Day 15 – Woman of Color

Shells upon the washing board click-clack
and crack! Reveal the mystery within.
See what we have to say?
We’ll not wash, or scrape, or gather,
for we are free, and here to stay.

The color of my skin,
and my gender — indeed!
need not determine my path.
Have a little faith, one human to
another. We are powerful, it’s true.

Look, what can you see?
Not a maid, not a cook.
But who I choose to be.
Who am I?
I am me.


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Day 14

The laughter and smiles

of children upon the swings

resolves everything.

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Day 13 – The Rules

Sinking down into
melted puddle of bubbles,
dripping, sliding, we all fall down.
Ionize, acclimatize, get back up again!
The words are gone,
the game is up;
Not all gifts come with endless batteries.

A film across the cells, see lines and
curved like bells, ring aloud, sing alone.
Their rage is not red, but pink,
mine happens to be purple, not blue.
Time runs, reach out and catch it,
one second, hold my Pepsi;
I’ll do you one better.

Two tons of words, in two tones.
In literature we call that misspelling a word,
but in poetry we call it opportunity.
There are no rules here,
not now, of all times. Rule’s need not;



I don’t even know. Seems like I write most of these while half asleep. If you can find meaning in it, please tell me. If not, enjoy the nonsense anyway!

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Day 12 – Silver lining

I live beyond the finish line,
existing in the freedom of eternity.

Dark clouds might shroud the sun,
but there, I see the silver lining,

A gleam behind the shadow.
Could we claim it? That faith that

Life is good.

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Days 10 and 11

Day 10

Spiral into oblivion,
we’re all just echos in the void.
What matters to the mountains
is when those who shout
cause rocks to tremble and
avalanches to tumble.
Have you seen the window?
Do you see your reflection or
the other side?
Beware the breaking;
greener grass is meant to stay
perfect from afar is safer
where one cannot discern a blemish.


Day 11 


Droop and nod, drift and bob,

the exhaustion is strong in this one.

Can’t carry a conversation in a bucket.

The eyes stick and drag,

teh fingers miss and lag.

Her thoughts are like molasses,

her voice a raspy snore………………



It’s been a long day. I missed posting a poem yesterday, so you get two abstract, written-while-half-asleep poems for the price of one. Enjoy the nonsense.

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Day 9 – Moonrise

Thousands of miles a minute,
and yet indiscernible to the eye
except in relation to the tilt
of our heads close together.
Sharing memories, making new.
A dog barks, children laugh,
the troubadour plays his song.

Close to sleeping time,
but first we chill,
joke and chuckle.
Go where we will,
enjoy the proximity.
Who are they?
Yet who are we?

Thousands of miles a minute,
yet indiscernible to time,
except in relation to the tilt
of our lives close together.
Making memories, sharing new.
Children bark, a dog laughs,
and the troubadour plays his song.

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Day 8 – Haiku

I keep waiting for inspiration
to strike like lightning,
ignite a fire in my fingers ,
dazzle us all with poetic brilliance…
But the saying “Practice makes perfect,”
is more true than some might admit.
And poetry is nothing if not
the soul’s search for perfection.
But the harder I try,
the further inspiration flies
from my fingertips,
my hands freeze mid-sentence.

Just the other day,
in fact, I tried a haiku,
and this is as far

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