Sunday, August 20, 2017

TIME OF HARVEST -- Sunday's Whirligig / A SAD DAY -- Sunday Whirl Wordle 313/ Poets United Poets Pantry


lazy afternoons      the morning's work accomplished     water brought from the well

gulp from the dipper    a healing elixir               we quench the thirst

sharpen the blade         the heart continues to beat             without fear

though each day           we are a step closer               to the day we will not be

prepare what is to be wrapped      and put away       the butter melted

like the heart         when I think of you                mix ingredients for the cake

including treasures to be found        with the first cut       draw the blade across 

                                                                                                the frosted cake

think of winter            wrapped in white              a frosted landscape

it is your birthday       no surprise                         it happens every year

the leaves are not turning yet      time for harvest           which will be big this year

August 19, 2017


It is a sad day in august when the proper dress is a hood bring your torch

march and shout words too ugly to repeat even to whisper

someone's someone dies the following days filled with lies

the facts are the statues should come down placed into museums

a sad day they were erected long after the end of the Civil War those are facts

the issues are the south lost the war who is right

who is wrong a person should never own a person no matter the color

and this is what the fight is about people held by torture and chains

all people want to be free there is no one who would crawl to the chains

and ask to be enslaved it never happened the wounds are deep

they promise to never to forget many are left without a history except slavery

to gain stability we have to offer apology for the past

nothing to be proud of take down the flag the statues

we made a mistake and we are mistaken again by the man with the orange hair

August 20 2017

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Flood -- Poets United -- Midweek motif


on desert roads         low spots usually have a flood gauge        and a caution sign

if the water reaches this point    do not drive in           the world seems hot and dry

water does not penetrate     the hard desert landscape          flash floods fill arroyos

like love's first bloom        the heart is full to over flowing        no flood gauges

no caution signs                 we rush right in                      throw caution to the wind

no thought of a broken heart      can you swim               keep your head above water

save yourself          maybe a distress flag                     and a life vest in your tool box

until you know                   if he is Mr. Right             ..or Mr. Wrong

August 16, 2017

Monday, August 14, 2017



awakened from a dream       sweat on my brow         you call it a dream

for me a nightmare               a knock on the door      open

hard to see who is there        a flash                           lightning strikes twice

fire explodes                         i stand on the doorstep         you are gone

August 14, 2017

Note:  As in a dream, in the beginning,  I wonder who is at the door, lightning strikes, lights the scene and it is "me," at the door and no one is home.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

TAOS PUEBLO ON CHRISTMAS DAY / The Sunday Whirl --Sunday's Whirligig -- Poets United


i seek answers          reflect on the questions            search the shadows

on sunny days          a young man offers a penny     for my thoughts

is a penny enough for thoughts    that shoot through the sky      like stars

begin and end          like loops of hair                        a fancy do

or silent like a stone      laying bare in the garden            on Christmas day

smoke from the fires     circles the dancers      a bag of charms hang from their waist

the skins from foxes      hang down their backs           there is no band to play

only drums                     maybe a flute                           and the sound of bells

a serious occasion      no laughter from the dancers       brown feathers in their hair

August 13 2017

Thursday, August 10, 2017

THE EMPTY CHAIR -- dVerse/ open link


the locket fell                           lost in the dirt               it was not my intention to ruffle feathers

the hens are a flutter                 the bear comes from the wood             disturbs the peace

the order of the yard                grannie hid in the rafters for a week     no one knew she survived

all the others were eaten           chicken dinner on the ground              the women in white

the moss hung from the trees                the men played games              the sun grew hot

end of summer             you ask                                    will it come again?

before you know it                   a hundred years passed                         the sun still shining

reflecting off the water          each year becomes another memory            can we write them down

give them away            who will keep what is passed                you were here

laughing                                   telling jokes                                          made the trip several times

first he went                 and then you followed                         your empty chair waits your return

August 2, 2017

Note:  This is for my friend, Mary Kelly. 

Monday, August 7, 2017

Haibun Monday, dVerse -- Poets United/ Midweek Motif

The cup like the heart can be broken, no longer holds tea. Or as in the case of the broken heart, no longer holds love. Time to mend; repair, patch, fix, fix up, do up, doctor, put in repair, etc.etc. Each break or crack requires a specific repair.

Perhaps the skills of a doctor, or a shaman, or a priest, the plasterer, the brick layer, the plumber, the carpenter, the seamstress or other craftsmen? All await your call, and they are at the ready. Maybe the repair won't show, or if it does, one can always contemplate the imperfectness of all things, including you and me.

The rest will be up to you.  When the heart is broken, go inside, see what is needed, in the quiet of the afternoon, you will make all final repairs. You will be good as new. Maybe even more beautiful than before.

It can happen in an instant
The clock stops
The silence afterward

August 7, 2017

Sunday, August 6, 2017

SATISFACTION GUARANTEED -- The Sunday Whirl --Sunday's Whirligig --Poets United



many letters have been sent               often rejection is the response    despite this


letters will continue to be sent        forming chains          reaching out


agreed rejection can feel like a punch in the throat                      or worst


on the surface                       you won’t be able to tell                   what has happened




laughter will burst forth                   thoughts will be tucked into the envelope


what could be harder                   than to be told                     you are not good enough


your work doesn’t measure up                    it should be simmered on the stove


topped with nuts                  passed around                       eaten for lunch




surely more satisfying           what does it matter   what difference does it make


you invest your life               your heart                              what you offer                      


is your very best                    you have nothing else          you label each one   


with a number                       date and color                       what is to be won after all




it is the life that matters       the life full of wonder                        inspiration


only your very best   would do        each day produces a work to be signed


you add your name               the day complete                  satisfaction guaranteed


August 6, 2017