faltering step
and individuality
escapes its confinement

the contents of her life
on pavement ~
a liquid, personal rainbow
for hungry eyes to judge

she hides
a sympathetic smile

and gathers up
her essence,
sterile ground.

… based on the poem Escapade



day’s merciless rhythm
demands abandonment
of Cinderella’s Shoes.

come night,
to toddler’s squeals,
husband’s stained shirt
and dishwater-hands,
she surrenders
to Maybe
and takes comfort
in her fantastic escape.

… based on the poem Escapade


ambushed ~
the rearing stallion
muscled; shining chrome,
takes her breath away;
leaves her
reduced to
and clinging, shredded fabric

his knowing eyes
cross her mind, briefly ~
laughter lines, framing Blue;
while blood-red pumps
barely twitch

blood-red rivulet.

… based on the poem Escapade

so great – thank you, Stephen, for this totally unexpected, purely wonderful gift!

Stephen Kellogg's Blog

This is yet another response poem. I suppose I should get back to writing some “non-response” poems… but in a way, all poems are a response to something… aren’t they?
This poem is a response to Blend a poem by Miriam E. on Another Wandering Soul.

Crumpled – Response poem

He found her heart
In a notebook
Discarded in the paper bag
Next to the windowsill

His pace quickened
Red lights going off in his head
As faltering fingers
Ran through unperturbed hair
Turning pages as he dared
His face a city of pain
She was gone


Stephen Kellogg – 2012

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she had forgotten
her heart
on the windowsill
next to the crumpled
paper bag
that held a notebook
and his love.

as the light
turned red
she quickened her pace,
ran unperturbed fingers
through her faltering hair
and became
of the city’s
many faces.

… based on the poem Escapade


(written by Vincenzo Francesco in response to the poem Escapade)

tried beyond strength
her pace now waning
gusts of wind
promising freedom

she averted the crowd
slipped out of time
into her timemachine
to recollect her thoughts

her small-town heart
torn in two
longing for what
seemed to elude her

the feigned kisses
the habitual lies
her eggshell existence
what did it all matter?

stung by the poison
of her own regrets
her own reproaches
her outright rebellion

thank you very much, Vincenzo… wonderful work!


(written by YourOtherMotherHere in response to the poem Escapade)

blood-red pumps

tilt crookedly next to

blood-red drapes

where a pizza box of

blood-red checks

lies tossed on the floor by

blood-red hands

still twitching watched by

blood-red eyes

that gleam above

blood-red lips

smiling in anticipation of

blood-red leftovers.

I was thinking a vampire orders a pizza delivery the night before and almost drains the delivery guy who is so busy staring at her red pumps that he doesn’t have time to react. Now it’s almost time for her to go back to her coffin, but before she does, she’s going to have some leftovers.

All this because I like cold pizza for breakfast! (smiles)

love what you have done here – thank you so much for participating!!