Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Thursday, May 23, 2019

Doing Dishes

There's letters in the box
and crows upon gate.
The boys stayed out there playing ball
until it got too late.
I'll wash these dishes if you'll stay and dry them.
I saw them years ago and thought I'd buy them.
Here's that book,
you take it, I don't need it.
I fall asleep 
each time I try to read it. 
Remember that old grill Dad had forever?
And how he loved that crazy Irish Setter?
There's letters in the box
and crows upon the gate.
The boys stayed out there playing ball
until it got too late.
One fall you almost married whats-his-name
til Joe took you walking in the rain.
Things work out
and every leaf stretches toward the light.
The boys are all in Bobby's room, 
your old one on the right.

My best *Jane* Prine  impression, for "Summer's End" HERE.


Wednesday, May 22, 2019

The Anniversary Of A Breeze

It is the anniversary of a breeze.
Sometimes I look into the fire and see
wedding bouquets and funeral flowers,
party invitations and goodbye letters,
all burning in the same flame.

I don't care about any of it the way I used to.
My loved ones I will see again,
and my enemies are gone--why hate them anymore?

My yard brings me peace.
Every day I check the progress of every leaf
and enjoy astonishment that I am here
on this ordinary day, the anniversary of a breeze.

for the Wednesday Muse #9.


Saturday, May 18, 2019

I'm Not Waiting For You

I'm not waiting for you--
I'm just a still spot in a moving world.
I'm a headlight on a night road--
a moving object in a large stillness.

I'm not the same as I was
this morning, last week, or last year,
but my name is the same, and I still get my mail
general delivery, from the old clerk or the new.

See the sky? It doesn't care
if we kiss or turn our separate ways.
I'm not waiting for you,
but I'm here just the same,

seeming still but always in motion
like stars, like wheels, like a heart beating softly to itself.

for Sunday Muse #56

Thursday, May 16, 2019


She planted ice
and grew roses;
nobody knew how she did it.
Her sky was different
from anybody else's in that factory town.
She planted bibles
and birthed blackbirds.
Vines climbed the trellis
like acrobats swinging closer for her smile.

for this.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

T-Rex, ed.

The merciless T-Rex takes a cold delight in tearing its victim apart, biting to the bone and seeking out the tasty morsel of the heart, which it cannot chew but devours by tossing its head back and swallowing whole, followed by a satisfied bellow.

Though they write little of note themselves, the T-Rex often finds a position as editor of a poetry journal or publishing house. Seeming to grin, the T-Rex copy-pastes "Thank you for letting us see your manuscript. However...." The T-Rex will never see you as anything more than a plodding plant-eater. Might I suggest a more sensible career, for example dental assistant or elevator repair technician. 

Next week: the pros and cons of asking a three-toed sloth to be your beta reader. 

for Just One Word "apart"

Thursday, May 2, 2019

Space Invader

I walk in and, once again
the bedding is all in a Close Encounters Of The Third Kind mountain
at the foot of the bed. 

I point at my dog.
"What did you DO?" I don't really mean it, but he
takes me seriously and curls all sorrowful.
"Baby," I say, "Noooo. Mama's not mad."

I sit on the bed I've only had since November
(beds are expensive),
take his little face between my hands and smile.
I am so grateful for a nice place to sleep and for
a sweet dog-friend to muss it.
"I kissa you face," I tell him softly, and then I do, and he wags.
Little mischief maker,
I love you so. 

for Wordy Thursday

Zacky Peanut sleeps with me every night and is quiet as a bug--though he IS a bed hog. Every time I move over a little, he claims the space and eventually has me on the edge with his little self getting all the rest!  But during the day he likes to go in there and do one of two things: either he lays his head adorably on the pillow and has a nice nap, OR he digs at the covers until they are all in a pile at the end of the bed. Why? Who knows.

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

In The Silent Hour

in the silent hour
indigo of night sky
through branches of walnut and mulberry
full moon shines on
my dog as he wanders
while i stand hugging myself, waiting, watching
while i stand hugging myself, waiting, watching
my dog as he wanders
full moon shines on
through branches of walnut and mulberry
indigo of night sky
in the silent hour. 

for the Wednesday Muse--night sky.

There must surely be a name for this type of poem. Anyone know what it is?