Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Thursday, March 28, 2024

Looking For The Light


When you look in the right place, there it will be.
(I'm talking about light.)
Your eye interprets everything from within.

Blue skies, gray skies, all an illusion.
The light of your life isn't in a face or a star.
When you look in the right place, there it will be. 

You have thought yourself a moon, reflecting.
Rods and cones are the heart's handmaidens.
(I'm talking about light.)

That person, that sunrise, they are lit because you lit them,
just as they lit you, from loneliness, darkness.
Your eye interprets everything from within. 

A cascade poem for What's Going On? "The Coming of the Light"

Monday, March 25, 2024

Word Garden Word List--Classic Fairy Tales


Hello my darlings! Having come through a deep dark wood filled with wonders and dangers, here you are, ready for this week's Word List! Waving my wand in a circle thrice, a bright spark and a puff of colored smoke appear, and then we see this week's source material, Iona & Peter Opie's collection The Classic Fairy Tales. 

"We all loved it!" --the Three Bears

"Made my hair stand on end!" --Rapunzel

"We love animal stories! --Three Billy Goats Gruff

So many ringing endorsements, and from such dear acquaintances whom we've known since forever! What could be better?

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. Then just link up, visit others, and move in to your spanking new (and quite delicious) gingerbread house! Your poem need have nothing to do with fairy tales unless you would like it to. So conjure up your fairy godmother and get writing! This prompt is active through Sunday. 

Your list:


La Vigne de Lierre Magique et Très Sage (The Magic and Very Wise Ivy Vine)


The queen who kissed the garden wall
was snookered by an ivy vine
who made her head a cannon ball.

You see, dear queen, this magic mine
(said the speaking ivy vine)

Has launched your bean, my airborne queen
to blow the Brits to smithereens!

First written down by the French monk Gustavius Petitgrand, this well-known rhyme royal depicts the Battle of Camembert Castle in 1599. Beheaded by an angry mob of lettuce cutters in the streets of Paris, Queen Amie de Chateaubriand's head had to be used when the French cannoneers ran out of ammunition. The Queen's head landed in the officer's tent where British commander Lord Bupkus Kewgarden-McWeatherstone, Second Earl of Weevilwiggen was dining. The head is said to have spoken to him, though the exact words have been reported differently by various sources. In any event, so terrified was His Lordship that he immediately surrendered his army as well as his collection of chessmen carved from candle wax. This battle and the resulting French victory was a key turning point in the Twenty Minutes War and insured that no French child would ever be named Basil again. Vive la tete! (Alouette!) Ahhh!

For Word Garden Word List--Classic Fairy Tales

top image: Soul of the Rose by John William Waterhouse

Music: Choral Saint-Jean Alouette

Wednesday, March 20, 2024



We had this woman at Dalldorf, claiming to be
the Russian Grand Duchess Anastasia
plucked Deus ex machina from the bullets and blood of some cellar smack dab in the snowy far reaches of Nothing Good. 

We did  hydrotherapy there, but she'd gotten a head start,
either jumping or about to jump off of some bridge into the Landwehrkanal
as if she were Girl Rasputin, Queen of the Waves. 
She did this in springtime, holding a pink tulip and a volume of Pushkin.

Mornings, I'd bring her a bowl of oatmeal and my scorn,
setting it down hard on the tray, sounding like the crack of a rifle.
Anna Anderson, do try to eat some (I'd say), like the nonsense you spoon out
as ammunition for the Great Cannon of Bullshit for the credulous.

Dalldorf Asylum is gone now, and my job with it, dragging incontinents
to the toilet and fakers to the street outside when the administrators were 
otherwise occupied filing reports or fucking the mute up on seven. 
At night I used to tell her my suspicions about Anna, and cures, and treatments.

Now I am old, and Anna Anderson is gone, proven by modern techniques
to have simply been a loon and a manipulator. I go to her grave and
plunge a Russian Orthodox cross into the earth right where her heart should be,
but never was. Madness and murder were everywhere then. Anna used

crayons to draw those poor dead Romanovs, while there she sat, well fed,
celebrated, alive in the sun room, like a cat or a cockroach, immortal.

for What's Going On? -- Character(s) In Action

Don't forget that this week's Word List is still "live" through Sunday. 

Music: Cafe Accordion Orchestra Ochi Chyornya

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

All The Little Flamingos


All the little flamingos
who used to hang around eating candies
turning themselves pinker by the hour,

where are they now? 
They used to carry Rod McKuen in boho bags
and spice their spring water with Tanqueray. 

All the infallible flamingos
confusing the Salton Sea with the Isle of Capri,
posing on one leg, demure and goddessy.

I miss the little flamingos
riding in paper gondolas, hating the pea hens,
in love with themselves, beatifically banal. 

I misremember the little flamingos
smiling behind Japanese fans, loving leopards
on screens for their mysterious silence.

So shallow and fresh, faces dipped
to the worst most brackish water, honking unmusically,
naked under their feathers, one more awkward than the next.

All the little flamingos.
Scornful, inscrutable, fragile flamingos.
I was there with them.
I was one of them. 

