It’s Such a Simple Kitchen Chair (really)

“She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah” – Leonard Cohen and as heard sung in my head by Jeff Buckley

That kitchen chair over there
has known love of all sorts.

The quiet cookie finger love
of a child with glowing stomach
love that only a mother
can give.

The raw and noisy primordial love
between two lovers in heat
who know no boundaries between
chair, wall, and floor.

The brutal cat scratch love
because they love this chair
that reminds them of the good
smells in bowls and whiskers.

(napowrimo day 19…. and for:


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:

Queen of Cups

I put away the tarot cards a long time ago.
They never offered much hope;
turning up too many swords,
and no cups on the cross.
These days I find hope in an owl cup
marked with stain of black to remember
another morning alive, and
in a grey cat cupped against my body
at night with pulsing purr reminding me
that happiness is a vibration we emit.

(napowrimo day 8….and response to prompts: and