Monthly Archives: April 2015

Day 29

Another name in the news.
Justice for all is justice forgone.
Blind and raging, the scales are broke.
When will it end?
When the world ends,
what tragedy strikes, what comes last?

Flowers on the doors and
flowers in the road and
flowers are the bats used to fight.
Blood red like roses on a grave,
what is this cacophony?
Can’t we all just get along?
Hate broods on hate bred by hate.

Another name in the news,
children are dying here too
When will it end?
What tragedy strikes,
the last will come with broken scales,
fallen blindfolds, hands raised, hearts burning.
When the world ends in a rain of flowers.

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Fancy term for “No more burgers” – Day 28

Hamburgers
Twisted me up inside like a
radioactive pretzel. Funny
it all looks the same
coming back up.
How may I preserve you,
like a side of plastic too?
What do you think?
I’d desire but deny a few minutes of comfort,
rather than ache and burn for days.
Lacto-ovo-pesce-vegetarianism
was the best decision I ever made.


People were eating burgers and fries the other day, and I had a salad. I miss that lovely, greasy comfort food, but I don’t miss how sick it made me. At least I can still eat cheese and chocolate! Anyway, semi-gross off topic poems are fun sometimes, so enjoy xD

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Looking Back – Day 27

On a Thanksgiving trip to New York,
taking boring boat tours and amateur pictures.
Grey skies, grey water, green lady,
cold rain, cold wind, cold city.
I see the backs of old friends’ heads,
wonder who we were then.
Red jackets were how we found each other,
that background bridge is very dirty.
Someone won’t smile,
someone else takes the picture anyway.

Central Park in Fall, barren and grey,
a green light saber the only flash of color.
Buildings loom in the distance,
but we’re safe in the haven.
Is that old man reading a book to a duck?
White horses with dead eyes
clip past us while a fellow tourist stares.
Yes, we are two-hundred strong,
wearing our red coats proudly, staring back at you.
The old façade is not flat enough for the rest of the city,
too many gargoyles, not enough chrome.

Empire State, surrounded by glass and wind.
Is this what it is to fly?
If I reached up, stood on my toes,
would I touch the sky?
Those people look like ants from here,
that’s a long way to fall.
I can see the park down there,
those trees are smaller than we thought.
We’ve pressed up the clouds into frazzled white pancakes
Do you suppose it’ll be clear tomorrow?

Good food at four in the morning.
Today’s the day, line up!
It’s so cold, can’t feel my fingers,
the music and marching will help.
Relax, kids, smile and wave,
you’re in a parade, have fun.
Miles later, step off the stage,
legs shaking, sweat dripping, good job.
That was awesome.

Party time, the floor is moving.
Blurred orange lights and misty black waters.
It’s cold, but we huddle and share warmth.
The lady at night is magnificent,
though rain obscures the lens.
There’s the food,
there’s the Christmas tree,
there’s the sock?
Echoes of laughter, sepia tone,
smear the colors, smile for the camera.
Tomorrow, we go home.


Inspired by the Poetic Asides blog prompt to write a “looking back” poem, and also by some old pictures I found, taken when I went to NYC with my marching band to march in the Thanksgiving Day Parade. Enjoy the memories 🙂

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Backyard voices – Day 26

What does the bumbling bee say?
“busy-busy-busy – Flower – busy-busy-busy…”

What does the quick chickadee say?
“I-am-free! Oh-but-won’t-you-watch-me!”

And the flitting tufted flirt, what does she sing?
“Who-are-we? Who-are-we!”

Little brown chipmunk chatters?
“Hide-in-the-leaves-and-fill-cheeks-with-seed!”

What does the line of black ants say, marching on their way?
“Follow-the-leader. Don’t-get-squashed.”

And a distant dove, sadly says to me?
“Who-do…you…yearn…for…”

But the wind in the trees, stirring the leaves, soothes
“Shush, hush…slow, easy, though you yearn,
have no worries, have no cares, rest…hush, shush…”


This poem is somewhat inspired by the Napo blog prompt to write a persona poem, and also inspired while catching up on my novel’s word count in the back yard. Isn’t it nice when poetry, prose, and nature work together like that? Enjoy 😀

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Sea Bean – Day 25

What could a sea bean be?
If we could crack it open, what would we see?
But no, then we would know,
and there would no longer be the mystery.

What good is an answer, when the question is so much better?
What fun in simply knowing a thing, when the wondering,
the searching and daydreaming possibilities is by far more satisfying.
If the object is unknown, then it can be anything.

What if it’s from Australia, and holds within it
a bizarre and deadly spider?
What if it’s an alien ship filled with creatures the size of an ant
from a planet millions of light years away?
What if it contains an elixir that will grant eternal life
but only to those worthy to open it?
What if it’s the seed of an ancient primordial forest that, if planted,
would cover the earth in trees which could not be cut down?
What if it’s a dragon’s egg, or a phoenix’s ashes?
What if it’s the secret of death?
What if it’s the secret to love?


Ugh, the ending bothers me, but hey, there it is. Inspired by the Poetic Asides prompt to write an “across the sea” poem. Enjoy xD

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Listening to Lionel – Day 24

Do you suppose dancing on the ceiling
is the same as raising the roof?
I imagine the effect is similar –
sudden sky and finches in the rafters.

Does a single note of music ever hit you
just right? Listening to a song you’ve heard
a thousand times, and one note, or one word,
or one beat of silence

gets you right in the feels, as they say,
leaves you reeling, resonating like a bell,
so you don’t hear the rest of the song,
for the rest of the day…


Inspired by my favorite Lionel Richie song, “Dancing on the Ceiling”, which is fun to wake up and dance to in the morning. Also somewhat inspired by the Poetic Asides blog prompt to write about a moment. Enjoy again xD

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Day 23 – Something fine

Listen, can you hear it?
It’s only Spring, and already
the birds are singing.
How extraordinary that such tiny
piping voices could create
this cacophony of music.
It is a symphony the equal to any
that one might hear in a grand golden hall.
It is not a carefully plotted, planned, or practiced composition,
but it is marvelous.
Just as much a heart-easing, smiling inducing,
joyful noise as any church’s choir could produce.


Just a happy little poem to make up for missing yesterday. Enjoy 🙂

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