If you had asked

I never thought

I would be the one

To celebrate your leaving

And yet…

Each year about this time

I remember clearly

A film cycles in my mind

A sunny day in June

The scent of honeysuckle

Your chair empty


June 19, 2018


So get on your bike, fire up your cyclometer and write a poem of exactly 44 words (not counting your title), including the word cycle.

Here’s how to Quadrille:

– Write a poem of exactly 44 words, including the word cycle.
– Put your poem on your blog and link back to this post.
– Link it up to our Mr. Linky.
– Visit other blogs. Enjoy some amazing poets. Comment. Come back later this week and write another one, and visit some more. Comment some more. Create as many poems as you please, including ones with all the words.

THE GOOD OLD USA/sunday’s whirligig #166


The morning is a wonder
The heavens opened
The rain came at last
The whole world smiles

There is much rejoicing
Some arroyos were full
The road remained passable
Travel continues

Tucked into your shirt pocket
Years of waiting
Dark clouds form over the mesa
The high surf is only a memory

What of greatness
Can a country defy it’s actions
I hear politicians say
“We are better than this”

I say, “this is who we are”
We are not better
We are known by our actions
How we treat the least of us

The homeless
The young
The weak
The sick
The old
The poor
The hungry
Fly your flag
Be proud
“This is who we are”

June 17, 2018









FATHER’S DAY 2018/ the sunday whirl world 356 — Poets United



It’s Father’s Day


Who takes children away

Who separates families

Tell them to return the children


No time to fiddle while Rome burns

Fire the last shot

The hour is late

From the tower I can see

More are coming


Fleeing from harm

Fleeing for their lives

In search of safety

Who treats families like animals

Who puts children in cages


Draw your last breath

Call home

Tell them where you are

Tell them you are not alone

Tell them you will pass safely

They will say

Honey, I was worried

But you are safe now

You are in the USA


June 17, 2018


Wordle 356  tell, alone, fiddle, shot, late, tower, treat, pass, harm, breath, call, honey

MEMORIES OF MY MOM/verse escape


As still as stone
The morning

A dusty blue
Over the mountains
The cloud filled sky

Outside my studio window
A gentle breeze moves the sage

Memories of you
The color of your eyes
Your kindness
Your touch

You were my Mother
All my days

Once again
You are here
I take a deep breath


June 16, 2018


Another midpoint in another month brings us once again to the 55, that meme originated by the one and only Galen Hayes in what has to be called the dim recesses of blog history, when so much was so different…except the rules, which remain the same: link your 55 words of prose or poetry, no more no less, in the comments below between Friday and Saturday at midnight, and I will be by to read.







THE WHAT OF IT/imaginary gardens with real toads



What time is it

What day

What week

What month


Sometimes hard to tell

The exact moment

We arrived

Or when we will leave


Or when we will be

Escorted out



Separated from our Mom


What is going on

Who is in charge

Is the complaint department


The door locked


I was already feeling shame

When I saw the flag

But now…

I don’t want to see it at all


Will someone grow a pair

Someone in the “family values” party

What is happening is a disgrace

So, what do you say about the “what of it”


June 14, 2018








LUST THOU ART, AND UNTO LUST SHALL THOU RETURN/poets united midweek motif/lust


The neckline of her gown
Dropped down
A peach exposed
A fleshy pink
His eyes followed
And caressed each globe

“That wondrous charm of sex”
Whispered B.W. Procter
As he speared the melon
On his plate
Round and juicy

There is no explaining the itch
Biological urge
Fleshy lust
She was a hot blooded young woman

And he felt she owed him
He whispered “sweet nothings”
In her ear
Asked her to meet him on the deck
Half past one

The waves broke high
The wind blew straight
The sea always made him horny
Flesh to flesh
A sailor he would be

In his imagination
He sailed the seven seas
The master of his craft
A legend in his own mind
Asses to Asses/Lust to lust
Lust thou art,
And unto Lust shalt thou return




June 13, 2018




What have I learned these many years

I suck on my eraser

Chew the covers of my books

The first lesson is

I am not in control


Often there is nothing I can do

I stand witness

I mind my own business

I laugh at the rain


There was something about..

If you can’t say something nice

Say nothing

In the 8thgrade I served 64 detentions

I couldn’t stop talking


Treat others as you would like to be treated

This seems fair

Help those in need

I scramble through my purse

For money to share


Never cheat or lie

It gets you nowhere

The truth in whatever garb

It wears today will do


You ain’t nothing special

No better no worse

Than your fellow man

So give him a break

Life isn’t easy for him either


June 13, 2018








“BILLY GOAT GRUFF’ STROKES HIS BEARD/imaginary gardens with real toads


“Billy Goat Gruff” strokes his beard
He looks on
Without comment
Glad to be in the sunshine
Out from under the bridge

He listens for the song
In the wind
Knows it is your song
Understands all its meanings

He climbs the highest hill
He looks for you
Without knowing
You have gone away

Each of us could go at any minute
Without waiting for the bell to ring
Rush outside
Wave to the clouds

Throw two small bones
Put them back into my pocket
Hop the appropriate number
Of squares
It is your turn

Scoop the jacks
Life is a game
Eternal playing
No end in sight
And suddenly it is over

It can come as a surprise
Minding your own business
Pour the tea in the teacup
Pass the biscuits, please

June 9, 2018




RAINY DAY AT THE BOOKSTORE/the sunday whirligig


While waiting for the rain to stop
I run my finger along spines
Of books on shelves
Books are my friends
Some are new friends
And some are old

I look forward to the day
We meet again
I pick you up
The read begins
The whole story
Unknown to the reader
Until the end
Final word

Last page of the book
Or last page of a life
So much happens
In each life
From beginning
To end
You are the book
I am the reader

Your adventures are mine
And mine are yours”
I want to know the how
Or why of you
What makes you tick
Like the clock on the mantel
A dark metal
With an angel hovering at the top
You are my lucky find
Waiting for the rain to stop


June 10, 2018


THE YEARS PASS/the sunday whirl #355 –poets united


The years pass
Without a word
No instructions
Simply pass
One after the other
Usually, before I get to know thee
You are gone
Just a number on the calendar
Crossed off

Spirit-dog stands at my side
My companion
He warns bears not to come
Into the yard
To keep a sacred distance

Each day I dig the hole
A little progress daily
A hole in the earth
Just my size
Wrapped in
White linens
A final resting place

The morning still and quiet
I listen for that sound unusual
Never knowing the words needed
To say my say
To sing my song

I spread them all out
I scatter the black words
Across the white paper
A murder of crows

I am writing about you
My every act
My breathe
Searches empty spaces
I find you there
Nestled inbetween

June 10, 2018