Sunday, September 24, 2017


Idle thoughts on a sunny Sunday, when
asked what I'd do with my  last $20.
Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry #372
September 24, 2017

Ten things I’d do with my last $20
Me, the girl who’s always had plenty?
I learned well at my mother’s knee
To beware of the careless spending spree.
I’m not the trendiest girl on the block
But I’ve a bit more hidden in a well worn sock.

I’d need pen and paper so I could write
And something to read when it got to be night
I’d want a mu-mu, loose and flowing
I won’t wear a bra where I’m going.

I’ll gather my kids and we’ll head for the farm    
The one safe place, free from harm.
I’ll take along some packets of seeds
We’ll grow enough to meet our needs.

We may be down to our very last dime
But we’ll be living in a simpler time.
No electronic tethers, which some will think odd
But we’ll have time again to talk to God.

We’ll breathe fresh air, and dance in the sun
And count our blessings when day is done.
“They sure don’t have much”, some will say
But, then, what good is money anyway?


Thursday, September 21, 2017


It’s Open Link night, and I’ve a poem about
being a farm girl in the city.
Submitted to dVerse Open Link #204
September 20, 2017

I love the old ways and sayings
I’m a country girl at heart
But there are some modern conveniences
With which I couldn’t part

I love it when my garage door
Flies open when I appear.
I wouldn’t have much patience
Getting out in the cold, I fear

I wouldn’t want to have to
Iron each shirt and dress
I always extol the virtues
Of polyester and permanent press

I love my old-time fireplace
It makes me feel so good
But I guess I wouldn’t like it
If I had to chop the wood

My trips to the supermarket
Are a daily event, it seems
I’m sure I’d have to think twice
It I had to hitch up the team

It’s so nice to go to my kitchen
And find milk and eggs right there
I guess it wouldn’t be my forte’
For the hen and the cow to care

Oh, how I love my shower
I enjoy my nightly scrub
I wouldn’t want to exchange it
For carrying water to fill the tub

I adore my coffee grinder
And my stone crock is so pretty to see
But those things are just to look upon
And not to be used by me

I dream of moonlight sleigh rides
In a one horse open sleigh
But, once I arrived at my nice warm house
Who’d feed the horse his hay

I remember the calls of nature
That required a dash down the path
There’s no way I want to go back to that
And give up my nice warm bath

I guess I just like to read stories
Of how it used to be
In my heart, I think I’m country
But I’m as city as I can be

Tuesday, September 19, 2017


Tuesday Poetics, and Bjorn asks us to
write a poem of questions.
Submitted to dVerse
September 19, 2017
How are you, we ask …
Do we really want to know
or is it just another way to say hello?
Are we too busy to listen
or merely too self-absorbed?
Could we save someone’s life
merely by listening to words unsaid?
Could we make the world a better place
simply by each taking time to care?
Can we ever learn the power of one?


Monday, September 18, 2017


Haibun/Haiku Monday, and we’re
asked to feature the WHY of our writing
style, and add a classic haiku (not a micro-poem).
Submitted to dVerse
September 18, 2017

Why do I turn to the back page to see if it ends
well before I select a book, and why are most
of my poems the same?  Because I’m an eternal
optimist, honed by lessons learned early on from
sturdy stock, empowered by faith, enamored of
words, inordinately curious, occasionally sarcastic
with a humorous bent, compelled to commit
words to paper,  and hoping to leave positive
footprints in the sands of time.  When my book
of life is written, I trust it ends well.

winter approaches
a clean slate is presented
write a new story

Saturday, September 16, 2017


This is the result of a midnight epiphany
submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry
September 17, 2017

In the wee small hours of the night when
insomniacs clutch their remotes, trolling
the airways for diversion, it’s the witching
hour, and darkness, black and velvet, envelops
the alley.  Beneath a tattered blanket, the
homeless man huddles in a doorway.  Soon
the trash trucks will clang their way down
the alley, collecting clotted and fetid debris
from the dumpsters. The man stirs, and draws
from beneath the blanket a stubby pencil and
battered journal.  He opens to a new page and
carefully writes NEMASTE *.  His low tones
break the alley silence as he chants:   “I honor
the place in you in which the entire universe
dwells;  I honor the place in you which is of
love, of truth, of  light and peace.  When you
are in that place in you and I am in that place
in me, we are one.”  Silence returns to the alley
 … but the essence of hope remains. 

* Nemaste is a Hindu greeting, a salutation and
validation,  usually issued with palms together,
fingers pointing skyward.

Thursday, September 14, 2017


It's Meeting the Bar, and Bjorn requests
metaphors, avoiding the use of "like" and
"as", avoiding similes.
Submitted to d'Verse
September 14, 2017

It was a write it on your heart kind of autumn day.
Snowy clouds skittered across topaz skies, white-
petticoated ladies on their way to some grand soiree.

Bare trees kiss the autumn sky, old ladies with arms
akimbo, their skirts jeweled pools of fallen leaves at their feet.

Distant vees of geese arrowing south,  their honking
splitting the crisp autumn air with news of their departure.


(Photo Credit: Pinterest)

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


We’re to feature REUNIONs in this
week’s Midweek Motif .   It occasioned
me to muse and philosophize.
Submitted to Poets United Midweek Motif
September 13, 2017

In a conversation with my father, not long before he passed
into the Great Beyond, I asked “Do you believe in a life
hereafter, Dad?”   My father (descended from a long line
of God-fearing ancestors with names like Bishop, Lot and
Absolam), who had attended our little country church faithfully
with my mother and who had taught the young couples’ Sunday
School class, said “Of course I do” …. and, after a long
hesitation said “if there is such a thing”.   We, each of us,
form our own particular beliefs, which change as we grow
older and wiser.  I’m sure we’ve all had experiences of déjà vu
or met some kindred spirit it seems we’ve always known.  
Perhaps these ARE reunions with someone we’ve known
in a past life.   I like to think  I will see my loved ones and
friends again, and that Dad and I will have a chance to
continue our conversation!