Exit, Stage Left

It’s the tinkle of an ice-cream truck
outside a clouded window, the wishing
for an intervention, but not really.

Did you say something?

It’s the goosebumps radiating
from your very core to the tips of you
at just the thought.

I didn’t hear you.

It’s surreptitious snacking, secrets
best kept buried. It’s what you think
you want but can never have.

Can you repeat that?

Heavens to Murgatroyd! It’s who you love.

For Kerry’s prompt to the Real Toads: Can You Hear Me?



Summertime sweater
reminds me of my backbone
quickly goosebumping--


Patience is a Virtue

I’m here, still here, and not going anywhere, but please be patient, gentle readers. I’m working on patience, and on being gentle with myself, too. I’ve never been particularly virtuous on either score.

I started a new job two weeks ago. A wonderful job! I’m pleased beyond measure about this change. The clouds seem to be clearing. I’m hopeful that I’ll be in a new groove soon, and that the pretty words will flow more regularly. Meanwhile, working on patience and gentleness.

A meme popped up over on Facebook with a wonderful quote from Sandra Bullock:

I’ve made peace with the fact that the things I thought were weaknesses or flaws were just me. I like them.

Love that. Working on that.


Rush Hour

Highway rocking chair
invites me to set a spell
inviting time-out
watching the traffic go by
to watch cars go by.


This Poem Wishes Things Were Different

This poem avoids negativity,
airs no grievances.

This poem cannot bear exposure.

This poem wishes
things were different,
cannot imagine a path
not paved with disapproval.

This poem settles.

This poem has lost 30 pounds,
doesn’t want to talk about it.

This poem needs a lunch break.

This poem is loosely based on Hanna’s Boomerang Metaphor.


On the Day a Plane Was Shot Down From the Sky

inspire starry wonder--
It’s as if the plane touched the ground.
fear fills, spills messily over--
Are you okay, Mama?
None of us is


Wading Pool

What if red ants
with big long antennae
are endangered?
We need to rescue them
from the wading pool!
The girl in the flamingo swimsuit
hones her bug phobia,
tends it with extinction concerns.
A spider might travel your leg
if you remain
perfectly still,
as you are part of its landscape.
Maybe you are its destination,
or its angel.
You surely are mine.


Angel Tresses

Sun at your back,
I worry about burn
but you,
framed in rays
glinting on your curls
like a halo,
are irresistible.
I swish hair
across your back,
pepper your light with kisses.



Watercolor sky fades
to chalky greywinkle.

No burst of orange,
no shock of lust-light

to ward off shadows,
defy Indigo’s assault.

Close your awful eyes,
go back to sleep.

Late entry using Grapeling’s word list.



Meet me in the glint
where wind meets light
as memory fades
with your appetite for Blue

Only we two birds,
fledging low below clouds,
are finally ready to Dive--
pinched nose, holding hands

Once we’re deep under,
twine your legs round my legs--
your Heart withers so cold below,
don’t you dare let go.

Flash Fiction 55 at Real Toads.