Observing Love, Broken Things

I threw open a window
to melancholia
of cold and rainy spring

Lonely breezes blow in
like electricity
raising gooseflesh
straggled strands of hair

All I can think is
there’s so much love
yet everything is broken

 Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden



(I wish I had created this. I love it.)


Living Room

Bare walls,
straight chairs--
the only color
in this room
is his black piano

Kim asked the Real Toads to write about a place through a person or a person through a place: PEOPLE AND PLACES


The News Cycle

News charges forward
like the kind of train
that encourages counting
while we wait
behind flashing barriers,
shelters all the hobos
and intellectuals,
expects us to keep up
despite its desperate rush
toward the damsel
approaching the tracks ahead,
anticipates everything
except the cunning of women
who have held too much
for long enough
and are done with all of it,
who are ready to wield power
like never before,
who are ready to strike out
and torque that train
right the hell off its tracks
before we have the chance to say
I think I read that somewhere,
maybe in yesterday’s news

Brendan asked the Real Toads to opine in verse about The News.



Followed a car
with the plate

Some drivers might read
   or SMILE

but I could only see

and appreciated
the reminder

Susie asked the Real Toads to write a poem from our immediate surroundings: MIXED MEDIA ART (I jotted some notes at a traffic light and wrote this upon arrival. Heh.)


The Wishing Chair

the Tyrant
is impeached
will I say
is the reason
for my depression

Sharing with the Real Toads on the Tuesday Platform



Brilliant analysis of modern times in Slate:
Donald Trump Wants an Etch A Sketch Presidency
Everyone should read this to remind ourselves: "[T]heir persistent insistence that we do not see what we see or know what we know is its own form of madness."

That's all for today. Thanks for being here.


Both Sides Now

The sky at sunset
is a child’s science project,
tugged-thin cottonballs
& pink cotton candy cyclone
tacked to robin’s egg blue
construction paper,
pinned-on chunks of tree moss
for mountains, and high above,
a cut-out glossy photograph
of the waning gibbous moon.
Does a child notice this,
looking up? Imagine
if we all looked at clouds
like second-grade scientists.

Good morning!
Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden


Along the Mohawk Trail

I wish I could show you
what I saw today--
a modest and orderly orchard,
trees planted like gravestones
on a lazy slope
behind a roadside apple stand,
perfect spring blossoms
glistening in the stately slant
of dinnertime sun
as if to say here’s how to stand
when it’s your turn to go
to seed

Flash 55 for Kerry and the Real Toads!


Essence of Effervescence

Fear becomes you
in a lockdown culture,
  violence is beauty--
Greed has wings
  to try trouncing
even the most quiescent
cloud-walkers amongst us--
But she will float on
   beyond your berating
            float on

May! May! Mayday! Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden