I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

30 November 2012

Full moon tonight: November 2012 haiku

'Don't turn me into a frog!'
Of course not —
he's already a toad.


a movie about love
the only place I look for it


full moon tonight I pray there won't be storms


27 November 2012

Across the Morning

Across the morning of another day
she walked in silence, not because of thought
but so that she could hear the birds at play
and for a time unlearn what she'd been taught.

'Duty can go to hell,' she said 
inside her mind. 'Responsibility
be damned. Those birds know
what matters: to fly and sing.'

A moment only. Common sense resumes.
The deeper self, the rebel self — will she
in hiding grow to wake and re-emerge
across the morning of another day?

Form: Dorsimbra
Description: This form was created by people associated with Sol’s Magazine. 
The form is a set of three quatrains:
A Sicilian quatrain (four lines iambic pentameter rhymed abab),
A quatrain of “short and snappy” free verse, and
A quatrain of blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter).
The twelfth line is the same as the first.
Attributed to: Eve Braden, Frieda Dorris and Robert Simonton

Submitted for dVerse OpenLinkNight #72

25 November 2012

Towards Dusk

Day moves towards dusk.
The wind surges up
with a sound like waves.
It's good to remember you
not as you were in recent days 
but earlier, younger, full
of energy surges like that
and passionate joy.

I don't remember 
who I was then
but I do remember you
and my blood surges up like waves
like the rushing of wind in the trees,
as I move towards dusk but slowly;
still here although alone,
still sensual, still engaged.

Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #132

Time Goes By

They herd even more now
(their nature)
coming wherever I am
to lie near.
They are mostly silent,
seldom purr.

It's ten weeks since he died;
since they saw him here—
more than twice
that time I spent away,
which seemed long.

I think they start to know
for certain 
that he will never come
back to us —
back here, back home ... slowly
losing hope.

Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #128

17 November 2012

Fibonacci Experiments


my birthday;
we talk a long time.
He's my friend as well as my son.
(His father is dead and his brother is lost to us.)

mobile phones —
and his new girlfriend.
At Easter they'll come to visit.
(Small core of family left, we're glad of each other.)

Wet City

Venice is
flooded and under
water — that city of water —
of sparkling, of singing water.
Now too much water
washes her:


We entered the dark of the moon.
Roses were growing
unseen but
their scent

the night
with silent
messages of life
continuing to spend itself.

Fibonacci poems (aka fibs) are syllabic, based on the fibonacci numerical sequence in which each number is added to the preceding to make the next. Zero is understood at the beginning, so the syllables then go: 

(1=0=) 1
(1+1=) 2
(1+2=) 3
(2+3=) 5
(3+5=) 8
(5+8=) 13

Theoretically one could keep going, but in a poem that would get more and more unwieldy. It's usual to stop at 8, but not uncommon to continue to 13. And then, as you see, one can vary the form by doubling, reversing, etc.

Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #124

14 November 2012

Just Underneath the Day-to-Day

Just underneath the day-to-day
is the sob that takes me unawares,
rushes upon me from nowhere,
takes me over. I never knew 
my mouth could stretch so wide —
a perfect O.

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2012, Day 4. Prompt: 'Just Beneath —' and fill in the blank. (I remembered it as 'underneath', which I prefer for this poem).

5 November 2012

If He Was Here


If he was here
a bleak day like this
would be for snuggling.

If he was here
what's for dinner
would matter.

If he was here
he'd have some great idea
for me to implement.

If he was here
I'd be constantly
doing washing.

If he was here
there would be


If he was here
the cats 
wouldn't cry in their sleep.

If he was here
I'd never have known
cats could cry in their sleep.

If he was here
I'd be hiding matches and lighters
just in case.

If he was here
I'd be watching every minute
for random falls and spills.

If he was here
I wouldn't be learning to say
'my' instead of 'our'.


If he was here
I'd never sneeze
without a 'Bless you!'

If he was here
I'd keep my tears at his pain
for shedding later.

If he was here 
we'd greet the full moon 


If he was here
the words, 'I love you'
would not feel stark.

Submitted for Poetry Pantry #122 at Poets United