Any day, any time now

before it’s too late

change will come


Delays battle deadlines

even on a small scale

Frustration is inevitable


Garner that resolve,

hunker down for the long haul

Inspiration is borne of patience


Justice knows no bounds

kneeling before righteousness

Long for vindication too long coming


Many might reconsider

not willing to endure

old-fashioned hard work


Problems beg for resolution

Questions demand answers

Realize we can solve them together


Somehow change will come

today or tomorrow, by proclamation or covert operation

Unknown victories will one day be revealed


Vying for a place to call our own

we make a difference

Xenial relationships can find common ground


Yearn for this change to come

Zoom toward that future now unfolding


photo: Flickr


prompt: OctPoWriMo


Below the Middle

below the middle

Stuck in a place where the world panders to the middle,

assumptions are made defining what I need, what I want,

what it is I desire, what might be attainable

Things I must have to make me a person of value

A constant barrage daring me to measure my self-worth

against societal rankings I had no part in creating


Having lived once in a world of madhouse mirrors, my hunger for more

held paralyzing allure, a deceptive lull between craving, wanting, yearning

for things I did not need – these greasepaint monsters working subtle terror

Peaking in a frenzy of random consumption, it had no choice but to collapse


It was beautiful, this moment of honesty, of release


Hunger driven by a need to fill my soul

Thirst satisfied by the nectar of simple ways

What I want now is different from what I need


At the end of the day, after campaigns conclude and revenue is calculated

and that imaginary bar is set even higher, after careers are made and broken,

I remain here wavering on whimsical designations with complete satisfaction

knowing what I desire – truth, love, the freedom acceptance brings,

and an occasional taste of sweetness,

are always attainable


photo: mine


prompts: OctPoWriMo, WordPress Daily Post, #MadCarnival/#MadVerse









Crashing Dreams

crashing dreams


None could predict the madness living in a childhood nightmare

would become reality. Not for us anyway. We could not imagine it might

become our story. Monsters aren’t supposed to dwell in our closets or under the bed

but sometimes they do, disguised in the apathetic dressing of those who proclaim loyalty.

That’s the most difficult part, being brave: having the courage to feel

while the world turns a blind eye.


Crashing dreams as death

living against shattered hope

today wanes, alone

Alone, today wanes

hope shattered against living

death as dreams, crashing


photo: mine


prompts: OctPoWriMo, #WyldeVerse, #RRPrompt13, #SableSwanVerse, #BentHalos, #BecomingFragile, MLMM Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, WordPress Daily Post



Shared Lives

IMG_0325 (2)


My daughter says she listens to the sound of my feet shuffling each morning,

my slippers scuffing well-worn carpet as if on automatic pilot.


Even behind her closed door, she feels me move.


Years spent locked in joint struggle does that. Or it doesn’t. We were lucky.


This new life, the daily battle to make do with what we had,

to figure out how to make almost nothing stretch into something

was my doing. I summoned the rabbit hole.


At first, it was almost a game.

Pancakes for dinner and loud music blaring as we danced in the kitchen.

We relished this new place where the rules of yesterday no longer applied.


No more angry voices or fists making that hollow sound when they open holes in walls.

Bottles of beer no longer turned over on tabletops or stacked in corners.

No more demands that even she knew could never quite be satisfied.


We slipped into routines we created by chance.


Those days slipped into months and soon into years.

We still shared tears. She patted my back as I cried the time the bathtub was left running

and water poured from the ceiling. I can’t fix this I told her as it rained on our heads.

I can still hear her little voice whisper. It’s ok, Mommy.


These were words she’d often say as we climbed the mountains single mothers face.

She wasn’t yet ten when she was rushed to the hospital with a bad asthma attack.

Even when she lay still in that bed, exhausted, she’d whisper. It’s ok, Mommy.

Somehow it was and our new life slowly became the only one we knew.


She’s off to classes most days and working the others while I spend mine at my desk.

