a selection of poems from my daily poetry goal…



Hard to envision the delight of discovery

at having recognized and accepted…

she wouldn’t spend time fixing the extraneous.

The most common – her nitwit brother

who was a major consternation.

Back to the happy place late in life

after selecting to ignore her only sibling,

she focused on dealing with her own problems.

He’d always been an albatross weighing her down;

finding the strength, she steered to distant horizon

discarding the leech with a salt tourniquet.





No matter how good of a party it was,

I’d be the one observing from a safe corner.

That was the most fun I could possibly do.

Not that I was ever invited to crowded parties…

you know the ones you see in teen movies or TV series.

I ventured to a few Yale Friday night mixers; I only went

because my roommate dragged me – we’ll have fun.

We had to take a bus past underprivileged

neighborhoods to the Yale campus – a granite fortress ;

the music blared for at least a block away… too noisy.

Young men in their navy blue jackets, khakis, white

button shirts decorated with “house colored ties”

tipped back beer from the bar in the common room.

Stone and wood trim echoed drinking parties from

celebrating house mates  from one hundred  years ago…

I was shy, overwhelmed in the packed room… I didn’t drink.

Remember that corner I mentioned, I found one

in the shadows next to oil portraits of past famous members.

Watching my roomie dance among the merry makers,

I coalesced with plaster walls until escaping the din

to catch the last run bus back to the quiet dorm.

Ears ringing, I made curfew – such a good rule follower;

my roommate Betty didn’t care – she met her future husband…



Muses & Mentors


If Tomorrow Came Yesterday

I’d be remiss for not thanking you.

Muses and mentors are life’s presents.

I think there is a consortium of them

hovering around from birth…

some visit briefly, some stay forever.

Whispers and dream visions come from muses;

verbal encouragement laced with strong hugs

and solid smiles are delivered from others…

how else can one power through life changes

so quickly without massive collateral damage.




If Tomorrow Came Yesterday

This was the “Mystery Project” quote I was supposed to include for the last sketchbook 2012 challenge… I’m afraid I missed the deadline today.  I was to take a photo of the person who found my mystery piece.  I wrote this with the many mentors in cyber world and in my RL in mind but it goes without saying that mentors/muses are out there if we attune ourselves to listen & observe.


Knowing that…


Fierce eye concentration…

tumbling tongue

twister pronunciation

intense spittle sprinkles

reveal the latest:

medications, doctor details,

test results… and the verdict.


Minute details that drown out

the second hand click,

the nursing home’s piped in music,

the beating of their hearts.


Holding her mother’s hand,

the weary knowledge that someday…

her own daughter would sit

listening to minute details

drowning seconds…

sterile music

beating her heart

waiting for staff

to unlock the exit door.


Knowing someday…




shinrin-yoku – forest bathing


So that’s what I’ve been doing all these years.

A break from homework, the cat and I would slink

off to follow old abandoned roads…

Could I list all the times and places of a great walk

took place?  Sun to storm, seasonal cycles…

walking in open spaces to overgrown pastures,

over hill to mountain top… alone or with family,

with or without four legged companions –

so many walks in fresh air, some documented in photos.

Even now wandering park paths, observing flora & fauna,

my mind wanders between imagination and observation.

Simply looking out a window at nature or looking at pictures

of nature scenes is not a sufficient primal forest bathing…




Hippo and gorilla


My father told the craziest bedtime stories.

My mother hissed…  Albert ! trying to stop him.

Never lost his talent for yarns; my grandchild gifts

to him came late but he would tell them such tales.

Basically two years apart, they’d be bathed, kissed,

tucked into cottage bed with them begging –

Granddaddy… story, parrots repeating a call until

stair treads would creak as he came back upstairs.

Re-tucking them in – similar to a staged encore,

Well, just one more… white evening stubble laced a poker face;

his faded blue eyes skimmed the pine rafters of the summer cottage.

Let me think…. Ahhh… the hippo and gorilla went to a dance…






Checking her hall mirror, she was an old lady

who had a little gray curl poking out from

a bandana right in the middle of her forehead.

Remembering the Longfellow poem her mother

used to repeat when hair washing enhanced

the wispy curl centered on her small forehead.


There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,

she was very, very good


Honestly, she was always good;

as a child she followed all the rules

never giving her mother a hard time.

But when she was bad, she was horrid

She was bad didn’t apply to her demeanor.

Never bad or horrid, at least not outwardly,

there were some dark thoughts creeping  in

and around her life a few times.


She had wished her brother harm;

he stole her money, he broke her belongings,

he was sneakily malicious in tormenting her.

She had wished her abusive husband a bad end

before she found the strength to leave him.

That was the extent of anything horrid.

When nothing goes as planned, bad days

don’t count as a permanent horrid personality

because of gray curls in the middle of a forehead.




There was a little girl,

Who had a little curl,

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good,

She was very good indeed,

But when she was bad she was horrid.


There was a little girl

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807–1882 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow