Life is Like a Glass of Lemonade

at night
on the snow covered porch.
Dark and sour
in the cold
tempting you
with bits of sweetness
and hints of summertime
and shovels
to dig your own way out.

(napowrimo day 18…and for: and

A Nocturne for no Negligees

I neglect negligees now
bathing in a bed of rough cotton-
100 count shedding my soft skin.
Make me calloused and different
in this cave where even the moon
can’t dance on skin.
In my melatonin dreams I remember you,
and I’m wearing clothes crossing a river
with sticks, but I think that makes me
too heavy to reach you.

(napowrimo day 17…. for: and here:

A Haiku for Humanity

Hands on sun dial
fast forward a thousand years.
Do humans still walk?

( a Haiku for international haiku poetry day. )_

Drinking the city’s soul in without an umbrella

I can see the colors of the city’s soul; and now I am thirsty.

(napowrimo…an American sentence..for )

Into the Forest

In this middle of age
I am not just cutting down the honeysuckle past,
but yanking out the roots to make sure it won’t come
back next year.

(napowrimo day 15…and for prompt here:

Invisible Like a Ghost

Sir Perseus
in your cap you did quite nonpluss
poor Medusa sleeping in her cave.
Pure trickery that forced her to an early grave.

(napowrimo day 14….I tried to combine 3 prompts today: , , and here: )

Somebody is in the Attic (they think it’s a turret)

Since you’ve been gone I’ve been collecting cats in my turret
and singing the songs to the reckless moths in my turret.

It is brighter here. The sun tries to waltz on the walls and
me. But we hide, the cats, the moths and me, in the turret.

We drink from moon puddles on the floor and sleep in windy
windows at noon. They think it’s just the squirrels in the turret.

(napowrimo day 13…and for

A Clown’s Cobwebbed Closet

His pastel palette of wigs
nest on pink juggling balls
shoved behind purple pumps
that used to give life
to fuchsia frogs and
aqua ants for children
to hold.
He could mold a child’s dream
with air and rubber,
and he dared to be the best.
A rupture would be mended with a horn.
Wally the Whale would become Nelly
the Narwhal.

But the parents aren’t calling anymore.
You culled the clowns last fall
with your pastel pranks in the woods
chasing children with chainsaws
while you inhaled helium only to
menace the masses.

Minutes of entertainment for you
A lifetime of misery for them.

( napowrimo day 12….for and


( A circus animal protest photo of me taken last year)

I got the idea for this poem from the people dressing up as clowns and terrorizing the public last year…forcing the real clowns to halt their activities for a while.

Stony Resolve

Those stones-
those whispering stones
you gave me

I buried them on a moon-
less night where
nothing ever grows.

(napowrimo day 11)


To me she has always been a mother. A nursery
Of cats, a dog, a horse, a pony,
of humans.

She has always tended her flowering
furry, and non-furry children as a
great gaia herself.

Her devotion churned the soil daily;
her own sweat always watered the thirsty and sick,
and tears watered, eventually

a backyard buried with babies.
Cats, and dogs, and horses don’t live forever,
but she believed in holding them close always.

And now I see her like this
in her recliner complete with a cat
hair streaked with gray – always a mother.

( NaPoWriMo day 10…and for prompts here: and here: