Friday, August 29, 2014


This is just a fanciful poem about how a large, potentially deadly shark was essentially hanging out at the beach for a few weeks.  No one would have noticed if she hadn't been tagged with a GPS pinger.


Death was swimming in the sound
Cruising in the bay
And playing in the surf.
You paid no notice.

She did not hide
She announced herself
several times.
You did not hear.

She slid past your cook out,
Skimmed past the surfers,
And surveyed a couple or two.
You did not panic.

Death was all around you

But you lived your life in bliss

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

An Unusual Love Letter

To the Written Word,

I did not love you the moment I met you.  I found you dull and tedious, and I loathed every minute I was forced to spend with you.  Despite my reservations, your seduction was swift, and before long I was completely enraptured by you.  I marveled at your beauty and changeability.  Your ability to be elated and exuberant in one moment, then morose and melancholy in the next, it took my breath away.  You swept me off my feet and transported me to many an exotic destination and countless intimate settings.

For so long, you gave part of yourself to me, and I naturally developed a desire to make you fully mine.  I had to get my hands on you like I had to breathe.  And I breathed you in deeply.  Oh, the beautiful agony of every scratch and slash, this way and that, returning to each other again and again, simultaneously united and at odds with each other.  Each encounter resulted in such beauty. 

How often you were there to caress and comfort, to allow me the release that could only be found with you.  You and I become so deeply entwined that separation is impossible.  The urge to be with you drives me from my bed and bids me to stay with you until I am satisfied.  You are my love, my friend, my comfort, my guide, and I only hope the world may love you as I do. 

Eternally Yours

Monday, August 25, 2014


Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, goes the rain; pitter-patter go the little feet.  But they aren’t so little and they don’t pitter-patter.  Not in this house.  Here they clomp, tromp, stomp, and stumble.  They trip over Barbies and step on Legos.  They sneak into mommy and daddy’s room every morning and lead the stampede to Daddy when he gets home from work. 

They climb the stairs on both sides of the railing, and they climb every vertical path up bunk beds. They climb up the bookshelf to peek at daddy’s collectible fire trucks.  Then they fall off the bookshelf and get trapped in a cast for a few weeks.  They still climb the bookshelf though! 

 These feet flail as their owner is tickled, then they pause in mid air when the tickling stops and he cries, “Again!  Again!”  The feet chase a ball, push a truck, and they climb out a window all on their own to chase the puppy that just escaped—never mind the snow or the fact that the boots were left behind. 

These feet turn black with the dirt and grime of the outside every summer, and they flee to the playhouse and stand on their tiptoes to flatten out against the fence in the silliest attempt to hide.  Those not so little toes burrow into the sand on the beach and leap gleefully into any available body of water: be it the ocean, the pool, or the muddy puddle next to big sister’s church shoes.  These feet launch a flying leap of a hug after an agonizing absence, but they flee to the corner if there’s still more playing to be done.

And they grow—oh, do they grow!  Day by day and hour by hour, they grow in size and abilities both terrifying and exhilarating.  And when they crisscross to link the legs around my waist as the arms and hands clutch my shoulders and the head is buried into my neck, my own feet feel as though they’ll never touch the ground again.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Poetry in Pairs!

This seems to be my MO lately, so let's just keep it going!

Unfortunately, I can't share the inspiration for these poems with you.  Just trust me, my imagination really is like this sometimes.


You left an impression behind my eyelids
       -several of them

They shimmer and dance
and are a shade of blue
that lives,
that joins in

And while the images fade,
the living hue lingers...

I want it to stay forever.


"Celtic Knot"

Twisted and twirled
Swirled and whirled
Round and about
Every which way

Intertwined and intermingled
Tangled up and knit together

With neither hope nor wish of ever coming undone.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Runaway Time/Run Away Time

I've had several conversations about how time slips away, and I happened to phrase part of my discussion in such a way that struck me: "That's the first line of my next poem!"

(This is why I should always have some sort of writing instrument with me.)

I decided to write a second poem based on the title of the first, since they sound the same when read aloud.  I just wanted to explore some alternative interpretations.

Runaway Time

Time has a habit of running away
Of sprinting, at break neck pace,
Farther and farther away.

Reach as you might,
Strain as you will—
Despite all possible effort—
It simply gets away.

You never get it back.

Run Away Time

Run away, run away!
It’s run away time!
Fall back!

Hang your head in shame,
if you must.
Slink away in disgust.

It’s the best you can do,
The choice is clear
Whatever you do,
You cannot stay here.

Do you have any other ideas about how I could interpret this title?  I'd love to explore other ideas!