She says she wants to take a picture of me as I write. It’s the image she’s used to now.


I suppose this is the way she’ll remember me; author of a life we shared.














Safety and fear intertwine

Corruption abided by rules and regulation

All the while, the swain tramps across the fen

to swear allegiance under the gibbous moon


The waif, brunette hair matted by neglect, slinks into the corner

of a garage filled with weapons she can not name

Her lilliputian life, the perfect cover

to grasp all that had once been taboo


Once a place where fields of wildflowers grew with abandon

it is now a graveyard of bombshells and bodies


War has come to paradise


The blind man still sings in the marketplace,

his melodious song not heard by mawkish children scrounging for food


Each man is loyal to his cause

Each cause slurps men into a cauldron of demise

Turn signals misused to guide them down devious path

as captains pester those that dare decline


As old as the ages, this urge to fight

claiming the young, the infirm, the charmed, the disillusioned

Corruption abided by rules and regulation

Safety and fear intertwine


photo: Flickr/loren chipman


prompts: OctPoWriMo, WordPress Daily Post, MLMM Wordle 174, #TLPoetry


*One of today’s prompts asked us to think of our fears. These days, the prospect of war is one of the things that keeps me up at night.






intrigue verse thoreau quote


I see you. Mired in madness, struggling to be free, you search for a way out. Embrace this journey as those butterflies in your stomach feel more like carnivorous crabs piercing the pit of your soul. Sometimes we must descend into darkness. Sometimes we must view reality through a skewed lens to gain perspective. I see you. We belong to the same kind, the same tribe. And as you fight this battle, know when you reach the other side, Retrospect will reveal your inner beauty. Ride this river of time. I’ll be there, waiting on the sandy shore.


Ascend with intent

Your pilgrimage to find truth

evolves from within

photo: #IntrigueVerse/Manal Jweiles


prompts: OctPoWriMo, #IntrigueVerse, #inkMine, #SableSwanVerse, WordPress Daily Post





Mother’s Love

mother's love


A mother’s mission to protect her child

She holds him above the fray, the inhumanity

in this place where good and evil are reconciled

knowing claims of decency present as beguiled profanity

Her tender love and warrior spirit juxtaposed

At one moment encouraging him to fly while her heavy arms resist

letting go, letting go, letting go

Bitter and sweet, this role nature has disposed

She rallies against the heavens, this gift, this curse it will bestow

In the end she will succumb to this path, hoping the years are slow


Not content to live vicariously, she resists the easy and summons the hard

to create a model that encourages kindness while resisting naiveté

To nurture a boy who will grow into a man, heart unbarred

Even as the world goes mad, he will be a castaway

A man who has everything and is willing to share with the few

Lessons both shallow and deep to carry with him as he grows

A mother’s mission to remind, remember, to incite and console

That is her victory, her coup

because even as she releases her hold, she will remain in the shadow

She will relinquish control but never her goal


And when she is gone, her grave marked by porcelain and stone

her soul will rest with ease

He will visit, this boy now fully grown

Her voice, lilting and strong on the breeze

Memories of words teaching him right from wrong

swirl around his tear-stained face, stirring a need to follow

as he shields his newborn baby against the afternoon sun

His tender love and warrior spirit with hers all along

Encouraging her to fly even as his heart feels hollow

He is a good man because of all she’s done



photo: Pixabay


prompts: OctPoWriMo, WordPress Daily Post, #VerseAngel prompt 129, MLMM Saturday Mix




Little Ballerina

little ballerina


Imagination stands in the road, conducting

music, ubiquitous as a little girl dreams

She is a prima ballerina dancing in the clouds

Rain, no match as she clutches her skirt in her hands

Her steps measured, softened by the mist

Arabesque, En Avant, Chassé


Her arms hold a dozen invisible roses as she moves… chassé, chassé

Skies simmer as she raises her sapling arms, conducting

branches swaying in a fierce wind shrouded in mist

She dawdles and reverses her step, lost in dreams

Joy revealed when innocence is held in her hands

An angel’s loop splays across the clouds


She embraces the fog, these low-slung clouds

as she traces a granny knot in the dirt, chassé, chassé

Little girl dancing, releasing butterflies in her hands

She follows their flight, beauty conducting

Anything is possible as she dreams

there alone in the mist


She imagines magic breathes in that mist

bringing to life her performance in the clouds

She knows the power of dreams

as she practices arabesque, en avant, chassé

She hears the orchestra and the maestro conducting

as she mimics his movements with her hands


As delicate as snowflakes in her hands

she is one with the mist

Imagination and dreams conducting

this ballet in the clouds

Arabesque, En Avant, Chassé

She dreams, she dreams


She believes in the magic of dreams,

this world she holds in her hands

surrounded by steps…en avant, chassé

bathed in a cool night’s mist

beneath a sky of clouds

Imagination stands in the road, conducting


Captured in moments draped in mist

and protected by angels in the clouds

anything is possible when imagination is conducting

photo: Pixabay/jill111


prompts: OctPoWriMo, MLMM Wordle 171, #TLPoetry



Perfect Partners

mark and michele (2)

He watches as I slip away

each afternoon, keeping time

with the afternoon sun

as it dips below the horizon


Such is our routine


I disappear…completely

into a world set to its own soundtrack

I dance with my muse

as she reveals the day’s secrets


He is satisfied to wait

as I wander the walls I’ve built

Witness to the images I conjure

from words that haunt my mind


Exceptional, our routine


And when I fight my way back,

when I release this energy and return

exhausted and spent,

he is there to pull me back to a safe place


We turn up the music and dance

Celebration, as is our routine


photo: mine


prompts: OctPoWriMo, #BentHalos, #WyldeVerse, WordPress Daily Post








Enthralled by the prospect of new adventure

she followed blindly, slipping into a world where

smoke and ash painted forgotten corners

with the blood of the innocent


Whispers in the mist fueled the mystery

as anxious breaths betrayed bravado

Initiation demanded participation as she tried

to strike a balance between temptation and courage


Last minute misgivings guided her spirit

A feeling no words could capture

composed of a need to self-heal

these demons leading her astray


And when this thrilling intrigue lost its grip

murmurs in her ear became clear

She heard voices urging her

to deny this wayward path


A simple act – to believe

The ghosts of the past speak

to all who listen and embrace

the power of intuition


photo: Pixabay


prompts: OctPoWriMo, #DimpleVerse, #TastyPoem, #MadVerse. #MadCarnival, WordPress Daily Post



In Memory

in memory



all the little things

superficial to sacred

an exploration of life

Grandpa taught me this

I miss him



I cherish

memories we shared

to celebrate family

he created with purpose

Legacy preserved

I miss him



could I know

the gifts he bestowed

would linger even today

I whisper Happy Birthday

and light a candle

I miss him


photo: mine


prompts: OctPoWriMo, #SableSwanV, WordPress Daily Post



Rose Petals

Intense and thoughtful poem

Everything in and around Denmark

I tossed the petals
the rose that was you
upon the waters
near where we first made love

They floated and turned
the edges upright
the colors of your lipstick
your hair floating along

Your ashes, spread I
there where we promised our love
our life together,

The water turned brown
upon where the ashes lie
the petals seemed to spell
your name and I,

I tossed the petals
the rose that was you
your reddened cheeks
after we betrothed
after we promised

The flowers so adorned
your last resting place
the world at your feet
beside where I knelt

I promised you roses
and so much more
I promised you my love
eternal, uncompromising

The petals submerged
your memory floated
away from my hands
still clutching the stems

