Please connect with me at: www.jolightfoot.com.
Thanks.
* * *
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Farewell
Because of recent difficulties logging in to this blog, I have decided to discontinue it.
Thanks.
* * *
Thanks.
* * *
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Update
* * *
This is just a quick hello.
I'm still alive and still writing . . . and I'm reviewing how and where to share that.
* * *
This is just a quick hello.
I'm still alive and still writing . . . and I'm reviewing how and where to share that.
* * *
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thinking About It...
* * *
Some fellow poets
recently encouraged me to enter
poetry contests, which I did.
Some contests will not accept
previously published poems,
but the definition of "published"
varies widely.
Some say it means merely
having appeared on a blog!
Until I learn the repercussions,
I am suspending blog entries.
Opinions?
* * *
Some fellow poets
recently encouraged me to enter
poetry contests, which I did.
Some contests will not accept
previously published poems,
but the definition of "published"
varies widely.
Some say it means merely
having appeared on a blog!
Until I learn the repercussions,
I am suspending blog entries.
Opinions?
* * *
Monday, May 9, 2011
What Changes, What Doesn't
* * *
110430
CHANGE OF
RESIDENT
default,
foreclosure
and eviction
portend
soon
I will leave
this home
in the interim,
it must be honored
and lovingly tended
the architect
deserves as much
he is,
even now,
preparing me to dwell
in another of his
many mansions
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: after leaving here.]
110429
ODE TO SPIRIT
inner light
guiding,
bright
words
will hardly do
I must live
my ode to you
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: ode.]
110428
WITHOUT DUE CONSIDERATION
For years we took—let's be blunt—
while other beings took the brunt.
Life used to be a treasure hunt
and we were always out in front.
We had privilege. We had clout.
Now there's come a turnabout.
Today we groan and whine and pout
because we have to do without;
we're bewildered and unsure;
we think we’re sick and seek a cure.
But mostly we are immature
and mushroom growth is our manure.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: the world without something (besides myself).]
110427
IN THE COMPANY OF POETS
In the eye of the artist,
in the eye of the wise,
it takes the merest moment
to spy and recognize—
paradise,
and all it implies.
In the eyes of the poets
(with whom I ally),
it’s done
in the wink,
in the blink,
in the twinkling of an eye.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: in the _____ of _____.]
110426
YOU FOLLOW?
Every time I drive through Oklahoma
on I-40 and go past Lake Eufala,
I think of Robert Shaw as crime boss
playing against Robert Redford as con man
in the movie, The Sting. “Ya follah?”
I also think of non-confident story tellers
repeatedly checking in with their audiences,
“You follah?”
Say, for instance, I’m not sure if you’re
acquainted with Oklahoma town names.
Instead of the classic four-town version
of names-as-sentence, I might go for five:
“Sallisaw Henryetta Waggoner Bowlegs,
Eufala?”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: leader or follower.]
110425
A HOME REPAIR NO-BRAINER (for Mike)
It only takes a second or two
to fall from a ladder,
which allows for a surprising
amount of thinking.
My brother said his thoughts,
as he plunged toward
a rock sidewalk and curb,
included which part
of his body to sacrifice.
He saved his head.
OSHA can tell you
how often this is NOT the case
(at least in business) and how important
ladder safety training is.
Plus, using your head.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: falling.]
110424
NEEDLESS
SUFFERING
…as opposed
to needful?
SPIRITUAL PRACTICE
May each person find their joy—
and find that joy to be their practice.
May each person find their practice—
and find that practice to be their service.
May each person find their service—
and find that service to be their therapy.
May each therapist
inspire others to be well and wise.
And may each poet
find their therapy to be
the joyful practice of their poetry.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: prayer.]
110423
QUITE QUIT
I was primed to go
and would have gone
(without a goad)
until I dropped.
But it's end of rhyme
and road and line;
when prompted to,
I promptly stopped.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: quit doing something.]
110422
ONE OF THOSE DAYS
As he prepares to unload his cart,
the next shopper in line notices
that it is mostly empty;
two dozen cans of catfood
and a bag of peanuts
don’t take up much space.
“You go there,” she says,
pointing to an express lane
several aisles over.
“I’m easy,” he thinks,
“I have time.”
To the express lane checker he remarks,
“Ever have one of those days?”
“Nope.”
SISTERS
It could have been a dress
or a job or a man.
Neither recalls who noticed it first,
gleaming in the grass—a ring.
Both wanted it,
but both wanted to share.
For awhile, they took turns wearing it.
When life (and a suitor) proposed
that they split apart to separate towns,
they visited the local jeweler
and told their story.
“Can you make a duplicate?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling.
“I can get a similar blue stone
and wax-cast the band and setting.
You could not tell the new ring
from the old.“
“But, no, I will not do that.
This ring was hand-made
by an exceptional craftsman.
This ring was found and shared by you.
This ring is a testament to your
sisterhood and friendship.
None of that can be duplicated.”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: only one in the world.]
* * *
110430
CHANGE OF
RESIDENT
default,
foreclosure
and eviction
portend
soon
I will leave
this home
in the interim,
it must be honored
and lovingly tended
the architect
deserves as much
he is,
even now,
preparing me to dwell
in another of his
many mansions
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: after leaving here.]
110429
ODE TO SPIRIT
inner light
guiding,
bright
words
will hardly do
I must live
my ode to you
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: ode.]
110428
WITHOUT DUE CONSIDERATION
For years we took—let's be blunt—
while other beings took the brunt.
Life used to be a treasure hunt
and we were always out in front.
We had privilege. We had clout.
Now there's come a turnabout.
Today we groan and whine and pout
because we have to do without;
we're bewildered and unsure;
we think we’re sick and seek a cure.
But mostly we are immature
and mushroom growth is our manure.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: the world without something (besides myself).]
110427
IN THE COMPANY OF POETS
In the eye of the artist,
in the eye of the wise,
it takes the merest moment
to spy and recognize—
paradise,
and all it implies.
