Dead End

crude fingertips taunt
milky glass
rim’s angry squeals ring

vicious crescendo
lovers’ lane
broken; end credits

lies set the table
one last stare
no words left to give

… written for dVerse’s Poetry Prompt, 5-3-5 syllabic Kelly Lune (the American Haiku).
Come join us at the bar!



love across a bloody ocean
fateful struggle with the waves
great Charon, please grant us passage!
don’t leave us to mourn at graves

stretched, our hearts; almost to bursting
love across a bloody ocean
ferryman, we beg your mercy;
are you content with our notion?

love, so cruel when lost so sudden,
love, so tender once, so pure
love across a bloody ocean
love – eternal, absent cure.

only time will soothe our heartache
and we crumble, in devotion
held in life and doomed to suffer
love across a bloody ocean.

Susan Daniels and the Panda of the “Three Nuts and a Squirrel Crew” extended another challenge. This time we are to write a poem using Apostrophe (a figure of speech in which someone absent or dead or something nonhuman is addressed as if it were alive and present and was able to reply), the theme is Saudade (accommodates in one word the haunting desire for a lost love, or for an imaginary, impossible, never-to-be-experienced love), and it must include the line “love across a bloody ocean”.

I decided to address the Ferryman, Charon, directly (but as you can see, he’s a stubborn fella when it gets to whom he lets into his boat). I also felt the need to make a Quatern out of this (cheated only a little), since the provided line consisted of eight syllables… lucky me, I love Quaterns! Heh.

Also linked to dVerse’s OpenLinkNight… come join us at the bar!

photo credits:

Turn the Tide

children of the new age,
homeward bound;
a deliberate chance to re-
new, to dust ancient lore.
golden age they whisper,
established through the plunge of man – then
spiral to awareness on higher frequencies.

Claudia over at dVerse invites us to write about Change/Turns… come join us at the bar!

What We Fail To Learn…

Two households, both alike in dignity
nemesis, blood feud of old
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
in our mother’s womb we battle
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
prejudice, evil’s spawn blurs our sight
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
forces hands to do its bidding.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
we are equal; our hearts all follow the creator’s drums
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
but fall victim to hatred, passed on through the ages
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
unmoved; set in crumbling stone
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
a thousand deaths won’t make the frenzied eye see ~
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
so we tread; siblings’ blood drowns sacred ground
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
wrath and envy still on the march;
Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,
deaths have no meaning, but to grace the news
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage—
stupidity’s tragedy limps through the ages
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
and we remain deaf, dumb and blind ~
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
what Shakespeare uncovered, our deeds still antagonize in blood. 

Today, Anna over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to write Postmodern Poetry. She provided this wonderful list of Bernadette Mayer’s Writing Experiments which we are allowed to choose from. I chose: “Type out a Shakespeare sonnet or other poem you would like to learn about/imitate double-spaced on a page. Rewrite it in between the lines.”
I’ve always been fascinated by Shakespeare’s Prologue to Romeo & Juliet… so I took it, fiddled with it a bit and the above is what came out of me (by now you know that I did not end up imitating it.). Hope you enjoy… Come meet us at the Bar!

Unexpected Symphony

daily grind’s friction
leaves my skin red and raw ~
gray people hurry;
one wrong step
“excuse me”
and the face, alight for
a fraction of a second,
turns gray once again.

safe haven.
the door locks…

as i wash my hands,
(soap, rinse, dry)
i wash
the day away ~
too much suffering
for the tired eye (soul)
to keep
within me.

running low, Low;
i stumble
into the arms
of a masterpiece.
with each line
devour the scene,
taste, hear, smell
the words,
the symphony;

(in) a (world of) (g)ray;
take hold,

i dwell,
disentangle myself in
the mind of another;
a beautiful gift,
selflessly given.
Over at dVerse, Karin Gustafson invites us to write about “Presents – Presence”. This wonderful prompt took me right back to one of my most favorite moments… I truly needed something beautiful that day – and it found me.
The story “The Conductor of an Aggressive Symphony” by Adam S. (which inspired this poem) is probably the best thing I have ever read – the raw emotion inspired me in so many ways and gave me much-needed energy. I treasure it… and always will.

You can find the whole story (Part 1-4) here:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
… give it a try, you will not regret it.

She. (Rebellious Portrait)

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
she attacks the tabletop
blue-painted missiles target
oiled hazelnut craftsmanship
in staccato rhythms.

she isn’t sorry.

she looks at me, a pink bubble
between cherry lips ~
growing, Growing;
defiance in her stare,
challenge extended;
tap tap tap


the pink-smeared smile
doesn’t touch her
(tap tap tap)
her tongue snakes out,
the sticky, playful rebellion.
teeth start chomping again.

she leans back with a huff,
old chair complaining
at the sudden movement.

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
i wait.

Brian Miller over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to focus on the details today… an interesting challenge.
Come join us at the bar!

Ode To Post-Its

letters, carefully shaped; sculpted… to embellish your paper-thin body.
you’re wearing blue today.
it does not fit my mood ~ i am okay, but how could you know.
black still looks good on you.

you know i try;
try and try to be perfect, to shape your
your cousins on the ground, crumpled; for i failed them.
i am sorry.

the sharpie bows to my will
in the end.
the work is done, pen drops from sweaty palm and leaves
covered in perfectly shaped words
i love dearly.
i smile as i look at you.
whole now.
ready to go on display.

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Victoria C. Slotto invites us to write a poem in Second Person. To make it a bit more challenging, she gave us options to choose from – I chose to address ‘inanimate objects’.

