Saturday, April 30, 2016

Dancing the May Pole

“The Last of the Maypole Dancers”, by Ilsa Elford

He took her hand
they pulled a strand
he let her go
into the flow
of dancers weaving
to and fro
She watched  his smile
all the while
The music played
and still they swayed
caught in a dream
or so it would seem
heat arising
so surprising
Their love was blooming
no more 


Day 30

Thank you all for a wonderful month of poetry

Friday, April 29, 2016

Breakfast Guests

My breakfast guests
have four legs,
pointed ears,
bushey tails,
and tiny black eyes

Their excitement at found bounty
is captivating
-they are a tad greedy-

Every day they join me
as I sip my morning coffee



Day 29

Thursday, April 28, 2016


An introverted crone
who doesn't wear purple
finished financier
apprentice groundkeeper
fickle female
seventy something
"poet of the small and homey"
impractical visionary
living in the woods


Words Count With Mama Zen

 Give me your bio . . . the real story . . . 
in 50 words or less.

Day 28

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

A Cup of Tea

"When you serve tea to your guests, you should simply serve tea from your heart, and think about
 nothing more. "

When the door bell chimed
my Mother invariably put
a kettle on

Rushing to the door
she would say
"come in" come in"
" have tea" have tea"

To her a cup of tea
soothed all ills,
enhanced everything

Sipping tea at the kitchen table
most tongues loosened
grievances were aired
confessions made

My Mother
mostly silent
would listen to all
hear all
bear all

her modest ceremony


The Way of Tea

Day 27

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

What to do?

I’ve walked this
street one hundred
times before
breathed deeply
the scent of cherry
blossoms in spring,
the cool fall breeze
has caressed my skin
as fallen leaves rustled
at my feet.
Through winter wonderlands
and summer heat, sultry and
I have walked here

Then  I met you,
a chance encounter
you were lost, walking down
the wrong street, looking for
the wrong house, not my house;
You smiled at me, reached out
and touched my arm;
Destiny sang, karmic, cosmic,
coincidences collided in colours

of every hue
What to do?

What to do?


Day 26

Monday, April 25, 2016

First Life

From city to seaside
the youngest of 12
Often lost in the menagerie
Pleased when alone
Unnoticed if well behaved
brought down heavily when
Our Mother with to many chores
to be caught
and a father who almost lost
himself in wars
And yet
friends were fed tomato soup
and grilled cheese
Then left alone to our gossip
and giggles;
Then too
the smell of baked bread
chicken on Sunday
cream of wheat
Star fish on the beach
high tides and sand fleas
follow the rule

"out of the house by 16"

No exceptions
face forward
life number two


Imaginery Garden with Real Toads

Real Toads  ~ Where do I Come From?

Day 25

Sunday, April 24, 2016


When cabin-mamma and
camp-pup come to town
roles change

Cabin-mamma transforms
to kitchen-ferry and

Our cleaning-warrior
tackles the grime-ridden
narrowly escaping another
role as

A tad
over-enthusiastic comes to

Soon enough the

Cabin-mamma takes
coffee-mug in hand
and camp-pup
 at her feet


Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Bjö rn challenged us today to
Create a couple of new compound
nouns, let them be memorable by
funny or lyrical, maybe even cryptic
Use these new compound nouns
to create a poem on any topic you like.

Day 24

Saturday, April 23, 2016


"The lunatic, the lover and the poet are of imagination all compact"
A Midsummer Night's Dream - William Shakespeare

The bard of past sorrows
and magnificent words
inspires me so

A lunatic, a lover, and
a poet
a self-portrait  written
in words I could not
muster on my own

To confess the elements
of my being
rest assured
my hesitancy
is solid

If it is in imagination only
that these three are joined
then I can still hide



Day 23

Friday, April 22, 2016


The moon is full
the trees glow
in it’s filtered light

I stand as if suspended
in time

Old needs surface
and suddenly I
want to spread my
arms and fly

To drift among
the stars

Instead I begin
to twirl
and twirl

My body and feet

my youth, my joy

in  the silence
moonlight music



Poems in April:

 FASHION ME YOUR WORDS ~ so i can dance

Day 21

Thursday, April 21, 2016


The elephant in the room
stands majestically by the fireplace
her tiny eyes beaming at us
her trunk supine
her tufted tail swings slightly
I watch her
Soon she begins to gently sway
as if to music only she can hear
She seems calm, impassive,
with our bickering presence
I try to mimic her repose
on the other hand are


Day 21

Wednesday, April 20, 2016


The pathologist's heart
skips a beat as he views
a mutant cell through his

Somewhere else the donor
lifts his glass and toasts
the beautiful intangibles
of life


The Prompt: Write a new poem that
 illustrates what might happen when a 
good wish renders a not so good outcome.

Day 20

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

The Cocktail Party

Be times she no understan a ting dey sayin
dem allous talkin’ bout stuff in dere eads
An comin’ out wit stuff she ain’t nare erd of, or
kere ‘bout. ‘special at dos four ta eight clock
cockteal tingys where ya spos ta get gussied up an et
 funny fud and talk lak ya knows sumtin. Fer four rs straat
oo the heck can keep up wit dat . All thet talkin’ bout
de color yeller and how meny coats a paint dis feller get
on 'is convertbull,  an er dress be to durn short an show up dat
spec tattoo en she sit an en she try to pull it dun
wee bit she miss de guy wit de drinks and der ain’t no way she
 gonna walk up to de bar wit all dos guys standin' roun' an
 makin jokes an lookin at er likes she come rights out de candy
 store an dey got dis sweet toot, and what dey doin at dis sort
ting anyhu cause all dey talks bout is crank oil an car racin ,
oo let dem in, but den oo lets er in; be times dey do dat jus so
dey can hark onto er ways of talkin dat dey figger be funny, er ta
fetch de look on er face when she no gets it,
enertain demself
‘cause dere be dem days 'tis truth, she jus don get a ting dey sayin



Sometimes she doesn't understand a thing they are saying
They're always talking about stuff in their heads
and coming out with stuff she has never heard of or
cares about. Especially at these four to eight o'clock
cocktail parties where you are supposed to get dressed up and eat
funny food and talk like you know something. For four hours straight,
who the heck can keep up with all of that. All that talking about
the colour yellow and how many coats of paint this fellow has
on his convertible, and her dress is to darn short and shows that
special tattoo when she sits and when she tries to pull it down
a little bit she misses the guy with the drinks and there isn't any way she
is going to walk up to the bar with all those guys standing around and
making jokes and looking a her like she came right out of a candy
store and they've got a sweet tooth, and what are they doing at this sort
of thing anyway because all they talk about is crank oil and car racing,
Who let them in, but then who let her in; Sometimes they do that just to
catch the look on her face when she doesn't get it,
entertain themselves
because there are those days, it's true, that she just doesn't understand a thing they are saying

"feel free to write a poem
containing some kind of
local vernacular, slang, or
Yinz guys have fun!"

Day 19

Monday, April 18, 2016


She is confused
enlighten her
pardon her conundrum.

"a fanciful poetic image"?
or her grandios list of her
personal idioscyncrasies
Who will listen to her
or understand?
Is she an ambivalent author?
Bedding down with sages
being plugged with genius,
a poet's groupie?
Alas where does
a brooding poet go?
Forward or back?
her conundrum


in response to Brendan's challenge

Day 18

Sunday, April 17, 2016


If I could speak with you
call you forward from the ether,
that I might join your circle
and speak of grace,
that you would anoint
me with it's blessings.
The grace of charm
that I would never walk alone
The grace of beauty
so that I would not offend
But more than these, 
although they would assist in no
small measure in our hedonistic
that you would grant me creativity,
an ability to see, to hear, to feel, to sing,
To transpose to paper
the elements of peace
bringing hope
to a world gone


Charities, known in Greek mythology as The Three Graces, goddesses of such things as charm, beauty and creativity
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

hedgewitch has challenged us with:
"The idea of three can appear in any form and
in any association in your poem, as long as
you incorporate the number as a meaningful
element of your piece."

Day 17

Saturday, April 16, 2016

For Solace

For solace
I stand before
this sculpture
and I see myself
My eyes, nose and ears
blown away
ripped away
by you
and your demonic needs
Made to feel nothing
but inadequate
I survive
I will survive
I will speak
for now I am
a muted mouth


Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
Today Karin has provided us with
some of her own very interesting photos to act
as a prompt for our poems. 

Day 16

Friday, April 15, 2016

Found Poem

  The Wasteland -   I. The Burial of the Dead  - t s elliot

  April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

April is
breeding lilacs
memory and desire
A little life
surprised us
a shower of rain
We stopped in the colonnade
Drank coffee
and talked
much of the night


Today's challenge from Angie
paraphrased here :-)
Write a free verse poem using words
chosen from T S Elliot's "The Wasteland" 
I chose to write a "found Poem"

Day 15