In the eyes of the poets
(with whom I ally),
it’s done
in the wink,
in the blink,
in the twinkling of an eye.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: in the _____ of _____.]
110426
YOU FOLLOW?
Every time I drive through Oklahoma
on I-40 and go past Lake Eufala,
I think of Robert Shaw as crime boss
playing against Robert Redford as con man
in the movie, The Sting. “Ya follah?”
I also think of non-confident story tellers
repeatedly checking in with their audiences,
“You follah?”
Say, for instance, I’m not sure if you’re
acquainted with Oklahoma town names.
Instead of the classic four-town version
of names-as-sentence, I might go for five:
“Sallisaw Henryetta Waggoner Bowlegs,
Eufala?”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: leader or follower.]
110425
A HOME REPAIR NO-BRAINER (for Mike)
It only takes a second or two
to fall from a ladder,
which allows for a surprising
amount of thinking.
My brother said his thoughts,
as he plunged toward
a rock sidewalk and curb,
included which part
of his body to sacrifice.
He saved his head.
OSHA can tell you
how often this is NOT the case
(at least in business) and how important
ladder safety training is.
Plus, using your head.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: falling.]
110424
NEEDLESS
SUFFERING
…as opposed
to needful?
SPIRITUAL PRACTICE
May each person find their joy—
and find that joy to be their practice.
May each person find their practice—
and find that practice to be their service.
May each person find their service—
and find that service to be their therapy.
May each therapist
inspire others to be well and wise.
And may each poet
find their therapy to be
the joyful practice of their poetry.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: prayer.]
110423
QUITE QUIT
I was primed to go
and would have gone
(without a goad)
until I dropped.
But it's end of rhyme
and road and line;
when prompted to,
I promptly stopped.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: quit doing something.]
110422
ONE OF THOSE DAYS
As he prepares to unload his cart,
the next shopper in line notices
that it is mostly empty;
two dozen cans of catfood
and a bag of peanuts
don’t take up much space.
“You go there,” she says,
pointing to an express lane
several aisles over.
“I’m easy,” he thinks,
“I have time.”
To the express lane checker he remarks,
“Ever have one of those days?”
“Nope.”
SISTERS
It could have been a dress
or a job or a man.
Neither recalls who noticed it first,
gleaming in the grass—a ring.
Both wanted it,
but both wanted to share.
For awhile, they took turns wearing it.
When life (and a suitor) proposed
that they split apart to separate towns,
they visited the local jeweler
and told their story.
“Can you make a duplicate?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling.
“I can get a similar blue stone
and wax-cast the band and setting.
You could not tell the new ring
from the old.“
“But, no, I will not do that.
This ring was hand-made
by an exceptional craftsman.
This ring was found and shared by you.
This ring is a testament to your
sisterhood and friendship.
None of that can be duplicated.”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: only one in the world.]
* * *
Love, Like, Life
* * *
110421
DOUBLE-TAKE
“Odd,” he said.
He was the passenger in my car,
so I wanted to know.
“Well, when I was younger,
I used to think of Death
as some entity I would occasionally
glance at in my rear-view mirror
as I zoomed down life’s highway,
so to speak.”
Okay, a little odd.
“Anyway, today it hit me:
‘Objects in mirror may be
closer than they appear.’”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: second thoughts.]
110420
MESSAGE
IN A BOTTLE
Hello
to a fellow
castaway,
from myself
on this beach.
Today
(who knows why?)
this bottle
dropped
from a hazy
sky.
What can I say?
The gods
must be crazy.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: message in a bottle.]
110419
LOVE IS KIND
I called to love.
It didn't come.
I haven't known it yet.
Not yet.
Love
doesn't mind.
So if you come to me
for love,
here is what you'll get—
my efforts to be kind.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: love or anti-love poem.]
THIS IS LOVE?
Why can’t a spouse
be considerate?
Or at least consider it?
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: love or anti-love poem.]
110418
LIKE: A HOW-TO
like like new
under sun—
like like life
just begun—
like like coo
of turtledove—
like like you—
like like love
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: like _____.]
110417
'TIS! 'TISN'T!
nothing
is bigger
than
everything
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: big picture.]
110416
SHOCKING DEVELOPMENTS
Cameras may take snapshots,
but snapshots don’t take cameras.
Case in point:
this abruptly encountered
rural Oklahoma scene—
stoppedvehicles,blueflashinglights,
policecruiser,brokenfence,wanderingbulls,
highbluff,enormouswhitewindturbines.
The shock of any shock
is its snap back to ordinary—
in this case, Oklahoma redefined.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: snapshot.]
TWO-LANE TRIP
I didn't take a camera
to Oklahoma,
but I got a snapshot:
police car lights, broken fence,
escaped bulls, bluff just beyond
crowned by a row of white wind turbines
Not the Oklahoma I remembered.
[ASIDE: Our trip lasted from 5:30am to 11:30pm. Thankfully,
I got the poem prompt at an OKC Starbucks. The poem has already
morphed but this is the pre-midnight version.]
110415
UN PROFIL “CLASSIQUE”
Nom: Hercule-Savinien
Pseudo: Dartagnan
Date de Naissance: Mars 6
Résidence: Près de l'Hôtel de Bourgogne, Paris
Education: Collège de Beauvais
Profession:
Musicien; écrivain; scientifique; mathematician;
cavalier; et l'auteur de la littérature, la "science-
fiction," et la poésie
Favoris:
- Restaurant: Rageuneau Patisserie
- Alimentation: Raisins, macarons
- Pièces de Théâtre: La Clorise, Roméo et Juliette
- Musique: Les ballads
Je Déteste:
Les mensonges, les préjugés, la lâcheté, la bêtise,
et de compromise
J’Aime:
L'intégrité, l'esprit, l'impétuosité, le courage,
et la gloire (et, bien sûr, Roxane)
Signe Particulier:
Mon nez, ce qui est "Magnifique!"
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: a profile.]
110414
TAKE YOUR MEDICINE
Medical therapies invite controversy—
What works? What doesn’t? Who decides?
Pharmaceutical ads have taken a new tack.
It’s no longer “Take this for your malady,”
but “Take this so your malady will not
disturb others.” On the horizon is
“Have family members take this medicine
so they will not be a disturbance either.”
…Regardless of the rationale,
“Take this medicine.”
This week, a case was battled out in court,
in the press, and in opinion polls.
A financially strapped mom was found guilty
of attempted murder for withholding
chemotherapy drugs from her autistic son
who died at the age of nine of leukemia.
The therapy was too painful, she testified.
All in all, it’s a great case for speculation.
It’s enlightening to discover
how established medicine defines
successful cancer treatment:
a very short-term extension
of a sufferer’s projected demise;
Suzanne Somers mentions this in
“Knockout,” the book about her own
cancer-related tangle with chemotherapists.
It may be a case where she got it all wrong.
Medical therapies invite controversy—
What works? What doesn’t? Who decides?
SHANTYMAN
Oh, my will is weak,
but my swill is strong
and I do love
a silly-sung song.
RUNNING, OUT OF TIME
“What a fiasco!
How will I ever redeem myself
with the committee?
I must have missed something
the client said; I’ll have to
look through my notes tomorrow.
But when? When? Let’s see…
right after the staff meeting
should work, provided—
Huh? Did you say something?”
“Yes, you look a little lost.
When are you?”
WORK? NOT MY BUSINESS
"A Day's Work,"
I named my business,
but didn't work
a single one.
"Grand Poobah"
was my title.
Mission Statement:
"Just Have Fun."
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: none of my business.]
110413
FRIENDSHIP AND CHALLENGE
First, his father died.
When his mother was taken to
a permanent nursing facility,
that left him home alone.
He went through money then
(all of it) and friends.
We did what we could.
He was just enough mentally
un-challenged to hold down
a short series of janitorial jobs.
Then he fell into the safety net
of the homeless.
For him, it worked.
Once, during his home-alone days,
I went with him to visit a sick friend;
he drove.
He drove serenely through the worst parts
of town, oblivious (unlike nervous me)
to littered sidewalks, broken-out windows,
graffiti, and tough-looking residents.
I examined his face, watched his eyes,
noted his easy talking, and realized—
he was as thoroughly in his own world
as I was in mine; further, nothing
prevented me from ease like his
except my own interpretations.
Today,
as doomsday reports come in
and safety nets erode,
I deliberately adopt my friend’s ease
to reinterpret the world.
I say, this earth is my home—
and I am not home alone.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: remembering an old relationship.]
110412
BUSTED
“Withdraw? Oh, yeah? Well, draw a blank!”
My drive-by teller’s such a crank
(the muse who minds my data bank).
“You never thank! You never thank!”
“You don’t deposit the amount
to prime the pump that fills my fount.
You give me grief I can’t surmount.
You no-account! You no-account!”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: a form or anti-form poem (this is monotetra).]
* * *
110421
DOUBLE-TAKE
“Odd,” he said.
He was the passenger in my car,
so I wanted to know.
“Well, when I was younger,
I used to think of Death
as some entity I would occasionally
glance at in my rear-view mirror
as I zoomed down life’s highway,
so to speak.”
Okay, a little odd.
“Anyway, today it hit me:
‘Objects in mirror may be
closer than they appear.’”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: second thoughts.]
110420
MESSAGE
IN A BOTTLE
Hello
to a fellow
castaway,
from myself
on this beach.
Today
(who knows why?)
this bottle
dropped
from a hazy
sky.
What can I say?
The gods
must be crazy.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: message in a bottle.]
110419
LOVE IS KIND
I called to love.
It didn't come.
I haven't known it yet.
Not yet.
Love
doesn't mind.
So if you come to me
for love,
here is what you'll get—
my efforts to be kind.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: love or anti-love poem.]
THIS IS LOVE?
Why can’t a spouse
be considerate?
Or at least consider it?
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: love or anti-love poem.]
110418
LIKE: A HOW-TO
like like new
under sun—
like like life
just begun—
like like coo
of turtledove—
like like you—
like like love
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: like _____.]
110417
'TIS! 'TISN'T!
nothing
is bigger
than
everything
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: big picture.]
110416
SHOCKING DEVELOPMENTS
Cameras may take snapshots,
but snapshots don’t take cameras.
Case in point:
this abruptly encountered
rural Oklahoma scene—
stoppedvehicles,blueflashinglights,
policecruiser,brokenfence,wanderingbulls,
highbluff,enormouswhitewindturbines.
The shock of any shock
is its snap back to ordinary—
in this case, Oklahoma redefined.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: snapshot.]
TWO-LANE TRIP
I didn't take a camera
to Oklahoma,
but I got a snapshot:
police car lights, broken fence,
escaped bulls, bluff just beyond
crowned by a row of white wind turbines
Not the Oklahoma I remembered.
[ASIDE: Our trip lasted from 5:30am to 11:30pm. Thankfully,
I got the poem prompt at an OKC Starbucks. The poem has already
morphed but this is the pre-midnight version.]
110415
UN PROFIL “CLASSIQUE”
Nom: Hercule-Savinien
Pseudo: Dartagnan
Date de Naissance: Mars 6
Résidence: Près de l'Hôtel de Bourgogne, Paris
Education: Collège de Beauvais
Profession:
Musicien; écrivain; scientifique; mathematician;
cavalier; et l'auteur de la littérature, la "science-
fiction," et la poésie
Favoris:
- Restaurant: Rageuneau Patisserie
- Alimentation: Raisins, macarons
- Pièces de Théâtre: La Clorise, Roméo et Juliette
- Musique: Les ballads
Je Déteste:
Les mensonges, les préjugés, la lâcheté, la bêtise,
et de compromise
J’Aime:
L'intégrité, l'esprit, l'impétuosité, le courage,
et la gloire (et, bien sûr, Roxane)
Signe Particulier:
Mon nez, ce qui est "Magnifique!"
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: a profile.]
110414
TAKE YOUR MEDICINE
Medical therapies invite controversy—
What works? What doesn’t? Who decides?
Pharmaceutical ads have taken a new tack.
It’s no longer “Take this for your malady,”
but “Take this so your malady will not
disturb others.” On the horizon is
“Have family members take this medicine
so they will not be a disturbance either.”
…Regardless of the rationale,
“Take this medicine.”
This week, a case was battled out in court,
in the press, and in opinion polls.
A financially strapped mom was found guilty
of attempted murder for withholding
chemotherapy drugs from her autistic son
who died at the age of nine of leukemia.
The therapy was too painful, she testified.
All in all, it’s a great case for speculation.
It’s enlightening to discover
how established medicine defines
successful cancer treatment:
a very short-term extension
of a sufferer’s projected demise;
Suzanne Somers mentions this in
“Knockout,” the book about her own
cancer-related tangle with chemotherapists.
It may be a case where she got it all wrong.
Medical therapies invite controversy—
What works? What doesn’t? Who decides?
SHANTYMAN
Oh, my will is weak,
but my swill is strong
and I do love
a silly-sung song.
RUNNING, OUT OF TIME
“What a fiasco!
How will I ever redeem myself
with the committee?
I must have missed something
the client said; I’ll have to
look through my notes tomorrow.
But when? When? Let’s see…
right after the staff meeting
should work, provided—
Huh? Did you say something?”
“Yes, you look a little lost.
When are you?”
WORK? NOT MY BUSINESS
"A Day's Work,"
I named my business,
but didn't work
a single one.
"Grand Poobah"
was my title.
Mission Statement:
"Just Have Fun."
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: none of my business.]
110413
FRIENDSHIP AND CHALLENGE
First, his father died.
When his mother was taken to
a permanent nursing facility,
that left him home alone.
He went through money then
(all of it) and friends.
We did what we could.
He was just enough mentally
un-challenged to hold down
a short series of janitorial jobs.
Then he fell into the safety net
of the homeless.
For him, it worked.
Once, during his home-alone days,
I went with him to visit a sick friend;
he drove.
He drove serenely through the worst parts
of town, oblivious (unlike nervous me)
to littered sidewalks, broken-out windows,
graffiti, and tough-looking residents.
I examined his face, watched his eyes,
noted his easy talking, and realized—
he was as thoroughly in his own world
as I was in mine; further, nothing
prevented me from ease like his
except my own interpretations.
Today,
as doomsday reports come in
and safety nets erode,
I deliberately adopt my friend’s ease
to reinterpret the world.
I say, this earth is my home—
and I am not home alone.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: remembering an old relationship.]
110412
BUSTED
“Withdraw? Oh, yeah? Well, draw a blank!”
My drive-by teller’s such a crank
(the muse who minds my data bank).
“You never thank! You never thank!”
“You don’t deposit the amount
to prime the pump that fills my fount.
You give me grief I can’t surmount.
You no-account! You no-account!”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: a form or anti-form poem (this is monotetra).]
* * *
Monday, April 11, 2011
Challenging Times
* * *
110411
EASTER
CELEBRANTS
Dogwoods
crowd the banks
of wilderness ravines,
offering
white hosannas
to alleluias
of green.
[ASIDE: Still dithering over offering/proffering
and alleluias/hallelujahs.]
MAYBE, MAYBE NOT
Strictly, there are no gulleys on our hilltop,
but my flowerpots and water-fountain barrels
indicated a 3- or 4-inch gulleywasher overnight.
A beautiful morning ensued,
and errands beckoned.
At the library park, ducks and geese
ventured from the pond to explore puddles
and other new water features.
After heavy rains,
I like to escort stranded worms across sidewalks;
it’s a habit I developed long ago.
Sure enough, as I walked the grounds,
I discovered worms in distress.
Later I encountered a large caterpillar—
luna moth size—but apparently expired.
Further on, there was a fresher-looking one,
so I bent to inspect.
As my hand reached toward it,
my mind countermanded,
“Maybe this has something to do with
those wandering geese.”
STUFF AND NONSENSE
Our minds store up
the stuff we need
until the time we need it;
and what a waste
that seems to be—
so seldom do we heed it.
HELP!
Once
this was heady.
But—
enough already!
110410
TRENDING TOPICS
The negatives I focus on
multiply like evil spawn.
When I abhor, I get more.
What I oppose, grows.
Why in heaven’s name
this should be so,
heaven only knows.
Hell responds to “never”
like coyotes to a hen,
so “never” is the surest way
to bring it back again.
But saying “Never again!”
to “Never again!”
is a self-defeating chore—
according to the way of things,
that just escalates it more.
Positive is the only cure
for this negative spiral trend—
claiming what I truly want,
now and ever… “Ever again!”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Never again! ]
OH NO?
"Never again
will I display my wares
(these makings of my heart)
to shuns and stares
and slight-of-words
disparaging my art."
My art is in its infancy,
born of separate knowing;
the irritations I avoid,
it grasps to speed our growing.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Never again! ]
WHO RULES? WHO KNOWS?
here’s a recently clean
sheet of paper
with twenty-three ruled lines
(who is their ruler?)
I’m writing on the seventh line now,
having left room at the top
for a title
now I’m halfway down the page—
and what have I said
of significance?
this slow descent
is like the passage of my life
and just as overcast
by that pesky question:
what have I said—or done—
of significance?
(wouldn’t I be
the last to know?)
110409
SLIPPING
My errors
repeat in patterns—
transitions,
repetitions,
slips of mind or pen—
that I notice and forget…
till I notice them again.
MIDNIGHT
DEADLINE
At the proverbial,
if not literal,
eleventh hour—
rescue arrived:
my muse's
higher power.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Time.]
EARLY SUBMISSION
TO A LATE DEADLINE
Kinda loses the fun
when your poem’s
done done.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Time.]
PROGRESS
Taxes submitted: check.
Scrapbook project handed off: check.
Club presidency resigned: check.
Unemployment benefits terminated: check.
Poem written: check.
I’m free!
ENDEAVOR
I keep seeking
“wherever”
to find my kin,
to match the
“whatever”
I find within.
BON TEMPS
There’s plenty
of what I want
in the world
an’ I’m gonna have me some.
In fact, I see,
I have it now—
all capped off with fun.
110408
MUSIC TO OUR FEARS (for Faye Jean)
She's a drama-queen comedian—
the best of these there's ever been;
a melodrama melodian!
She can turn a groan into applause
and brighten gray to yellow.
She's part magician too, because
she makes melo mellow.
110408
GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS
Newly divorced and newly-fallen financially,
I moved to a shabbier part of the city.
Someone had preceded me.
“Didn’t you used to be the florist at the
west-side branch of this supermarket?”
“Yes.” She had been transferred down.
“Oh,” I breathed,
wondering at her own fallen state.
“How is it here? I don’t suppose
many people buy flowers.”
She laughed. “I had that same expectation
at first. Life is hard in this neighborhood,
so everybody looks out for everybody else;
they have to. But the less they have,
the more they appreciate what’s left.”
“They appreciate beauty,” she said,
nodding toward the floral displays.
“They will scrimp somewhere else
to buy each other flowers.
Here, each day is a celebration.”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Celebration.]
110407
WHAT “IF”?
One tiny nudge
can edit history;
every poet
knows this mystery.
Here’s a thought—
What if Kipling
had (or had not!)
been tippling?
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: What if?]
110406
DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF
You mighta heard the talk around town
about how you managed to overcome
your circumstances an’ become
a leading citizen hereabouts…
pillar of the community an’ all that.
You mighta heard people say
you’re a friend to man an’ beast,
a credit to your sex, an’ generally
outstandin’ in every way.
Well, I know you better’n them folks.
I seen you at your best an’ worst.
I know the truth an’ I aim tell it.
So don’t flatter yourself, friend… let me!
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Don’t…]
110405
IMPATIENT THERAPY
Hurry, Doc!
Don’t be slow.
I need to know
about this diet
while I try it—
Was fiber ample
in my sample?
What’s the poop?
Give me the scoop.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Goofy and/or serious.]
110404
THE LEGEND
Apple blossoms appeared yesterday—
at least to my notice.
Ever since,
I have been trying to envision
John Chapman
and his famous apple seeds.
How did he travel; how transport;
where did he cache; where was his stash?
What was his source of supply?
I am as much intrigued
by the logic as the logistics.
So—why?
The childhood story was apples.
The adulthood one is cider.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: A person.]
110403
ARE POEMS STILL ALLOWED TO RHYME?
Water is water and that’s very nice,
but is it okay for it to be ice?
If that is the case, please share a tip;
may icicles, currently, melt or drip?
What is the rule; must water be cool
and, if so, how much—or is it
required to be warm to the touch?
Water appears to be rather fickle…
What is decreed about water as steam?
May it spray, foam, or trickle
while going downstream?
What are the rules about vapor and smog?
What are the edicts on cloudbanks and fog?
May seawater taste, these days, like brine?
Again—are poems allowed to rhyme?
NIGHT SHIFT
I leave my body nightly
as a bookmark, then check out.
On my return, I always find it
moved to a further page.
This is a mystery;
read into it what you will.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: My own absence.]
110402
EXPECTANT, SEE
Spring can be dull,
gloomy, cold—people too,
young or old,
who close their eyes
to gloomy, cold April skies
that suddenly switch blue.
SATURDAY
we slept in
got up
ate
slept again
what more
can a body ask?
POSTCARD
It’s overcast, gray,
and foggy today…
nothing, to me, is clear.
That’s all there seems
to be to say;
that’s the view from here.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Postcard.]
110401
WHAT GOT ME HERE
“What?” arrived around ’03
when a key life mission appeared for me,
to which I’ve been (for the most part) true.
“What?” Oprah asked.
And I instantly knew.
“What one thing, if left undone, would you
most regret when your life was run?”
“Poetry!” then “What?” I said,
wondering how such a notion got in my head
and overtook my heart.
My poem-a-day mission, given its start,
grew clearer by the year.
Now I’ve arrived, an everyday poet—
“What?” is the what
what got me here.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: What got me here.
This challenge was recommended by Writer’s Digest
and appears on Robert Lee Brewer’s blog.]
110331
MARCH SIMILES
He's like a scar:
clings to the past.... a real pain in the ass
He's like abs:
just like glutes & pecs, aims for health & sex
She's like bell-bottoms:
a wardrobe trial; goes in and out of style
He's like a finger nail:
count on it; under pressure, he will split
She's like a musket:
once she shot a cavalier, then shed a musket tear
He's like a three-ring binder:
difficult to categorize, since so ready to revise
He's like an 800 number:
more, even, than the mall... open when you call
She's like the iPhone:
admired, desired; by some, acquired
He's like a unicycle:
kind of a flubber where the road meets the rubber
He's like the alphabet:
he means well (for a spell)
He's like a kite:
stunt flier with one desire: higher! higher!
She's like a chandelier:
helps light make a prism break
She's like an exclamation point:
emotion detector... and projector
He's like a cherry picker:
How he'd boast! Now he's toast.
She's like a dissertation:
demonstrated mastery achieved through slavery
[ASIDE: Posted during the month to www.oneupme.com,
an online game. Only very short responses to each prompt are allowed.]
110330
THAT NAGGING QUESTION
How can I enjoy my villa by the sea;
my downy bed; my bread, fruit, tea…
when you and yours have not,
because of mine and me?
110329
BEDTIME STARRY
Good night, beloveds...
night-night, sleep tight.
If I were your mother,
I'd hug you tight.
110328
LET'S BE FRIENDS
See-saw,
swing,
merry-go round.
Here I am.
Come find me.
There you are.
Be found.
PROGRESS
OVER PERFECTION
One percent more,
one percent better;
that's how to soar—
as a one-percenter.
