Weather Check

Let’s wander the hillsides together.
I’ll confirm once I check the weather.

If the weather proves sunny and fine,
We’ll pack a picnic and plan to dine.

If we dine, and the wine proves heady,
We’ll linger till we’re good and steady.

If we’re steady and feeling gung-ho,
We’ll wander on till our footsteps slow.

If our steps slow while we’re far from home
We’ll wish we’d never set out to roam.

If we don’t roam but head to the mall,
I won’t need to check the weather at all.

From NaPoWriMo 2019, day 26 – Write a poem that uses repetition. Peace to your !

opening shots

There will be three:
   the forest of gentle menace,
   the atrium of white silence,
   the sea of blue chairs.
The viewer will notice first:
   the denuded spires of the trees,
   the billowing of the marble arches,
   the methodical stacking of the chairs.
And as the camera pans out:
   the pockmarked snow,
   the solitary white chair,
   the blue of the sea.

Poem title from chapter 11 of Poemcrazy by Susan G. Wooldridge.

I based this poem on three photos selected from the @SpaceLiminalBot Twitter account. Peace to your !

Brand Loyalty

I Pledge® my loyalty to you, dear Windex®.
Wherever you Gojo®, I’ll go; just give me a Shout®.
If you get in trouble, send me an S.O.S®;
I’ll be there Swiffer® than a speeding Comet®.
You know I would never Lysol® to you:
You’ll always be my one-and-only Mr. Clean®.

Published by Pittsburgh Poetry Houses, Spring 2017

Here’s one from NaPoWriMo 2016. The day 12 prompt was to write an index poem, which didn’t inspire me. I punted and wrote a Windex poem instead. Peace to your !

Summer Vacation

You know what?
It’s the last day of school.
We can lie in the sun by the pool.

Have you heard?
We are going away
To the beach with its sand and its spray.

Did they tell you?
It’s the last day of summer.


My younger two daughters start school this week. They’re looking forward to seeing friends. To doing homework? Not so much. Peace to your !

Joywriting / Controlled Abandon

Companion poems from my poemcrazy project. Peace to your !


With swoop and soar, with whoop and cry,
Fly, Icarus, fly!

An eagle with a glinting eye,
High, Icarus, high!

I write my name across the sky,
I, Icarus, I!

Controlled Abandon

Too far ahead, too high, my Icarus.
My heart beat fast to see him swoop and soar.
My wings trembled for him. And when he plunged,
I tore my eyes away. Ah, Icarus!
My golden boy! You overshot your wings;
I flew my steady course. And both too late
In life to master now the middle way
Of utter unincinerating joy.

Poem titles from chapters 43 and 46 of poemcrazy by Susan G. Wooldridge.


All writers have their droughts, the rain gauge dry,
The page as empty as the plains; long days
When not a single cloud drifts in the sky
And inspiration fades to distant haze.
Be constant then in taking to the skies;
Be quick to seed each passing cloud you find.
Sweet rain will fall; ideas will arise
From this precipitation of the mind.
And if the rains delay? Do not lose heart:
A single lightning strike can set afire
The parched and lifeless page, and fresh new art
Emerge out of the ashes of desire.
Amid great dryness, writers, never doubt;
By fire or water growth will come about.

We recently had company from California, where pretty much the entire state is affected by drought. Meanwhile, in my part of the country, we’ve been having thunderstorms fairly regularly. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could shift rain (and inspiration) from areas of abundance to areas of lack? Peace to your !

Treed (A Cautionary Tale)

The Harrods had a horrid
Loud-mouth of a daughter
Who didn’t listen to them
Even when she oughter.
She climbed into a pin oak tree
And yelled at them, “You won’t catch me.”

And she wouldn’t come down
No matter what they bought her.
And she only pooh-poohed
The more that they besought her.
She hid within that pin oak tree
And yelled at them, “You won’t catch me.”

And she wouldn’t come down
When birds flew down and prod her,
And she only nyah-nyahed
At dinners that they brought her.
She stayed up in that pin oak tree
And yelled at them, “You won’t catch me.”

And she wouldn’t come down
Even when the days got hotter,
And she only hah-hahed
When offered drinks of water.
She settled in that pin oak tree
And yelled at them, “You won’t catch me.”

Since she wouldn’t come down
And she acted ever odder,
The Harrods they grew tired
And wondered why they fought her.
They left her in that pin oak tree
And went inside and let her be.

Still she didn’t come down,
So the squirrels came and got her,
And stored her for the winter,
And this is what it taught her:
If a ripe old age you wish to see,
Don’t act like a nut in a pin oak tree.

And finishing out the tree quintet, this narrative poem. Peace to your !