Wednesday, October 26, 2011


Source: None via Nicole on Pinterest

That I could see the world with Wordsworth's hope-filled eyes,
                                   Romantic wonder.
                                              To find within the simple, that which is profound.
                                                    If I could be so close to heaven
                                                                                            and majesty-declaring angels.

But, ahhh, it lays before me, vast, in tiny moments and my eyes are opened wide.

Jingle Poetry

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I Will

All girls long for little luxuries,
                             for flower feasts,
                             for deep bliss submersion.

So darling, though they bloom
 not as beautiful as you,
                   I will bring you roses, I will draw your bath.
                   I will paint your childhood with love, colors, vibrant, as best I can
                                                                           and your story, I'll pen with belles-lettres,
                                                                                                         while I'm able.

And when fully blossomed and in love
                                 my prayer will be that he, too,
                                                  will often bring you roses.

Submission for Thursday's Poet Rally, sepia scenes, feeling beachie

Black and White Wednesday

and then, she {snapped}

Monday, October 17, 2011

Bring me a cup of sunshine,
This coffee, black is failing me.
Yes, I need the warmth,
                   the light, the glow inside your
magic mug.
For mornings are my hardest
                                          time and joy is what I need.
                                          Throat swigs, liquid yellow drink.
Bring me a cup of sunshine,
                                   I'm giving up on the blue pill.
                                   It's air and meditation for me.
changing, rearranging, rainbow
I'll take a cup of sunshine, please and maybe, a good book, too.

Write On Wednesdays

Friday, October 14, 2011

But like what?

I collect my thoughts
not like stamps placed neatly in a book nor quarters lined in order,chronological
                                                   but like

Here's one:
It's gone.  Can I conjure?
 Let's see.
 Never use terms of 'we'.
 But I do, to talk
        of you and me.

There's, 'on friends' with 'reflections' and a 'night sky' all together
then there's
 'caught then and still'.

The water dripping
 but no, there it is.
                     It brings it back.
That simple movement of up and to
 and now I know but that was wasted and it's gone...
come back.
 I think I have it...
If I can silence long enough.

Is the brain betraying,
                     too amped up on coffee and it all?


Words said,
written, superfluous but
    the much exceeds, spills
and sits till spoiled.

How to quiet the
                   tumult?  Tame the beast or name the beast?
                                       Eat, pray, love.  Could it be that simple?
                                                                             Brought to mind all that calms.


Would you catch me if I fall?
I hear you hesitate, I hear you stall
like one tripping on a crack;
stammering foot, stuttering answer
would you cure the cancer
eating angrily at my well-formed thoughts and creeds
like the insect intent on destroying weeds?
Answers though, don't come sailing
but instead with fractious failing,
They topple with the vicious waves.
I know you might
if I would fight.

Pretty sure that no one would recognize this as modeled after T.S. Eliot.  But I had to attempt.  Not because I love him so much (quite the opposite) but because this was too coincidental.  I'm currently a student of English Literature.  I'd been sailing along quite nicely - until "The Waste Land".  I read it and didn't understand a word.  Furthermore, I thought, "This is insane.  He was insane!  And yet, he's supposed to be some poetical genius.  And surely I'm supposed to 'get' him.  I have to 'get' him.  If I don't, I've made a mistake in my field of study."  Frustrated, I grabbed my six year old daughter and said, "We're going to write a poem.  Go grab some random books - we're referencing them."  So we wrote a nonsense poem including nursery rhyme references as well as references from Hemingway, amongst others.  The next day, my teacher admitted that she found this poem to be 'exclusive'.  That the references were so many it would be hard for most to follow.  The above poem, I modeled after the first stanza in "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" which I enjoyed so much more than "The Waste Land."  

Submitting at dVerse

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


I could stare at you this way forever,
                        Your perfection and wonder how from me you came.
                                                 And why.
                                                         Why I was blessed in such a way, entrusted. And how,
                                                                                                                                    How, beauty born
in this cruel world could be.  Can I protect you?  And I wonder if.
If you'll be okay, if I'll be enough.