110327
CACHE AND RELEASE
I want to go to Machu Picchu;
so I’ve said for forty years.
It’s one of those raisin-dreams;
deferred.
My dad postponed his own
such dream—Alaska—many years.
I’ve had and used his souvenir gift
a further many years
and have looked at it many times;
tonight, at last, I saw the gift of it.
It’s a small gold-toned bookmark;
paper-clip type, laser-cut.
The topmost part, a filigree design
above the cut-work word “ALASKA,”
forms circular border framing a scene.
The central motif, with evergreens
at either side, is not a mountain, grizzly,
salmon, elk, or totem pole,
but a small log cabin on stilts
with ladder access: a cache.
It is a place where dreams are stored
and kept viable; Dad’s gift affirms it.
110326
THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE
“Clin shits,” my husband announces
after washing yet another load of bedclothes.
Thankfully, it hasn’t come to that; instead,
it’s just one cat with a bladder problem.
Or else, like us, she’s simply confused.
* * *
110411
EASTER
CELEBRANTS
Dogwoods
crowd the banks
of wilderness ravines,
offering
white hosannas
to alleluias
of green.
[ASIDE: Still dithering over offering/proffering
and alleluias/hallelujahs.]
MAYBE, MAYBE NOT
Strictly, there are no gulleys on our hilltop,
but my flowerpots and water-fountain barrels
indicated a 3- or 4-inch gulleywasher overnight.
A beautiful morning ensued,
and errands beckoned.
At the library park, ducks and geese
ventured from the pond to explore puddles
and other new water features.
After heavy rains,
I like to escort stranded worms across sidewalks;
it’s a habit I developed long ago.
Sure enough, as I walked the grounds,
I discovered worms in distress.
Later I encountered a large caterpillar—
luna moth size—but apparently expired.
Further on, there was a fresher-looking one,
so I bent to inspect.
As my hand reached toward it,
my mind countermanded,
“Maybe this has something to do with
those wandering geese.”
STUFF AND NONSENSE
Our minds store up
the stuff we need
until the time we need it;
and what a waste
that seems to be—
so seldom do we heed it.
HELP!
Once
this was heady.
But—
enough already!
110410
TRENDING TOPICS
The negatives I focus on
multiply like evil spawn.
When I abhor, I get more.
What I oppose, grows.
Why in heaven’s name
this should be so,
heaven only knows.
Hell responds to “never”
like coyotes to a hen,
so “never” is the surest way
to bring it back again.
But saying “Never again!”
to “Never again!”
is a self-defeating chore—
according to the way of things,
that just escalates it more.
Positive is the only cure
for this negative spiral trend—
claiming what I truly want,
now and ever… “Ever again!”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Never again! ]
OH NO?
"Never again
will I display my wares
(these makings of my heart)
to shuns and stares
and slight-of-words
disparaging my art."
My art is in its infancy,
born of separate knowing;
the irritations I avoid,
it grasps to speed our growing.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Never again! ]
WHO RULES? WHO KNOWS?
here’s a recently clean
sheet of paper
with twenty-three ruled lines
(who is their ruler?)
I’m writing on the seventh line now,
having left room at the top
for a title
now I’m halfway down the page—
and what have I said
of significance?
this slow descent
is like the passage of my life
and just as overcast
by that pesky question:
what have I said—or done—
of significance?
(wouldn’t I be
the last to know?)
110409
SLIPPING
My errors
repeat in patterns—
transitions,
repetitions,
slips of mind or pen—
that I notice and forget…
till I notice them again.
MIDNIGHT
DEADLINE
At the proverbial,
if not literal,
eleventh hour—
rescue arrived:
my muse's
higher power.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Time.]
EARLY SUBMISSION
TO A LATE DEADLINE
Kinda loses the fun
when your poem’s
done done.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Time.]
PROGRESS
Taxes submitted: check.
Scrapbook project handed off: check.
Club presidency resigned: check.
Unemployment benefits terminated: check.
Poem written: check.
I’m free!
ENDEAVOR
I keep seeking
“wherever”
to find my kin,
to match the
“whatever”
I find within.
BON TEMPS
There’s plenty
of what I want
in the world
an’ I’m gonna have me some.
In fact, I see,
I have it now—
all capped off with fun.
110408
MUSIC TO OUR FEARS (for Faye Jean)
She's a drama-queen comedian—
the best of these there's ever been;
a melodrama melodian!
She can turn a groan into applause
and brighten gray to yellow.
She's part magician too, because
she makes melo mellow.
110408
GETTING TO KNOW THE NEIGHBORS
Newly divorced and newly-fallen financially,
I moved to a shabbier part of the city.
Someone had preceded me.
“Didn’t you used to be the florist at the
west-side branch of this supermarket?”
“Yes.” She had been transferred down.
“Oh,” I breathed,
wondering at her own fallen state.
“How is it here? I don’t suppose
many people buy flowers.”
She laughed. “I had that same expectation
at first. Life is hard in this neighborhood,
so everybody looks out for everybody else;
they have to. But the less they have,
the more they appreciate what’s left.”
“They appreciate beauty,” she said,
nodding toward the floral displays.
“They will scrimp somewhere else
to buy each other flowers.
Here, each day is a celebration.”
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Celebration.]
110407
WHAT “IF”?
One tiny nudge
can edit history;
every poet
knows this mystery.
Here’s a thought—
What if Kipling
had (or had not!)
been tippling?
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: What if?]
110406
DON’T FLATTER YOURSELF
You mighta heard the talk around town
about how you managed to overcome
your circumstances an’ become
a leading citizen hereabouts…
pillar of the community an’ all that.
You mighta heard people say
you’re a friend to man an’ beast,
a credit to your sex, an’ generally
outstandin’ in every way.
Well, I know you better’n them folks.
I seen you at your best an’ worst.
I know the truth an’ I aim tell it.
So don’t flatter yourself, friend… let me!
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Don’t…]
110405
IMPATIENT THERAPY
Hurry, Doc!
Don’t be slow.
