June 30, 2013 Sunday Whirl


Ruby’s Farewell Song
(Ruby Estes 1920 – 2013, Grandlake, Colorado)
At the service
Under a tent of blue
Color of the lake and sky

In a place that once was wild
On a hill over looking
The town
A favorite picnic spot for bears
Before the people came
They are gone now, too

Friends and family gathered
To say goodbye

A bird in flight caught my eye
At the edge of tent and sky
Flitting and dancing
I looked again
It wasn’t a bird at all
Instead a butterfly
As big as my hand
Yellow and black
Bridge between
Life and death
It seemed to know…
Waved farewell
With graceful wing

A rock was placed
This was no retreat
Simply the end
Of a long paved road
No longer stable

A bend in the road…
Your tiny feet took
The other path
Followed the lane
Through the meadow
Into the wood
In search of an island
You could call your own
With the people that you know
You turned and waved
And whispered
“Remember Me”

Note: Sorry my “unstable” became “No longer stable,” sometimes it just works out that way. Still, a few words to remember a woman, strong as steel, who will be remembered by all who knew her. RIP Ruby Estes, Grand Lake, Colorado.




bird, bridge, unstable, wild, bend, rock,

retreat, bear, lane, fallen, meadow, island

June 22, 2013 Sunday Whirl


Questions of the Day
From front door
Across the portal
To studio
I leave no tracks
Morning begins
At the edge
Of a new day

Files heaped upon my desk
A mess
Waiting to become

Each day
A complex dance
Choreographed by me
The morning still
Except for the little fly catcher
Screaming for
 his…or her 
 (Gender unknown
To me)

Each day
I wander
The studio
My enchanted forest
Like a class-room
Of my own design
Lessons drawn from life

Black tar to 
pale gaseous colors
Gradual change
Gives direction

Each completed work
Simply answers
The questions of
The day

Prompt: tracks, edge, files, lie, mess, complex,
gas, forest, still, pale, answers, class

May 16, 2013 Sunday Whirl 113




Prompt: moonshine, anything, scoop, cave, shatters, wake,

giggle, cut, load, sense, splits, crazy, chattering

If you had been there
You would say
The chattering was crazy
Probably wake the dead

We spoke of all things
We laughed and giggled
It was like being
Struck by moonshine
(Or so I’ve heard)

Your magical garden
Like a cave sheltering
Against the heavy load
The cares of the world

Sense of time
Is split
Shatters and is broken
Only that
Moment remembered
Cut as though
A special piece of pie
Scooped and eaten

I look into your pale
Blue eyes
We are home again

June 8, 2013 Sunday Whirl #112

Prompt: park, page, yard, status, shimmering, spill,

spewing, thunder, rest, curb, jets, steps


(Image of the 1930’s Dust Bowl from the Internet)

The Coming Dust Bowl

Thunderclap heard in distance
Yet no drops fall
Onto thirsty landscape

Status of the drought
Third year
Once shimmering lakes dry
No water in the spillway
Bird count down
No rest for the weary

Dust spewing in the wind
Jets fly overhead
In relentless blue
Reminiscent of the
1930’s dust bowl

Children play in the park
Without knowledge
Of the page
That will record the
Current dust bowl

No steps taken
To prevent the
Grass from turning brown
Impossible to curb
Our appetite for oil

Note:  I am having trouble with proper spacing?  Can anyone help me?

June 1, 2013 Sunday Whirl #111 Deep in the Bones/Prompt: http://mindlovemisery.wordpress.com

Sunday Whirl  #111

vault, halls, swirl, crave, throat, wind, limbs, nimble, prairie, rapture, train, each


Deep in the Bones
You have raided the vault
For the personal/universal
A plethora of images
Memory swirls with time
Deck the halls

Breath caught in throat
Wind knocked from lungs
Limbs useless
Like an insect
Trapped in your web
Skillfully woven

A magician
A wizard
A seer
Nimble in your ability
To explore past and present
Piece together
What is visible
Then imperceptible

Perhaps a surgeon
Who opens the viewer
And draws out from the bone
What is not known
Or consciously remembered

Ride the train
Across open prairie
Each image fading
As it appears

The viewer
Craves to know
What is behind each image
Why was it chosen
What is this about

Is in rapture
As he fills in the blanks
Tells his story
Minds his own memory
The story of man
Hidden deep in the bones

Note: Yesterday after a long day in the studio. The sun still shining, the wind howling like a banshie, I found in the mailbox, and catalogue from Glen Skien, about his show Mytho-poetic. His work is stunning. And I want you to know about him.  A rare and authentic artist! He has a blog:http://silentparrotpress.blogspot.com/2013/05/mytho-poetic-catalogue.html You can google Glen Skien for images.




The Yellow Flowerpot

I lie on my back

Curled into the bottom

Of the yellow flower pot

How long have I been lying here

I cannot say

As my brain quit

The minute I died

And left the scene

My body dried

I lie upside down in

A yellow flower pot

When living

I lead a secret life

Stealth was my trade

So good at my job

No one noticed

When I dropped

Into the pot

And died

Without a sound

Lying on my back

Curled in the bottom

Of the yellow flower pot