"Life is the dancer and you are the dance."
Eckhart Tolle

Monday, February 28, 2011

Traveling from Earth monday poetry potluck #24-cartoons, sci-fi and super powers

Walls have moved
changed the scene
crumpled pillars lay to waste
race of mankind masks worn thin
clear lake without movement

Languages shifted
no ability to communicate
foreign place in the universe
reflections seen on glassy surfaces
show who we really are

Robins carry fire on their wings
in another world
frogs glow pink
fish can sing seven different tunes

Space travel is frightening
food precious … harvest’s plight

An atomic blast seen from faraway
computer records family life
on a distant planet
long since gone

process notes: 
I wrote this trying to remember some of the images 
from "The Martian Chronicles", 
which I read quite a few years ago.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Display of the Present One Shoot Sunday-Featured Artist JackAZ photography

On cerulean, a shade to fit parameters,
the click the clack of pounding keys,
in pale white place, self in front of ebony.
A history laid before us
of caffeine-laden blood that drives
me to the edge of sleepless nights
and hazy mornings.
Past has met present
liquid crystal display.
Obsolete machinery finds a home
in the dusty attic,
buried under boxes containing our lives. 
Memories … an impression
left in words behind. 

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Paths of Reason writer's island #9-improvise

Walk the pathway
of days spent with thoughts of
how squares cannot fit into ovals

Like worn-out shoes you wear
beating on the pavement 
showing miles
trekked – unaware

Truth behind the mirror hangs above your eyes
Feelings cannot survive

Rich and poor are united by pain
and strong layers of self-awareness
Sometimes we must improvise

"Pretending there is Remorse" poetry tow truck #9-beginnings and endings

So I woke with fire that consumed me and
shalt make no more excuses of my death.
Thou has disagreed and placed wickedness once
fed by the desires of the living now it’s dead.
On the altar of complacency there’s
death to all without any remorse, no
that is not existing, merely pretending more.
Feeds well the underlying problem if flowers are dying
on the table inlaid with marble, then
men will come to view the place where I dwell
beneath the light and effervescent skies.
William Shakespeare's 'Sonnet 146': 
"So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then"

Friday, February 25, 2011

'Cruinniú cairde' big tent poetry — holiday celebration, or an anti-celebration

Brigid of faughart and seven virgins of Croghan 
roaming the Hill of Tara performing miracles.
Dressed in green frocks with purple sleeves.

They begin to gather wood and kindling to
build a magnificent fire. 
Picking blackberries from the bushes,
smearing the juice on their cheeks,
creating symbolic forms before
shedding their clothes under the trees.
Forming a circle, the dance begins,
while reaching for colourful ribbons
in the wind, hanging from the highest branches.

They chant:
“We’ll shoot the stars and ask for answers.”
The festivities have begun …

St Patrick and Dubhthach are
arriving from Lienster in their carriage
with stately horses – two by two.

We will pass communion wine
sheathed in amber-colored skins while
paying homage to the elements …
as Brigid of faughart, St Patrick and Dubhuthach
chase the snakes away.

process notes:
Saint Brigit of Kildare, or Brigit of Ireland, nicknamed Mary of the Gael (Irish: Naomh Bríd)
(c. 451–525) is one of Ireland's patron saints along with Saints Patrick and Columba. Irish hagiography makes her an early Irish Christian nun, abbess, and founder of several monasteries. Her feast day is 1 February, celebrated as St Brigid’s Day or Imbolc in Gaelic Ireland. Dubhthach her father, an Irish chieftain, was baptized by St Patrick. 
The title means 'Circle of friends' in Irish Gaelic.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

The Shape of a Lemon poets united thursday think tank #37-lemons

A slender oval 
hangs from a distant
tree with leaves wrapping
round it continuously.
When darkness comes,
no light left
A slender oval
finds shelter,
retaining its
bitterness and form.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

"Safety" we write poems #42-safe place

Sudden realization lifts
its distorted form like
equestrian warriors
mounted on disease,
carrying crosses
emblazoned with
their names
Dangerous …
knowing it’s not safe to
venture far from myself