I need to know
about this diet
while I try it—
Was fiber ample
in my sample?
What’s the poop?
Give me the scoop.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Goofy and/or serious.]
110404
THE LEGEND
Apple blossoms appeared yesterday—
at least to my notice.
Ever since,
I have been trying to envision
John Chapman
and his famous apple seeds.
How did he travel; how transport;
where did he cache; where was his stash?
What was his source of supply?
I am as much intrigued
by the logic as the logistics.
So—why?
The childhood story was apples.
The adulthood one is cider.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: A person.]
110403
ARE POEMS STILL ALLOWED TO RHYME?
Water is water and that’s very nice,
but is it okay for it to be ice?
If that is the case, please share a tip;
may icicles, currently, melt or drip?
What is the rule; must water be cool
and, if so, how much—or is it
required to be warm to the touch?
Water appears to be rather fickle…
What is decreed about water as steam?
May it spray, foam, or trickle
while going downstream?
What are the rules about vapor and smog?
What are the edicts on cloudbanks and fog?
May seawater taste, these days, like brine?
Again—are poems allowed to rhyme?
NIGHT SHIFT
I leave my body nightly
as a bookmark, then check out.
On my return, I always find it
moved to a further page.
This is a mystery;
read into it what you will.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: My own absence.]
110402
EXPECTANT, SEE
Spring can be dull,
gloomy, cold—people too,
young or old,
who close their eyes
to gloomy, cold April skies
that suddenly switch blue.
SATURDAY
we slept in
got up
ate
slept again
what more
can a body ask?
POSTCARD
It’s overcast, gray,
and foggy today…
nothing, to me, is clear.
That’s all there seems
to be to say;
that’s the view from here.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: Postcard.]
110401
WHAT GOT ME HERE
“What?” arrived around ’03
when a key life mission appeared for me,
to which I’ve been (for the most part) true.
“What?” Oprah asked.
And I instantly knew.
“What one thing, if left undone, would you
most regret when your life was run?”
“Poetry!” then “What?” I said,
wondering how such a notion got in my head
and overtook my heart.
My poem-a-day mission, given its start,
grew clearer by the year.
Now I’ve arrived, an everyday poet—
“What?” is the what
what got me here.
[ASIDE: Submitted to Poem-A-Day challenge,
theme: What got me here.
This challenge was recommended by Writer’s Digest
and appears on Robert Lee Brewer’s blog.]
110331
MARCH SIMILES
He's like a scar:
clings to the past.... a real pain in the ass
He's like abs:
just like glutes & pecs, aims for health & sex
She's like bell-bottoms:
a wardrobe trial; goes in and out of style
He's like a finger nail:
count on it; under pressure, he will split
She's like a musket:
once she shot a cavalier, then shed a musket tear
He's like a three-ring binder:
difficult to categorize, since so ready to revise
He's like an 800 number:
more, even, than the mall... open when you call
She's like the iPhone:
admired, desired; by some, acquired
He's like a unicycle:
kind of a flubber where the road meets the rubber
He's like the alphabet:
he means well (for a spell)
He's like a kite:
stunt flier with one desire: higher! higher!
She's like a chandelier:
helps light make a prism break
She's like an exclamation point:
emotion detector... and projector
He's like a cherry picker:
How he'd boast! Now he's toast.
She's like a dissertation:
demonstrated mastery achieved through slavery
[ASIDE: Posted during the month to www.oneupme.com,
an online game. Only very short responses to each prompt are allowed.]
110330
THAT NAGGING QUESTION
How can I enjoy my villa by the sea;
my downy bed; my bread, fruit, tea…
when you and yours have not,
because of mine and me?
110329
BEDTIME STARRY
Good night, beloveds...
night-night, sleep tight.
If I were your mother,
I'd hug you tight.
110328
LET'S BE FRIENDS
See-saw,
swing,
merry-go round.
Here I am.
Come find me.
There you are.
Be found.
PROGRESS
OVER PERFECTION
One percent more,
one percent better;
that's how to soar—
as a one-percenter.
110327
CACHE AND RELEASE
I want to go to Machu Picchu;
so I’ve said for forty years.
It’s one of those raisin-dreams;
deferred.
My dad postponed his own
such dream—Alaska—many years.
I’ve had and used his souvenir gift
a further many years
and have looked at it many times;
tonight, at last, I saw the gift of it.
It’s a small gold-toned bookmark;
paper-clip type, laser-cut.
The topmost part, a filigree design
above the cut-work word “ALASKA,”
forms circular border framing a scene.
The central motif, with evergreens
at either side, is not a mountain, grizzly,
salmon, elk, or totem pole,
but a small log cabin on stilts
with ladder access: a cache.
It is a place where dreams are stored
and kept viable; Dad’s gift affirms it.
110326
THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE
“Clin shits,” my husband announces
after washing yet another load of bedclothes.
Thankfully, it hasn’t come to that; instead,
it’s just one cat with a bladder problem.
Or else, like us, she’s simply confused.
* * *
Friday, March 25, 2011
Moonshine
* * *
110325
THIS I KNOW FOR SURE (for Oprah)
A day without poetry
is like a night without moonshine.
[ASIDE: O Magazine seeks short poems on Twitter.]
110324
IT’S ALL IN THE
EXECUTION
Bad poem.
Bad, bad poem.
Take it out
and shoot it.
String it up
and shoot it down;
the only way
to mute it.
110323
IMAGINE (for Cat)
Imagine all problems
as subject to mind—
imagine imagination
making humankind kind.
[ASIDE: I'd say, for John Lennon too.]
110322
TROUBLESOME TRENDS
Neighbor pups encroach our cats.
That isn’t all that’s rough—
my to-do’s outswamp my done’s;
I can’t bail fast enough.
110321
THIS SCEPTERED WHILE
Winter’s dead.
Long live the king.
Spring! Spring!
Spring! Spring!
(Please excuse;
I must enthuse.)
110320
THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES
Weekends! Weekends!
