July 29, 2012 Sunday Whirl #67

Sunday Whirl #67

Dinner for Four

The crest of the mountains

Dig deep into the canapy of clouds

Like lace

Layered over a clear blue sky

Fly through the air


Channeling death…or near death

There is no attack

No scores to be settled

Each falling from the air

Taking part in the feast

It is orderly as if by tradition

No frenzy

Some would say…

They are wayward

They pass the ball on the court

Dressed to the “nines”

A robust game

All is sublime

Their life though strange

A rough purification

Note: The beginning is the scene I saw on my way to town, and four turkey vultures circling the tennis court, and I wondered…who or what are they circling?  And then I thought about how noble they are, just doing their job.

July 22, 2012 Sunday Whirl #66 and the Mag #127

Image from the internet.

Sunday Whirl #66

The Melancholy Painter

Swinging the loaded brush with abandon

Mixing the powdered colors

Rosy red

The blood on which she stands

Pale gold the accumulation of years

The pigment covers the plane

Stray drops spray

As she flings the paint

Erotically touching

The tips of green grass

The picture in her mind’s eye


Image from the internet.


The Mag #127

The Letter

The shadow of your dark image

Crosses before me

The message you have brought




You speak to me as only you can

I reach into the dark

Touch your extended fingers

Know you are there

Without fear

I continue the journey

Without map

Strain to see the “way”

Yet you have told me

You are with me

I am not alone

July 15, 2012 Sunday Whirl#65

Sunday Wordle #65

 Grittled Words

Controversy flicks back and forth

Tension swells

Words spray 

Hit the griddle

Spit and dance

Allowing gravity to take hold

One word misspoken

Will trigger controversy

Between friends

Each relishes the comfort

Of knowing

Plant the seed

Count the links of the chain

Humility allows concession

Words again chanted in refrain

No one claims perfection

*Note:  I did not go back and check to see what was decided, but I chose griddle as my “wayward” word.

July 8, 2012 Sunday Whirl #64 and the Mag #125


Forgotten Moments
I fall to my knees
Examine the ground before me
Try to remember
The language written there
Breathe the air
Count the clouds

I am ignorant
I have forgotten
The meaning of traces
The earth rotates
Days, months, years
Pass without notice
I question the moment
Past, present
Or simply eternity

A drawer opens
A housewife’s collection revealed
Forgotten moments
Notes on crumpled paper – a phone number
Coins – a nickel, a dime, some pennies
A pencil with broken point
A recipe for pecan pie
Three Rubber bands
Bits of string
Tiny red ball
Some jacks

Odds and ends
Hurriedly put away
Over time forgotten
Days, months, years
Past, present
Or simply eternity

Subtracting all
The hopes and fears
A lemon rind of time
Past or present
Spurn responsibility
Add – subtract
Days, months, years
This moment is all there is

What is forgotten no longer stings



The Mag #125

A Memory Incomplete

All the way back in time

To the beginning of my story

We lived there on that small farm

It belonged to My Aunt Maggie

Strong, jolly, lovely crown of white hair

And My Uncle Fred

Small, wiry, couldn’t drink a coke “straight”

Together they harvested life

Lived it fully

One day they left the farm

I remember the last time

I saw them

Sitting on the sofa

What happened next

I do not know

They were such a big part

Of my young life

Then they were gone

Someone else lived on their farm

And we moved to town

Mother is gone now

I cannot ask her