Away, away
my dearest, my love
I wish, if only
we could again

We could lie upon the ground

View original post 15 more words

With Hope


truth silenced in the confessional


rumor of prayer

rumor of mercy


she does not speak of nightmares


she paints the sky


truth established in tradition


rumor of meandering boundaries

rumor of desiccated trust


she does not speak of crossed lines


she watches eagles fly


truth scorched in layers of disbelief


rumor of auspicious intentions

rumor of betrayal


she does not speak of disappointment


she calms my storm



photo: mine

prompts: OctPoWriMo, MLMM Saturday Mix, #WyldeVerse, #writingandhealing




shadows walk with me

as I pace these floors


awashed in a deluge of grief

I forget to breathe


sorrow, the only constant

between then and now


knowing this day would come

brings no comfort


even the rising sun can’t reach my woes

in this space, Darkness wins


and so I pace, trying to trace the trail

back to yesterday




photo: Pixabay

prompts: OctPoWriMo, #inkMine, #TastyPoem



Greedy. Insatiable. Gluttonous purveyor of the unobtainable.

A collector of knowledge stacked to the sky like a house of cards

leaning into the wind. I devoured insight like a wolf scraping every bit from

brittle bones. I consumed opportunities for observation until I lost sight. A sage devoid of soul. An attempt to grow stunted by failure to think outside that crystal box. My delight in creating a world too complex muted satisfaction. My bankroll of facts left me destitute. And then, an epiphany.

A mission to gather without consuming is suicide.


Stop overthinking

Finally I understand

the simplicity of life


photo: Pixabay


prompts: OctPoWriMo, MLMM Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille, #pinkprompt







Hidden in plain sight

between storm clouds and healing waters,

messages woven between fables and lies begin in truth

To deny its mission, one never contrite

the weak refuse to see, these bedraggled squatters

who miss meaning hidden in plain sight

Ah, but the poet — the consummate sleuth

focuses on a quest that constant nirvana craves…

those words that linger between storm clouds and healing waters

Even when roaming the subconscious, the poet feels

every rumble of thunder before anointing pools resplendent

with messages woven between fables and lies

photo: Google Images

prompts: OctPoWriMo, #BentHalos, #Dimpleverse, #OctoberFalls, WordPress Daily Post



witch trial

Demise beneath broken skies

a cacophony of strident voices

sentenced her to die by morning

She’d be drowned in a well of shadows

as the death bell tolled under a crimson moon

such a hollow ring, a hollow ring

Trust and love, a subterfuge

Clandestine meetings in that old church

passionate embraces beneath favissa and pooling wax

Her lover unlaced her corset with gentle fingers

as they delved into a forbidden affair

His wife’s reflection, a pyre of rage


To rid her family of humiliation

she named the woman Witch

An easy route to vindication

An absolute sentence for this imp

Another trial to fill the day

No mercy

Dragged from a cold cell as ice fell from the sky

The stars around her twinkled and mourned

A taste of metal in a mouth crying for justice

A taste of copper as the child within stirred

A taste of fear as her heart fluttered and  stopped

picture: Pinterest

prompts: OctPoWriMo, MLMM Wordle, #MadVerse #MadCarnival

  • Today’s prompts brought me right to the Salem Witch Trials with words like taste of metal, and well of shadows. The poetry form is Cheritas.




On a journey from here to there

I’m blissfully naïve, smitten with spaces in between

Distance has no meaning in this inky dusk

as I prowl the edges, searching

Bereft of solutions each puzzle provides

I hunker down in the dark with pen and paper

Lucky to discover gritty crumbs that will eventually

lead to the light, waiting

It’s motivation borne when separation

from satisfying conclusions are elusive that spurs me forward

I wash in the waters of renewal as

the void collapses in on itself, suddenly shattered

On a journey from there to here

I’m blissful, still smitten with the spaces in between

Distance has no meaning in this edgy world

I prowl the edges, making my own luck

photo: mine

prompts: OctPoWriMo, #TLPoetry, #inkMine, #BentHalos, #becomingfragile, #TastyPoem, #RavensVeil

  • Today’s OctPoWriMo prompts asks “Why do you write?”.  This is my response.

Fear As Enemy

Fear As Enemy.jpg

How did I get here?


My heartbeat keeps pace with the sound

of my shoes slapping across a dusty road

as I try to silence this quiet sense of dread

Something’s not right

Something’s coming


I run


Immersed in moonlit madness

your voice rings petulant in my ears

With disgust, I recall what we discussed

Something’s not right

Something’s coming


Run, run


Roots and branches intertwine

a heritage of regret to tear at my skin

I’m lost in cotton candy nightmares

Can’t keep straight passageways

through straits that connect

yesterday to this day


Something’s not right




And when I stumble, as I knew I would

and my lungs burn with the breath I abused

I stop


Waves of fear dissipate as I accept

this that is coming

this that I created

this that I am empowered

to make right


My voice rising, now loud and clear

I atone for my misgivings while

finding the way to disregard yours


Cotton candy nightmares

sustenance for absolution

Bitterness overcomes the sticky sweet

in this carnival of dreams


photo: Pixabay


prompts: OctPoWriMo 2017, #MadCarnival, MLMM Saturday Mix – Double Take






Harvest Time


harvest time

Was no coincidence, this dream I had

I was casting my spell, in search of solace in an unfamiliar world

One of many supplicants begging to erase your memory

as your ghost, heavy with chains, rattled through barren landscapes

If you reap what you sow

your harvest is a bounty of broken hearts

Seraphic warriors warned of disastrous results

as they polished broken arrows, the ones you

carelessly imbedded in blood-soaked victims

If you reap what you sow

your harvest is a plethora of dashed hope

Even in this netherworld of sleep, I spied your silhouette creeping,

claiming ones willing to squander last chances

on love that could never be

If you reap what you sow

and your life’s work is fuel that feeds ambition,

your harvest is ripe with apples you pointedly poisoned

In this dream I had, our paths crossed for a last time

We met in a place of splendid sorrow, mine filled with messages

leading the way back and yours bent on accountability

Welcome to the reaping

As my spell spills from my lips to your ears, remember

a harvest lacking synergy is doomed to fail

You reap what you sow

photo: Flickr

prompts: #WyldeVerse, #RRPrompt7, #SableSwanV, #BentHalos, #IntrigueVerse,  MLMM Wordle, WordPress Daily Post

More than Words

more than words.jpg

Because it isn’t about words…


these poems we create

these songs we write

these stories we tell


It isn’t about words

that hold no power


They can’t begin to exist

until we, the writers, trust enough to let go

to find the place where they become something more


Words don’t matter


Not without tears from shattered hearts

or blood on the hands of our demons,

the butterflies that accompany a first kiss

or the love we spend a lifetime nurturing,

the twisted satisfaction of revenge

and the regret that always follows,

or the pride that makes our chest swell

when accomplishment overcomes defeat


When we find that place where dreams become real

and our pen is only the vehicle to bear witness,

words become more than symbols on a page


And when they disappear,

when our voice is the only sound the reader hears,

words become worlds bewitched




photo: Flickr




Lost Keys


I walk the line between good and evil

embracing this adrenaline high as I teeter

between one side and then the other


The rush of air as I fall from heights

borne on walls I’ve taken a lifetime to build

set me free, set me free


Love never discovered wages war

with love all-encompassing like a black moon rising

above a cold sun plying the world with false warmth


Darkness and light meld until days become bathed

in a palette washed in shades of grey

Is my weakness a veiled attempt at being clever?


Set me free


Oh, I may be on the side of angels

but don’t think for one second

that I am one of them


The distinction between heaven and hell blurs

as I realize the staircase between the two

runs both ways, all at once structured and fluid


And so I’ll continue this high wire escapade as

I borrow from the good to balance the bad

knowing I am the one holding the key


photo: Pixabay

prompts: #WyldeVerse, #becomingfragile, #SeptemberFalls, Sunday Writing Prompt 220

Note: The Sunday Writing Prompt asks the writer to consider any distinctions between good and evil and requires the use of the quote (in italics above).