Monday, March 18, 2024

Word Garden Word List--Poetry Out Loud


Hello my vocal and musical friends! This week our List is taken from poems included in a nifty little book entitled Poetry (to be read) Out Loud. It's a volume of all sorts of different poems, ranging from Dylan Thomas to Ogden Nash and back again. The one thing that they all have in common is that they are wonderful to read out loud. So, do your warm-up scales, drink plenty of water, step out of your shy reserve, and write something!

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new original poem of our own. Then just link up, visit others, and offend librarians everywhere by talking right out loud about it! This prompt stays active through Sunday. 

And now, your List:


Thursday, March 14, 2024

When I Die It Will Be In Springtime

 When I die it will be in springtime,
trailing all unfinished things behind me
like a newlywed leaving in an old Chrysler. 

Charon will be at the wheel. 
The water will be calling him,
and he'll fidget with the radio, changing stations.

When I die it will be in springtime.
I've been waiting, as if living in a bus station
for the 3:45 to Omaha.

Time has grown drowsy. Print newspapers fade.
In Florida, ballplayers wear logos and speak Spanish
like my favorite poet, Lorca.

For Word Garden Word List--Wordsworth.

Monday, March 11, 2024

Word Garden Word List--William Wordsworth


Good morrow my fulsome flowers! This week we wave in the wind to the words of William Wordsworth. 

Wordsworth is known for such poems as I Wandered Lonely as A Cloud (Daffodils) and She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways, the latter of which is a favorite of mine. I have done you the kindness of passing over William's more (ahem) flowery words in favor of twenty I thought might serve us better. 

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided in a new, original poem of our own. Then just link, visit others, and then lie down in a field of daffs and contemplate that cloud over on the right that resembles a dog flying an airplane. Easy peasy! This List remains current through Sunday. 

Your List:


Thursday, March 7, 2024

Five Reasons Why We Divorced


1. The phase of the moon. 
      Full in perpetuity inside your head,
     disturbing your vision from behind,
     creating avid ghosts. 

     Me, caught in tides, no handhold,
     every current riding over my tongue,
    a deep-water language for one.

2. The snowdrops in the front garden.
     You, the monarch of sweet beginnings,
     pale with presentiments, failing
     and dying in the first strong light.

    Me, the Queen of January, lover
    of the silent empty street, made 
    nervous by crowds and heat. 

3. The thespian masks on our wall.
     You were the thousand-in-one,
     going for a glass of water and
     returning a complete stranger.

    Me, forgetting what was real or scripted,
    playing a part, blundering in borrowed limbs,
    smiling, crying, ad-libbing, hating it.

4. The crow feathers on my desk.
     You liked doves, wanted everything white,
     like living in a child's storybook, letting
    someone else absorb all the splinters.

    Me, a dark star happiest at height, 
    but having foresworn the breeze
    except the one in my dreams. I called
   all night, lips never moving at all.

5. The child between us and of us.
     The Viking funeral you loaded
     your guilt upon, disguised as
     kindness, consuming itself brightly.

    Me, trying to be sober, trying 
   to be better than the mother
   I had myself, and failing, failing,
   until our child needed me most

and I swam out to him, with my real face, and a ticket out of there. 

for What's Going On? Fifteen Reasons 

Don't forget that the Word Garden Word List is still open through Sunday. 

Music: Roberta Flack Just Like A Woman


Wednesday, March 6, 2024

I'll Wipe That Enigmatic Half Smile Right Off Your Face, Chica


Mona Lisa and I sit at my kitchen table, sharing croissants.
(I have no kitchen table.)
I'm about sick of her stupid smile.
(Mona Lisa isn't even here.)
My dog wanders up and asks if there'll be anything else.
(My dog can't talk.)
I slip a revolver out from my skirts and lay it on the table.
(I'm wearing sleep pants. I own no guns.)
Sorry, says Mona Lisa. She says that all day long.
(Paintings don't speak.) 
I blow her brains out.
(She has no brains. That's why she's annoying.)
I clean up, then marry my dog.
(You can't marry a dog.) 
I whisper in his ear that the gun was unloaded.
(There was no gun, no Mona Lisa, no table.)
I hope you enjoyed this poem.

Music: Donovan There Is a Mountain

Monday, March 4, 2024

Word Garden Word List--Inspector Pancakes

Good afternoon, mes amis, and welcome to this week's Word List poetry prompt! I have a special treat in store for you, so unroll your rugs and take out your cushions, sit Indian-style in a half circle and we will start reading Inspector Pancakes Helps the President of France!

It seems that some scoundrel has stolen the President's croissants! Mon Dieu! He asks our intrepid hero, Inspector Pancakes, to help him find them. Being a dog, he will "sniff them out" most likely. What a wonderful children's story.

There's just one thing. The large print is, indeed, a charming tale for kids. However, the small print is a hard-boiled detective yarn, wildly unsuitable for young readers! Taken as a whole, Inspector Pancakes Helps the President of France is both charming and utterly wrong on so many levels. Myself, I much prefer the "G" rated version. Not to play favorites, though, I have taken all tastes into consideration with this week's List. The first 10 words are taken from the all-ages story. The second 10 are taken from the dark alleys of the small print.

What we do here is to use at least 3 of the 20 words provided to write an original poem of our own. Then just link, visit others, and sit back at your favorite Parisian cafe with half a croissant for you and half for the dog!

Your List:

Mona Lisa