These two as lovers? There’s no chance!!!


Prompt words today were rock and guess. Here are links:


America the Beautiful


America the Beautiful

I won’t whitewash my puzzlement. Can’t understand
why the people we’ve chosen to govern our land
Would consider it sane, for even a minute
to ever put toxic chemicals in it!


The prompt words today are  whitewash, puzzlement and toxic.





When considering cowboys, there’s much to admire.
They’re tough and they’re skilled and available for hire.

Their style’s not eclectic. They all look the same.
They’re wild and they’re wooly. Not easy to tame.

They’re never clandestine. They’re out in the open.
Just  shootin’ and spittin’ and ridin’ and ropin’.

Made out of leather and chew and barbed wire,

nobody knows when cowboys expire.

For though they aren’t known for their tact or their heart,
there’s much to admire in how they depart.

No need for a service or funeral pyre,
no casket, no preacher, no flowers, no choir.

They merely climb up and sit straight in the saddle,
ride toward the horizon and simply skedaddle.


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Seeing Red at 2 A.M.!!!!!!

The only two prompts already published when I was awakened AT TWO IN THE MORNING!!!!! by some asshole driving back and forth and back and forth five feet from my open bedroom window on a motorcycle with no muffler and obviously some sort of amplifier on his tailpipe that made it sound like a series of cherry bombs going off at 1/10th of a second intervals!!!!!! were “hindsight” and “tricky.” Feels like I’ll never get to sleep again, so might as well write.  Here goes:

Futile Reflection

It is a tricky irony that memory is slow
in letting loose of the mistakes that we’d love to let go
when wisdom gained by hindsight’s too far after the fact
to alter the reality of a foolish act.







At the zenith of her powers, the glamorous Ms. Z
knew well the art of camouflage. No one could really see
the heretic that lived inside the one in the first pew.
Not even her most loyal friends knew she was a Jew.

Times call for extreme measures, whatever might protect
and preserve us from dark powers, who if they detect
any threatening differences might decide to strike.
One yesterday thought “charming,” today just labeled “kike!”

What small differences between us do we all obscure?
What hidden denials must we all endure?
Convention is a schoolmarm with a ruler in her hand
ready to dish out punishment for any action banned.

One drop of blood not Aryan or thought that’s not mainstream,
any errant choice of style, any avant dream
might be grounds for action, for all good people know
the harm that comes from those who might upset the status-quo.




*kike is derived from the Hebrew word for circle, which is the mark many jews made on their immigration papers coming into America instead of an X for their signature.  Like many other racial slurs, it came from immigration officers who used it a s short-hand for a population group entering the country.


The prompt words today are camouflage, heretic, glamorous and zenith.