Feels …
similar to stings from a
thousand angry hornets,
fleeing from their nest

Speculative …
I try to stay in tune,
wanting to believe people
are innately good

Reasoning …
cruelty is for weak minds,
you’ve polarized me
with your phrases

Escape …
taking in the scene,
paying close attention
I see through the exterior;
results aren’t pleasant
I don’t venture far from myself
I am safe here

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Surfing on the water's edge One Shot Wednesday #34

Rising against the crash of
water that spreads like wings.
Over my eyelashes it covers me, 
spreading fingers of a sensation.

I gained momentum quickly, 
held tightly to the edge of fascination,
leaving time behind me … waiting.
Escaping through a wall of destiny
as it lifted my body on the rising surge,
I am hidden behind a bullet’s
race with time.

Transported on a crescendo.

Wrapping my toes around the edge,
I am taken to the other side,
force of water pushing me …
no splinters – only freedom.
Riding on the crest,
cool water moving across my
face … it refreshes me.
On curves of Atlantic tides
that collapse, bringing me in for my shoring.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Empty Lives monday poetry potluck #23-home, temple, sanctum

 Where do they go when no-one wants them
to dirty alleys in a box
or park benches in the rain?
Vacant stares, hopelessness.
A marquee sign reads
“Give love to those
who need it.
No more

process notes:
A nonet has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc... until line nine finishes with one syllable.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Lotte Lenya sings Alabama Song (vaimusic.com)

An Apple and An Orange sunday scribblings #255-food

An apple
fell from a limp branch
She bent to
pick it up
Juice ran over her plump lips
Reaching for heaven

An orange
shriveled on the tree
I tried to
rescue it
Holding it in my hand tight
it turned into dust

Saturday, February 19, 2011

And You Thought This Was Love Tuesday Tryouts-Love

Velvet stairways line the field.
My mind wants to scream.
Cutting small pieces
makes it easier to consume.

Paper and glue
stick together.
Depression and folds,
rounded edges behind a film.

Happy endings wrap around
fixed banyan trees sprouting
green and gold bananas.

Red streams of less misery,
anxiety or restless feelings
spill to the floor,
pick it up.
We are tied in knots.

 Process notes:
 1] LOVE. Think of someone/something you love. It can be a person, someone you know, or don’t – think movie star, or singer, world leader…remember that love has many definitions and they aren’t all the hearts and flowers kind. Think friendships, family, platonic…It can be about your favourite food, place, song, pet. Anything, but read the rules below.
Take six minutes. Freewrite about your love for it WITHOUT using terms of endearment, or the word love/like/adore/or any other abstract synonym. This is trickier than it sounds, but can result in a strong poem.
Stroke/Rewrite as poem.
Prompt by Margo Roby @ http://margoroby.wordpress.com/

A fly in the room writer's island #8-foretell

Out of the mist
It hits me on
summer nights
when the air is hot
and breathing is difficult
Walking has become
nearly impossible
Crawling on the walls

I watch you rubbing
disjointed limbs together
as if praying to yourself
Friction is created and
heat rises from your
outer shell

Moving from place to
place with no destination
in mind
When he laid down the
inverted card
why didn’t he mention
this would be your fate?

Friday, February 18, 2011

lubricious-men-frogs-and-loons big tent poetry #41- what's in a name

A flock of loons glide low
across the lake
I am mesmerized

Wishing to spread my wings
joining them on their journey
A loon lags behind
so I may touch its wings
to feel the sensation
of freedom
we may
Men and Aves

As he picks up incline
joining the others
in their path
leaving me behind with
silent frogs dancing
in the grass

Thursday, February 17, 2011

A Patient Lilium poets united thursday think tank #36-lilies of the field

A single lily stands
alone in the field
Her fragrance is not sensed
No-one comes near 
The sun cannot encourage
It is hidden
in a dark sky 
Rain drenches her petals

Lilium waits in the field
Butterflies and bees
don’t visit her anymore
Apocalyptic rains
have chased them all away
She hopes for better days
and closes her eyes to sleep

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

A Gift of Wisdom and Comfort we write poems #41-happy valentines

A gift to myself would
be wisdom that flows
beyond reality’s harshness.
From a wrong angle into right, 
ellipses forming a heart-shaped castle,
encircling jewel’s eternity.

Placing fingertips on an open
flame of a melting candle.
Never feeling heat.
Smoothness takes away
uncertainty’s path.

A gift to my soul would
be comfort that rests lightly,
appearing in fantasy’s gentleness.
From a right angle into wrong,
triangles forming an inverted paradigm,
encapsulating silver walls of infinity.

Running  my hands in flowing,
crystal clear deep descent of water,
never feeling coldness.
Cleanliness removes
traces of pain.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

A Door Through the Highway one shot wednesday #33

Untangle crowded doorways
leading to changeable shades 
weeping willow trees
with spiders
weaving intricate webs
as Gabriel blows his horn
in the summertime
from a mountain
in the distance

Cross the highway
not yielding to the
double yellow line
passing fervently into
mist that leads me into
a fluorescent green pasture
as Francisco spreads his arms
in winter
on the river’s bank
water overflowing

I will step into the day
placing the night behind me
never looking back

Monday, February 14, 2011

Tides of Tranquilty monday poetry potluck #22-love, bonds, relationships

Floating leaves
drifting on waves
sparkling tides move
bound by elements
laced together
Braided silhouettes … frozen

In evershifting harmonies

Waves washing away
rough outlines of weary
hearts focusing on
brilliant stars shining
in pinpoints of calmness
Captivating shapes … suspended

Bonds that unite   
a realm of one

Sunday, February 13, 2011


I love this song.

When it ends ... sunday scribblings #254-A Thousand Years

I’ll miss the smiles and laughter
on a casual afternoon
You’ll miss them too

I’ll miss the earth’s core
burning molten rock
You’ll miss it too

I’ll miss flowers bending
in sunlight
You’ll miss them too

I’ll miss owls screeching
while pouncing on prey
You’ll miss them too

I’ll miss children running
in the pouring rain
You’ll miss them too

Time will pass
through a
sliver of light …

John Michael poetry tow truck #7-all you need is love / poets united the poetry pantry #29

Backgrounds exist on
every picture painted,
setting my imagination
in proper direction.
Promises kept.
Words we hold
in between. 
A crossing
in the galaxy.
A comfortable chair,
a glove that fits perfectly,
a breeze on a stifling day,
a warm spot to rest
when I think of you.

process notes:
I wrote this poem for my husband.
This is not my usual style but
tomorrow is Valentine's day.
So here is his present.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Rocks, Candy and Bouquets #7 writer's island-epiphany

It took me a while. A Sunday afternoon in a park.
I looked everywhere, even inside a tree.
It took me some time. A Saturday morning walking the beach.
I looked everywhere, even under shells and seaweed.
Crowded city streets are best for observing.
I looked everywhere, even past the obvious.

Flowers, candy, gems
Vibrant roses, daffodils
Chocolate hearts, diamonds

Flowers will die leaving only wilted stems and petals.
Candy gets eaten, empty wrappers discarded.
Jewels tarnish with time, stones get dull.
My thinking is skewed. Seeing things from a
certain angle. Normalcy is out of reach.
One day you said “Pick up a pen.”

Found freedom in words
Painting a scene on paper
Bringing it to life

Friday, February 11, 2011

A Blanket of Hope Big Tent Poetry #40-a cure for what ails you

A young girl put out the flames
on a horse’s mane as he ran
aimlessly through a forest.
You held a baby within your heart for
nourishment of his soul
so no more hunger would exist.
We watched an eagle fly,
crows sitting in the trees,
geese swimming on a lake.
A young boy demolished bombs
that were waiting to be released,
to send a blanket of poison over an already barren land.
While he held on to the possibilities of
peace, hoping he could make a difference.
A child swam in the ocean, watched dolphins
play, observed pelicans feeding,
 dipping on the water’s surface.
Tranquility has finally found a place to rest.

