I continue to write a poem a day – sometimes more. Great use of time when waiting – so simple, pen and paper…



Moon rode shotgun;

her silver layers graced the passenger seat…

she moved from front to backseat

slipping silently in and out of windows.

The car speed toward the glow…

sweeping over dusty roads,

leaving pastures behind,

leaving forest’s silence

leaving freshly plowed earth.

Neon, florescent, incandescent

threw their wattage skyward.

Diminished – moonlight retreated…

undulating glare sucked

her life out of the city.

One more restless moonchild lost

to metropolitan’s relentless draw.



Spitting Swears


Numb tongue lapsed;

drool’s swollen stream

dribbling as gravity prevailed.

Frustration burnt dulled eyes;

hands slapped the table.

Right there, words;

right there, see them in here

tapping her temple.

Eyes flooded tear rivulets;

her mouth spit swears.



Planted too close to foundation,

the Magnolia leans at a risqué angle.

It’s semi-circle of limbs scratch the roofline

instead of brushing against the sky.

The branches perpetually mangled

by pruning saw’s bite are forgiving.

Spring blooms and follow-up leaves

hide the asymmetrical deformity.




Dad, better check the sofa…

we left him lifting one up.

Next day cushions were drying;

he sat enveloped in silence.

Winter’s ice was thick with frost on the lake;

his warm breath fogged the bay window.

Her chair empty, his life was incomplete

as the half decorated Christmas

tree shoved into a dark corner.

Ornaments along with her clothing

were packed into boxes for donation.

Half empty closet,

half empty bureau,

half empty bed…

his heart was thick with frost.



Hers was not a heartwarming story.

Just another voiceless soul accepting

a vaporous existence, dull, boringly dull…

not like her life before her parents died.

Traveling under their wings, her under developed

skills never matured to sustain herself without them.

Her tree didn’t make a sound when

crashing to the ground;  the tree trimmer

wore heavy ear protectors and the neighbors…

they didn’t care for the eyesore of her youth.

The tree fort had been built by her father;

smashed to bits, the sturdy splinters exploded

upon impact sending one through her heart.

Sawing and trimming the branches, the worker

couldn’t hear her gasping clutching her release…

a sliver of 2X4 kiln dried pine wood.


Like That

It’s raining AND it’s Monday…

what a combination but it is spring.

The sun is just reclusive, a typical artist.

Reluctant to shine or show off…

must be a self-esteem issue

as some days are bright and cheery

when belief in self soars.

Perhaps allergies are the cause

of moisture… seasonal itching,

red eyes, sneezing, sore throat –

who wants to be seen like that.



H.E.A. – Happily Ever After


She liked happily-ever-after.

H.E.A. – initials that started the word heart

which to her meant in love forever.

She’d dreamed of having H. E. A..

There was hope in her heart…

hope that two people could work it out

being in love forever – growing old together.

Rogues and miscreants posed as Prince Charming…

love faltered and broke in real life.

Draining her imagination, she was being realistic

about relationships, being in love, staying in love,

and nonexistent princes; even her fertile daydreams

shifted to expose happily-ever-after flaws…