I love Post-Its.
To understand this somewhat quirky poem better, you have to know that I write things I love (quotes, sayings, lyrics… literary delicious snippets) on Post-Its and tape them to my front door. That way, I always have something nice to read right before I leave the house.
Hope you enjoy what I came up with and hope to see you at the bar!

On the Dark Side of the Moon

1338147684_Waxing Crescent 35

on the dark side of the moon
where the sleeping rest their minds,
lies the land of hopes and dreams
there, eternity unwinds.

every soul who travels far,
to the dark side of the moon ~
seeks the council of the Wise,
listens to the ancient tune.

those who stay behind in shame
lost their purpose, lost their will;
on the dark side of the moon
wisdom reigns and time stands still.

when you seek the truth in dreams,
hope to find your answers soon;
go, explore and make a wish
on the dark side of the moon.

A Quatern, slightly altered (only seven syllables per line and i cheated a bit with the refrain), because I enjoy them so much… And yes, I know it’s a Pink Floyd Album… 😉

Shared with dVerse Poets Pub’s Open Link Night… come join us at the bar!

photo credits:

When Innocence Averts Her Eyes

when innocence averts her eyes
the ghost of war is on the prowl
it taunts; it shatters loving bones
stench in its wake, rotten and foul

the rivers red and bled to death
when innocence averts her eyes,
when tortured soul claws at the sky
humanity limps, in disguise

to children’s wails and ripping guns
destruction’s horrid fist does rule
when innocence averts her eyes
hope lost – abandoned; fallen fool

we only see when we don’t run
so easy to ignore the cries
turn off the TV, go to sleep…
and innocence averts her eyes.


The Face of War (Salvador Dalí)

Gay over at dVerse Poets Pub has us experimenting with a French form of poetry – the Quatern. Not that easy to build, but I tried… this is what I came up with. Come join us at the bar!

photo credits: google image search

Textures of Winter

One Snowy Night Wallpaper__yvt2

street corners, fast asleep
huddle beneath
street lamp’s mellow light.
glisten like jewels,
crown the silent watchers’ brows,
while shredded wings
drift from the sky
to cloak and bury
the hustle and bustle,
the musts and have to’s
of the waking hours.

not a sigh;
not a single anthem lingers
in the reticent air;
white touches
steaming breath,
final bow, to melt on rosy cheeks
and i stride alone ~
the only sounds…




beneath my boots.
I wrote this poem for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub. Come join us at the bar and share your poetry… doors open at 3pm EST…

photo credits:

Safety Blanket

how i miss those days…
when my safety blanket
would chase away my fears;
when my wooden sword
would slay imaginary foes

how i miss those days…
when i was still small enough
to fit into my mothers arms;
when i was still light enough
to ride on my father’s shoulders

how i miss those days…
when a 2-hour-movie
seemed endless;
when a piece of candy
was a near-sacred treasure

how i miss those days.
eyes, innocent and full of wonder
mind, pure and eager to learn

isn’t it time
to revive
what seems long forgotten?
isn’t it time
to let the inner child
come out and play?


Over at dVerse, Stu invites us to write about what we miss… this is my attempt. Come join us at the Poets Pub!

photo credits:


from gaping chasms
to highest mountains
from ocean’s opaque bed
to desert’s searing sun;
beauty, we seek
in bulks and heaps ~
insatiable need
blinds avid eye/I,
dulls (tactile) senses.

to the brink of madness
by desperate search,
we seldom detect
or acknowledge
the small pearls and diamonds
beneath our bare feet.

It’s Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub and Brian is tending the Bar. This is a short one I came up with… hope you enjoy.

Fortuna’s Lament

the complexity
of humanity gone astray
litters sacred ground.
we see what’s left of us
through stained (glass) windows,
pretending to know
the essence of it all.
bows her head in shame
and turns her gaze
(along with her much desired smile)

Today there’s a photo prompt over at dVerse – we are invited to write poems to Terry S. Amstutz’s wonderful photo art. This is what I came up with – didn’t think it would turn out to be so dark…

photo credits: 

Calling Dylan Thomas

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Victoria invited us to try the concept of literary allusion (reference to another literary work). I decided to turn to Dylan Thomas and his wonderful poem ‘And Death Shall Have No Dominion’ today.
This is what I came up with. Enjoy, if you will…

Dylan Thomas: And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Calling Dylan Thomas

years have passed
your lines
stand tall,
unbent ~
while death
is still
hard on our heels,
scatters lives
and presses on

we fight;
oh how we fight…
to stop the fighting,
to honor your words ~
death still
holds the world
in a death grip,
squeezing; its vivid juices
to evaporate beyond

take your words
and paint them
across the horizon
so we will not forget
your vision;
your rays…
your tendrils of hope.

photo credits:

Love (un-twined)

Total eclipse;
where lovers once embraced
darkness lingers;
ashes of vivid flames
still hot on soul’s naked surface

Ruin rages
bitterness gags reason,
passion turns on itself, reveals sharp fangs
stirred by dire injury,
sets out
to cripple,
to maim

Undying love
they swore, voices steady;
once treasured memories
turned to gaping wounds;
tears dry
on hollow cheeks;
agony drips venom
on dull-edged hearts

Consciousness takes hold;
long, sleepless nights reveal
of a battle fought
with teeth and nails;
anger fades
and fades
and fades…
with each day
comes an easier breath

Endings are never easy;
and if feelings were true,
under the watchful eye
of the hourglass
turns to hurt
turns to hate
turns to heartache
turns to indifference
turns to truce.

Over at dVerse Poets’ Pub, ManicDdaily has us writing about armistice/truce. This is what I came up with. Come join us at the bar!

photo credits: