Hinges creak under the weight of the swinging door
as early autumn breezes tumble in.
They mingle with the cedar lined scent of your humidor
then against the warmth of clove and cinnamon rising
from my porcelain cup.
 Promises fall on content hearts.


An early evening jog around the block
a trek down memory lane
the sweet smell of hot frying donuts
me back to a bakery counter in Poland
nostrils flare as the crisp scent of charcoal
memories of marshmallows and campfire Smores
the cold smell of damp soil mixed with rain
me to childhood nights on the lawn staring at the stars
I am home again.  


still too deep

doggedly casting stones
into the dark abyss
wishing the waters would somehow
be shallow enough to reflect the grey clouds
that roll endlessly above
but i am forced to face
the relentless depths of this chasm
and my grief


In each passing day of summer,
I feel autumn's sweet wooing.
Where shorelines give way
gold, sienna, and crimson leaves await.
You may have your scorching sun
'cause a cool breeze is on the way!


After all these years,
your blue eyes and sweet smile
can still make my knees swim,
my heart flutter,
my eyes light up.
I like that
about you.


Children's laughter rolls
through the knee high grass.
Thistles and Dandelion wishes bend
beneath bare feet and round-bellied bees.
High above, the sun holds court.
Summer isn't budging anytime soon.


do you remember that night?
the sky was black and the grass growing damp
and we were singing and talking into the dawn?
let's never forget..


Skipping stones across the dark blue stream
spotted with reflections of the sky, the clouds, the dark
silhouettes of taller trees.
I let my mind wander from life's mysteries and dilemmas
yet unsolved, for a child's labor of patience and art.
The twist of wrist, the defiance of nature's expectations,
today I have conquered!


My feet and fingers are slipping,
stealing my breath and hope as I
slide down. Terrified I look over
my shoulder, overwhelmed, the accusations
rise. Where were you? Why didn't
you help? How are you letting me fall?
Only I see you too, grasping for the next
inch, hanging on by knuckles and grit. I
bite back the angst inside and breathe out.
My lips say it will be okay, and I reach up


Every harmonica strain and lightening bug
bright against this mid-summer sky
makes my heart yearn for simpler evenings
with you derailing my senses.

So lay another Hickory log on the fire
and we'll watch the sparks dance while you
sing me another song, a tune that takes up all
of my todays and tomorrows.


The familiar chords of a once vogue song
roll across her heart robust as clouds on a
dizzying summer day. Her eyes mist over with
memories of their sweet annals; she is lost
in the moment they first met, and her heart is
young again.


Pressing beautiful moments between pages
of flowering colors and memories.
This life's veins on papery thin tokens
she intends to carry with her for a very long time.


each new raindrop
pale sunrise
glimmering firefly
contains a brand new song
a dance
I can not bear to miss


she kept flying
and dreaming and living and believing
having confidence in the present 
and hope for the future

at first she did it 
because no one had told yet that she couldn't
but in time
she continued to do it 
because everyone told her it was impossible

PAD 16: the impossible

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
~ Eleanor Roosevelt


the tomato vine grew thick and strong
its felt stem pressing into the cedar fence
that held it so securely.
a hand reached for a promising ripe fruit
palming its dense sunwarmed flesh.
with a twist the orb snapped from the vine
revealing it's hidden sin.
an infestation of sweet seeking ants
tumbled out of a split in its flesh,
an infestation hidden to the casual eye.
with a breath of disappointment
the vegetation was slung beyond the fence.
lips pressed together the gardener moved on
there would be a harvest in time.

PAD 15: infestation poem 
(& the disappointment of expectations unmet /aka/  there is a certain beauty in the empty glass)


waking early
before dawn
legs stretching, tendons reaching, lungs seeking
she set out
on a journey to the end
13.1 miles
she breathed with
every step
and inch by inch
that monster
was overcome

PAD 13: monster (and my 1/2 marathon race)


Parched dry lips
cry out against this
dusty landscape.
Aching, empty, yearning; I
thirst for you.

Rushing waterfall,
immersing, permeating, saturating
my soul.
Revived, I will drink
endlessly from your well.

PAD 13: comparison poem


Waiting forever
to love you
Completely you love,
forever waiting.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
threads sewed dreams together
waiting eternity
eternity waiting together
sewed threads

PAD 12: palindromes at dVerse
challenging, yet strangely addicting


He rose early to rehearse his plan,
sharpen his tools,
visualize each move
and every necessary response.

After a long and exacting hunt
his careful positioning
and steady endurance paid off

As he paused now, his game leveled,
the trophy laid out before him,
he stepped back in triumphant pride.

Never noting the gleam in her eye,
the smile that played across her lips,
nor the snare now encircling his leg.

PAD 9: hunter/hunted an angled poem 
For more angles, head over to dVerse poets pub!


"How to Forgive"

Take a deep breath and
look at the humanity and
brokenness and frailty out of which
most of mankind functions.

Think back on the foolish acts
and words and thoughts and hurt
that you have caused unintentionally,
or even on purpose.

Wonder at the grace of those who
have overlooked, looked on, or looked beyond
your own imperfections and weaknesses
and then...

Let the words come out of your mouth
let your body agree
and soon enough,
you at least, will be free.

PAD 8: "How to.." prompt


slip sliding through
memories of childhood
caring-less and living more

these moments of reflection
take years off my face and add
a smile that is not easily displaced

he revealed from his perch on the bench beside me

PAD 7: sevenling poem  


Nestled together on the sofa,
they were comforted as they reflected on their few years together.
The curtains hung, the walls painted, their abode was welcoming
and only recently beginning to reveal room for another.
Two birds lining a nest with love and preparation;
as he he took her into his arms, one plus one became three.

PAD 5: plus prompt 
PAD 6: anecdotal form


"Hold 'em sweetie,"

these words, husky and sultry beneath her breath,
fell from scarlet lips now welcoming a Gibson.

Her voice, stature, and enameled fingernails suggested
wisdom earned and well worth heeding.

How then did she so often lose her hand?

Long after the teardrop diamonds framing her perfect chignon
were gone, her words and sweet perfume lingered on.

In love and poker, always play your cards close to your chest.

PAD 4: Hold that...irony


milky teeth dig
into strawberry lips
blue irises on opaque seas
search with held breath

search for an affirmation
a sign, a token to cherish
something more tangible
than this tentative hope

PAD 3: tentative poem 


On pitch black nights,
you offer me dawn.

Amid evil and darkness,
sweet innocence you shelter.

Despair's gritty nails dig in,
yet you free me to hope.

Blinding cavernous depths
can not stand
in your light.

PAD 2: bright poem / dark poem


pale rays of early sunlight push through as
this day dawns new and full of possibilities
but my toes are nestled in the warm and
familiar scent of your skin, our sheets, and
and thousand memories that anchor my soul

It's a new day, a new month, and a new year of the Poem-A-Day challenge!
Today's prompt: something new


the earth beneath my feet shook
eyes widening, mouth dry
it took a moment to realize
the force came from within
my own chest
I owned this night



she listened to his words,
the pauses, and spaces between.
she heard his stories,
and the lines he never had to utter.
so much of his story had already
been written
in the creases across his brow,
and the deep composition
of his frame.


long notes from an oboe
drew her in,
solemn and low

songs never sung
notes of heaviness
head hung

soulful notes with clarity spoke
all that she felt and
how her heart broke


leathery feet
against sun burnt sand.
calloused from time
travelling this road
long and endless,
or so it seemed
since this journey began.
only now
the end was nearer than
the beginning, and his skin
was growing thin
around his lips and heart.

a "fragile" poem for Robert Lee Brewer's Wednesday poetry prompt.



they stayed up late
wearing out their eyes
amid growing chills
and the gathering dusk
their talk painting dreams
held onto for, one-day
and against a starry night sky
someday, seemed so much closer
more tangible, than today


throwing rocks at these glass walls
celebrating the shattering confetti
fresh air rushes in without excuse
life is so much sweeter when
you have nothing to hide


sometimes i am angry;
angry in frustration as the earth pulls away
fingers digging in, ground slipping away,
despite my pulling, groaning, and grappling.
and i can't help but think it will all be lost
despite my best efforts.
and i am angry.

Joe Hesch's challenge today at dVerse is, "Don't stop! Don't worry about what others might think. Just write." While love, peace, and happiness are easier on the reader, sometimes the more difficult emotions we experience are more honest, and harder to face.


knobby knees, bony, angular,
stick out in front of me;
unchanging reminders of all the gawky and
awkward growing up moments that i'd just as soon
forget now that i've become so
much more educated, articulate, refined, curved.

skin stretches over bone. a bicycle fall scar runs
along the outside of my left knee cap. and i am still
"monkey-ears;" swinging from the jungle gym
book under my arm, locked over the parallel bars by
knobby knees, bony, angular.

a chance to talk about growing up, and when we don't at dVerse


amid the swinging sound of the band,
the banjos and feet a'stomping across the floor,
i was lost to the cheers of celebration and shouts of joy.
lost in the still silence between this irreplaceable moment,
and all the moments i had somehow let slip away.
i vowed then and there in my heart, to hold on tighter this time .

In a call to really hear, Tashtoo has invited us to share our stories, memories, songs.  Come take a listen at the dVerse bar.



   The stranger pounded fervently against the roughly hewn oak boards standing between him and the biting wind. The low rustle moving through the heavy branches was barely audible over the sound of his heart now pounding in his ears. How long had he been lost? It couldn't have been for more than an hour, but the forest had quickly darkened overhead and the faint glow he saw now, and heard again, brought little comfort to his aching body.
   Desperately he brought his fist down again, now harder, now faster, almost falling forward when the door finally groaned on its hinges as a grisly browed man peered out from under years of wrinkles and a greasy hat. "Lost are ye?'" he scratched out in a voice that had seen more jugs of corn liquor and 'baccy than human souls. He shuffled back, as the glow of the fire warmed cabin drew the stranger in, and dropped a heavy bolt into the latch shutting out the sinking darkness.
  A simple table set near the hearth with two chair drawn up beside it. The old man poured a thick dark brew from the kettle on the coals and set it opposite him at the table. "That'll warm ye bones,"  he chuckled as he pulled a tin plate from a shelf concealed in the shadows that stretched along the wall. Embers flashed in the reflection of a surprisingly well sharpened blade as the host carved a chunk of cheese from his own plate then dipped the knife into a kettle swung from a thin iron bar over the flames. The stringy meat he added to the tin plate smelled better than it looked, but the stranger was hungry and grateful. With a thump, the old man struck the blade into the table boards and resumed his seat opposite the stranger.
  They sat in silence, the old man chewing away at the fibrous meat, the stranger sensing he was being watched tried to concentrate on the film atop his mug. That's when he caught the gleam in the eye, the one eye, of a mangy cat resting by the door. He shifted uneasily in his chair, the old man raised his brows; questioning, knowing. In two swift strides the stranger determined he'd rather face his odds in the unknown the forest. Sliding the bolt with a grunt, he stumbled back into the depths of the night.

On the 101st anniversary of the birth of Charles Addams, Living Poetry has challenged us to write something a little darker...



so many nights of strained voices,
frustration and tears.
where the only "piece" she got
was of someone else's mind. 

in patches of sun-buttered carpet, 
and the musty pages of a well worn book, 
she finds all the peaces
her heart has ever ached for. 

finding peace, in all of our poetry pages, tonight on dVerse


thin icy
fingers trace across
window panes

cryptic notes
early commuters
scrape away

beneath pale
breathy clouds their dirge
finds a shroud

Explore Lunes, Haikus, and shared poetry with today's dVerse prompt.
In a related note, Frost's "Fire and Ice" was a feature in today's New York Times.