Process notes:
I don’t worry about money, there
will always be a need for more,
I don’t worry about work, I’m satisfied
with my job. Love is and has always
been a pain in the neck, but I love my
husband and I believe he loves me.
Or I’m quite sure he wouldn’t put up
with some of my BS.
What bothers me and what I wish I
could change is the way things are
headed. Humanity has taken a
turn for the worse.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Everywhere I Turn poets united thursday think tank #35-shadows

Following me on sidewalks,
looming in front of me
from behind a big glaring sun
I can almost touch it, feel it,
surrounding as if to capture me …

Following me in poorly lit
alleyways, it shows
elongated shapes, flowing
ready to control me …

On brick walls, segmented,
shifting, I will follow it
around city streets,
try to touch it, feel it, capture it …

As the night falls over me like a
sheet of clay, I can no longer see

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Send the Angels to the Earth we write poems #40-triptych

Heaven i.
Cherub-faced angels blow bugles
sitting on billowy clouds,
trying to trim their sapphire wings.          
Prayers are said for galaxies,
a fanfare for goddesses
that soar for the sun …
looking to sprinkle ashes down below,
hoping to touch us lightly on the shoulders
to make believers out of the cynical masses.
The gods knowing it’s an impossible task
to complete …

Earth ii.
While sycamore trees line a swelled terrain along
rivers, worms crawl in and out of holes,
as watchful sparrows guard them
ready to dine. Fireflies land on new
blossoms in a quiet evening
lighting up mountainsides,
where insects nestle deep within,
burrowing and moving the earth.
New buds form at the beginning
of Spring, as flowers wilt with
Winter’s approach, forever going
in cycle – birth and death.      

Man iii.
Where feelings of love have been
replaced by anger, prejudice
and distrust, like concrete walls covered
with barbwire that pierce our thoughts and minds.
While excavating for innocent souls
to turn them inward and selfish, 
violence is outlined …
We are no longer nurturing toward each other.
What happened to Saturday afternoons
sipping tea on the front porch while
watching children play? Or trying to
respect one another in spite of our

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A Sonnet for Lovers One Shot Wednesday #32

Fortified love is a well-formed palace
lined with soft cushions of silk taffeta
without ingredients of fierce malice 
Passionate strength in love’s arboreta

Listening to songs of the Acheta
as we both drink red wine from a chalice
Fortified love is my well-formed palace
We’ve lined the interior with blue tapeta

With the pictures of beautiful gallus,
perched lazy in nature’s arboreta,
trace a background image of Pietà
Affection gives life to newfound auspice
Fortified love is a well-formed palace

Process notes:
Please keep in mind I hardly
ever write sonnets. I have, however,
promised myself for 2011 
to at least give them a try.
Tapeta: wallpaper
Gallus: common domestic birds
Acheta: common house and field crickets
Pietà: a picture or sculpture of the Virgin Mary
holding the dead body of Christ on her lap or in her arms.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Life's Journey monday poetry potluck-#21-aims, goals,ambitions

Completely missing the target
an arrow in my hand, gripping it tightly,
it fell at my feet from my sweaty palms,
blisters already forming.
Walking along a highway in
the night with no coat
to keep me warm,
I see a solitary armadillo
looking for its meal.
I won’t stop to chat about the weather.
Instead I’ll ask how it feels
to have year-round shelter from the cold.
Knowing I may not get an answer,
I’ll continue on that road,
hoping I won’t stumble … 

Sunday, February 6, 2011

An Ode to Pain poets united the poetry pantry #28

I’ve grown weary of …
stones grinding away
the rough edge of a wheel,
smoothing out the cadent
molten material that’s outdated …
Nothing’s left to remove

I’ve become tired of …
living up to others’ expectations
of how it’s supposed to be,
like a burr that sticks you
continuously until blood runs
into a pool and hardens …
No more substance remaining