 And as
I wonder,
You sleep, at peace, so sound.
You know not yet of worries and questions and concerns.
                 New still, you know not much.
                             Later, I will teach you.
But for now, I'll watch
                           and wonder.


Thursday, October 6, 2011


through the trees,
casting shadows


of green
hanging there
tempting me to


an image
me shocked and

I, myself, am
to the house
where we will be


stone and grass,
leading you to


a table,
casts light on my


the full cupboards-

with blankets,
strewn all about.


stacked high
pull one down
have some coffee,


there, inside
my mirror.  Get out



A woman in love with rhyme
Seeks but never finds the time
To give to poetry her all
For always a child will call
A woman in love with rhyme.

This mother of a measure
Thought to versify a cure.
She found housework to be a waste
So she slaved away in haste,
This mother of a measure.

She stole away to create
Thieving hours was her fate,
For children, sweet, but desirous;
Yes, they put up quite a fuss.
Now, steal away to create.

She just sits down, up now quick.
Spared not for a limerick.
Pen back, now paper, aside.
Return later to confide.
She just sits down, up now quick.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Green Room

Hanging in the green room at 12 news.  First time here.  I'm excited but edgy.  My stomach's flipping all over the place.  What the heck am I doing here?  Yes, this is my dream.  My face seen, my voice heard.  So why do I feel like a fraud?  Obviously, they want to hear me, see me.  Clearly, someone believes in me. In my message.  I've been prepped.  They've attempted to calm me- but still.  Man, I'm anxious.  It's a good thing they had me come early because I need to breathe.  Would it be awkward if I did yoga right here?  Probably.  No, really, it's quite nice in here.  Hey, it's actually green.  The walls, the couch.  Green.  And a nice, sage sort of green.  A settling green.  And there are plants.  Plants of all shades of green.  Hmm, too much green.    Ok, down dives my head.  Between my legs.  I hope I don't need a paper bag.  Shoot.  They just called my goes.  Wish me luck.

Status Anxiety-Write On Wednesdays Exercise 6 - Status Anxiety: Log onto your Facebook/Twitter page and write down the first status update you see.  Set a timer for 5 minutes. Write the first words that come into your head after your prompt. Stop when the buzzer rings. Do this exercise over and over if you wish. If you don't do the social media thing (there's bound to be some who haven't succumbed!) email me and I'll send you a status update from one of my social media accounts. If you feel uncomfortable about using one of your friend's status updates, consider using the most recent update on Lamebook, the home of the funniest and lamest Facebook status updates. -  prompt from inkpaperpen where I'm submitting today.

Monday, October 3, 2011

My sighs, my heart cries-
fragments of psalms.
Hear me God, like You did David.
I need deliverance.
I need safety and peace.
I need silence and words,
tears and healing,
compassion and strength.
God, hear my heart speak
the words my mouth can't form.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

What's Hidden?/ Perfect Poem Award :)

"Poetry is concerned with using with abusing, with losing
with wanting, with denying with avoiding with adoring
with replacing the noun. It is doing that always
doing that, doing that and doing nothing but that.
Poetry is doing nothing but using losing refusing and
pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns. That is
what poetry does, that is what poetry has to do no
matter what kind of poetry it is. And there are a
great many kinds of poetry." -Gertrude Stein

Do you see the trees?  The forest, the scene?  
What's hidden within? 
Are you lost?

Whose lies do you believe?
Whose story do you cover?
Can you call it like it is?

Do we grow together?
Are we growing apart?
What's growing here?

I am the noun you replace
when you silence me. 
But it does not change who I am.

You and I are poetry.
You and I are stories.
Let me write my own. 

Yay! Thanks, Poetry Palace for the Perfect Poem Award.

I nominate emmett wheatfall for the next award.