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4/21/19 (Easter) Bombings in Sri Lanka


Cold and blustery
Across world, death in churches
Our Mother Earth grieves

Yet in this morning
The hummer sips her nectar
Flowers bloom their hope

Those Awful Pink Dresses in the 50s (Am I Blue?)

(Image: Louisiana Zombie Afternoon, by Jenn Zed (UK) 2018)

Pistol packin’ mama
smoking’ dad
dressed you in pink taffeta
trite knickknack
in their curio cabinet
don’t be like us
be pure, be pink, be perfect

When life’s earthquake
breaks you apart
but all you knew
becomes the glue
who ya gonna emulate,
learn to hate?
It’s too late
to be
what they created
don’t be upset, statuette
Am I blue?
you’d be, too.

Accepted and posted On Line by Ekphrastic Review

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 31–Endless?


My altar: Eclectic is my middle name. Karma? Heaven? Nothing? Remembrance for a short time?



All that stands beneath the sky

will someday wither, fade, and die

so let us hold this life so dear

and seek adventure without fear

love and laugh and banish sorrow

it all will be a dream tomorrow

Although I know they’ll come an end

to your life, and mine, my friend

perhaps a bit of my bad rhyme

will be remembered over time

or cause a thought to rise again

from some young wiser poet’s pen

Prompt: Endless

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 30–Dancing on the Moon


Dancing on the Moon

Do you see me
dancing on the moon?
That slight young girl
long hair whirling
lithe body, leaping, turning
full of mysterious magic
for a brief moment
sure of herself in the world?

See the deep blue night
that empty beach
iridescent waves?

She sings Mr. Tambourine Man
reaches to touch the diamond sky
bare feet
circus sand
life’s swirling ship
not yet tested by storms

Do you see me?

Not these wrinkled
knobby hands, aching bones
Not the crone of the broken mirror
of the unsure step

Do you see me
Dancing on the moon?


Prompt: Dancing on the Moon

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 29–Gray Day



What Rhymes with Apathy?

I’ll write a poem, maybe 3

when I can shed this damned ennui

Perhaps it’s cuz the day is hazy

More likely though it’s cuz I’m lazy

I hope it’s only this 1 day

and tomorrow it will go away


Prompt: Numbers.  Did I get some numbers into it?  Ok.  Mission marginally accomplished.

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 28–Broken



In those moments it was what I wanted

pottery cup held warm

fragrant coffee, soft in my mouth

its scent shared the garden

with orange blossoms, lavender

That blue cup fit my crooked hand

as if we had been together

for eternity,

now of birdsong

comfort in the cool morning,

warm hand

warm cup, warm mouth

Then came another morning

sweet grandchild

curious about the scent, the cup

carelessly left by the door when

I welcomed him

His tiny hand grasped but did not fit

and when grandma’s cup slipped

he cried over the wet blue shards

or perhaps the shock of the breaking

A grandmother’s fear first

grandson unharmed

I kept sadness hidden

After he left, I carried the pieces

to my garden, placed them

among well-traveled rocks and shells

near Monarch Milkweed

sage, sand

In this moment I hold a new cup

my fingers fit a different way

morning peace prevails

And as I contemplate the shards of

my once perfect world

my heart fills with love

for a tiny grandchild

a broken cup

another beginning


Prompt: Split in two (Hence, broken) Prompt from Workshop: In that Moment it was what I want…

Form:  Anglo-Saxon riddle (not used)

Written in a workshop by Jim Moreno at San Diego Writers INK

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 27–Tibetan Mountain Pass


Tibetan Mountain Pass

Tibetan pass, prayer flags

blue, white, red, green, yellow

sky, air, fire, water, earth

Vibrant, then faded

as color carries hope

to sun-silvered peaks

Snap and swell

Defy the oppressive giant

Answer only to sky stream

Color’s breath

compassionate wishes

in the wind


Prompt: What Color is it?

Thought:  Faded prayer flags are auspicious. Colors fade as good wishes are carried to all.  They give me hope for this tiny country held captive by China

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 26–A Sonnet for Today


A Sonnet for Today

How can he tweet such evil words and lies

provide weak men a reason to be cruel

ignore the world of suffering and cries

destroy the earth condoning fossil fuel

damn immigrants to live their lives in fear

and women to be subject to abuse

conduct a ship of state he cannot steer

his words a flood of racist acts unloose?

Though we were taught respect for heads of state

to revere acts of love and pure compassion

it seems to love this world is out of date

and caring for the weak is out of fashion

We’re now immersed in evil there’s no doubt

our world has turned completely inside out


Prompt: Inside Out

Form: Sonnet

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 25–Sometime Door


Sometime Door

I must go through the door


but there is so much more to do

in this little room

I don’t just sit here

children grown with children

gardens harvested

students off to save the world

I’ve rearranged the furniture a few times

scary and stimulating for

prosaic and practical

grasped for the familiar

learned the hand that holds the shield

still succumbs to time

Sought solitude

feared loneliness




returned to still me


when the walls press inward

when that word I know well

the one that belongs in my poem

refuses to reveal itself

I wonder, is it time?

What if stories go untold?

If poems remain unwritten?

I stand by the door

reach for the handle

but this old room is comfortable

perhaps I should just rearrange the furniture

one more time


Prompt: The Door Goes Both Ways

Form: Triquain (Did not use)

#OctPoWriMo 2018 Day 24–Fake Orange Quote


Fake Orange Quote

On an early autumn day, my mind muddled by

mindless oratory from an outrageous orange ego,

I descended in desperation to the garden

seeking to silence suffering through solitude

when a cloudless sulphur butterfly fluttered

to a magnificent Mexican sunflower, its petals

intense orange against garden green and I learned

not to judge a color by its connection to

a bad character.


Prompt: Opening–well I opened to the not judging concept and the sunflower opened to the sun and at one point the butterfly opened its wings and I probably opened a can of worms by misquoting MLK so horribly–or maybe I’m just rebelling?