I’m bored with …
the ones who think they’re
flawless, knowing they always
have something concealed,
not unlike dark shadows
of an eclipsed sun …
Nowhere left to hide

As the leaf said to the flower
“You’ve made me look so pretty”
As the flower said to the bee
“Quit sucking me dry”

A Mystery on the Coastal Waterway poetry tow truck #6-lean on me/sunday scribblings #253-story

From a dune the Martians laid claim to,
the chronicles were written on the quiet call.
As they buried their feet in pyramids,
formulating mathematical configurations.

Meanwhile … down a tunnel,
the dark-haired girl who drank
from five silver chalices
had chosen to live in a slaughterhouse …
observing the madness of the gods.

She contacted an uprising for the western
American front to put a coup d'état in position,
where there once existed buildings
with barriers to protect from the hornets’ nest.
Maybe she could find out
who kicked it after all. 

process notes:
(a very drafty poem that needs some work)
I used these following titles to write this poem:
The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest: Stieg larrson
Slaughterhouse-Five: Kurt Vonnegut
The Martian Chronicles: Ray Bradbury
All Quiet on the Western Front: Erich Maria Remargue
Dune: Frank Herbert
American Gods: Neil Gaiman

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Changing a Life writer's island #6-beguile

She watched the clock’s hands
gripping an hour of crystal,
waiting on the return of intimacy’s shadow
that foretells love lost
in the open spaces of the heart.

Remaining faithful to her lover,
whose dark frame will encase the doorway.
She felt the gripping turmoil
encircle the walls lined with
years of loneliness.

His beautiful smile, with flagrant gestures
of a less than nurturing spirit.
She will sit and wait …
no matter how long it takes,
as a clock’s motion is moving backward.

Friday, February 4, 2011

"Dreams and Realty" big tent poetry #39-wordle

Within the darkening night,
I must be alert and function,
as I hear the bedroom’s door handle rotate …
In a remote state forever resistant to floating
shadows on the wall, from an angle I can’t see.
Not sure if my eyes are playing tricks ... 
the cabinet is moving a blade’s inch across the room …

A call from you downstairs “It’s six o’clock” to the sound
of grinding coffee.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Your Inheritance poets united thursday think tank-#34-I do bequeath

Taking sand from my eyes
seeing clearly
to give you my discernment
Removing grime from my mind
thinking distinctly
to show you principles that aren’t
the same as yours
Withdrawing a sword from my spine
feeling less anguish
to experience no ire toward you
as if
Unsaying words that offended
will help me rest peacefully
I’ll do this before I die

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

"Set Sail" we write poems #39-bucket list

I have floated along an edge in life
living, learning and observing
But before I die …

I want to sail through the Strait of Gibraltar
Feel smoothness of teak on a galley floor,
chrome railings, ropes coiled in piles on a deck
Raise sails, a spinnaker pushing 
on a blue draw of sleeves,
rising up, crashing on the hull
Hold the helm of direction, set the course
Swim, reaching, wide strokes,
creating glistening, musky droplets
falling all around  
Find the sun as it descends  
Listen to guitars in the night
Spain or Moroccan shores

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

"Sylvia Frances" one stop wednesday #31

(a dedication to my mom)

I stood in front of you looking into your eyes,
examining every breath that settled on me,
soft, like a floating leaf. 
Watching your body’s movements
like a butterfly released from a cocoon.
Your blood that flowed in a circulating current
like a river inside of a sea.

As I laid down next to you to watch you sleep,
golden hair with soft curls, like circles of silk
with no beginning or end. 

Your eyes forever with me,
never completely shut as you slept,
rapid flickers moving about
like blue lights illuminating darkness.

Being with you was a docile
flight … carrying me to the green
countryside of your homeland.
Folklore and songs from a childhood
of happiness that existed inside you,
shared without hesitation …

Sometimes, I sit alone at nights
wishing I could kiss your cheek
or touch your hand once more …