Time for fun and friends.
At end of week
when we’re weak from work,
they’re when that work-weak ends.
110319
MUTUAL
MIS-JUDGMENT
All that fighting
and hurt feelings—
what was that about?
No, don’t remind me—
this is truth and peace;
that was doubt.
110318
ANATOMY ANOMALY
What a piece of work is man,
whose body is an art.
Today I thanked my precious hands;
“Darlin’s, —bless your heart.”
110317
THE JIG IS UP
For Paddy’s day, I’d do a jig,
but don’t know how to jig-gle;
in fact, I cannot even do
a decent sort of wiggle.
On dancing lessons, I missed out.
At the tango, I’m not hot.
I never, ever twist and shout.
Fan-dance? Please!
And can-can, I cannot.
110316
REVISION
watercolor lessons
give me
watercolor eyes
now I see
watercolor flowers
watercolor skies
110315
MODERN TURMOIL
The Ides of March—irrelevant?
They scarcely drew a mention.
Japan and the Middle East
commanded our attention.
110314
PI DAY TRIBUTE (for Diane)
While you and I stand idly by
without a clue and wonder why,
she bakes circles around us—
she knows her way around a pie.
[ASIDE: She's a numbers person; the kind who likes
bookkeeping and tax preparations.]
110313
RECOUPERATION
wedding ring
car keys
other things like these
feared lost
assumed lost
find their way to me
110312
THERE’S ALWAYS A CATCH
A paradox—or plot, or ruse!
Freedom seekers, you’re forced to choose
among more expressions than you can use—
at least at once.
You win; you lose.
110311
LIONS’ CARD IDEA
Some birthdays are already done.
We hope today’s your greatest one…
and that the best are still to come.
110310
ANOTHER FINE MESS
“Oh, no—not again!
How many times have I asked you
not to do this—and you went ahead
and did it again. I am so frustrated,
I just can’t to talk to you right now.
No, I can't say another word!
Hey, are you listening to me?”
110309
LENTEN OBSERVANCE (for Joyce)
The "worker" that we trusted
has been oh-so-busted!
This photo makes it evident
how her life and Lent are spent.
[ASIDE: Coworkers shot evidence of her sleeping at her desk.]
110308
LOVE, LOVE ME, DO
If not top-of-mind,
it’s surely bottom-line
to all our prayers—
someone who cares.
110307
UNTITLED
All worlds
for me
will end
with me.
110306
HER HIGHNESS
In royal air and regal pose,
her rarified lineage shows—
and she, through its expression
makes quite a grand empression.
* * *
110325
THIS I KNOW FOR SURE (for Oprah)
A day without poetry
is like a night without moonshine.
[ASIDE: O Magazine seeks short poems on Twitter.]
110324
IT’S ALL IN THE
EXECUTION
Bad poem.
Bad, bad poem.
Take it out
and shoot it.
String it up
and shoot it down;
the only way
to mute it.
110323
IMAGINE (for Cat)
Imagine all problems
as subject to mind—
imagine imagination
making humankind kind.
[ASIDE: I'd say, for John Lennon too.]
110322
TROUBLESOME TRENDS
Neighbor pups encroach our cats.
That isn’t all that’s rough—
my to-do’s outswamp my done’s;
I can’t bail fast enough.
110321
THIS SCEPTERED WHILE
Winter’s dead.
Long live the king.
Spring! Spring!
Spring! Spring!
(Please excuse;
I must enthuse.)
110320
THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES
Weekends! Weekends!
Time for fun and friends.
At end of week
when we’re weak from work,
they’re when that work-weak ends.
110319
MUTUAL
MIS-JUDGMENT
All that fighting
and hurt feelings—
what was that about?
No, don’t remind me—
this is truth and peace;
that was doubt.
110318
ANATOMY ANOMALY
What a piece of work is man,
whose body is an art.
Today I thanked my precious hands;
“Darlin’s, —bless your heart.”
110317
THE JIG IS UP
For Paddy’s day, I’d do a jig,
but don’t know how to jig-gle;
in fact, I cannot even do
a decent sort of wiggle.
On dancing lessons, I missed out.
At the tango, I’m not hot.
I never, ever twist and shout.
Fan-dance? Please!
And can-can, I cannot.
110316
REVISION
watercolor lessons
give me
watercolor eyes
now I see
watercolor flowers
watercolor skies
110315
MODERN TURMOIL
The Ides of March—irrelevant?
They scarcely drew a mention.
Japan and the Middle East
commanded our attention.
110314
PI DAY TRIBUTE (for Diane)
While you and I stand idly by
without a clue and wonder why,
she bakes circles around us—
she knows her way around a pie.
[ASIDE: She's a numbers person; the kind who likes
bookkeeping and tax preparations.]
110313
RECOUPERATION
wedding ring
car keys
other things like these
feared lost
assumed lost
find their way to me
110312
THERE’S ALWAYS A CATCH
A paradox—or plot, or ruse!
Freedom seekers, you’re forced to choose
among more expressions than you can use—
at least at once.
You win; you lose.
110311
LIONS’ CARD IDEA
Some birthdays are already done.
We hope today’s your greatest one…
and that the best are still to come.
110310
ANOTHER FINE MESS
“Oh, no—not again!
How many times have I asked you
not to do this—and you went ahead
and did it again. I am so frustrated,
I just can’t to talk to you right now.
No, I can't say another word!
Hey, are you listening to me?”
110309
LENTEN OBSERVANCE (for Joyce)
The "worker" that we trusted
has been oh-so-busted!
This photo makes it evident
how her life and Lent are spent.
[ASIDE: Coworkers shot evidence of her sleeping at her desk.]
110308
LOVE, LOVE ME, DO
If not top-of-mind,
it’s surely bottom-line
to all our prayers—
someone who cares.
110307
UNTITLED
All worlds
for me
will end
with me.
110306
HER HIGHNESS
In royal air and regal pose,
her rarified lineage shows—
and she, through its expression
makes quite a grand empression.
* * *
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