RIP Scott


Demons twirl around
confusing thoughts
with reality

like hurricane winds in ominous
shades of blue and white
gathering in intensity

out of control

suddenly life is torn from
its foundation

with nothing  left
but the debris of the heart

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Random Poetry Day


In honor of
Random Acts of Poetry Day
I pen this verse to celebrate

Strangers provide my dear friend
with prompts which are
dutifully provided to amateurs
each Wednesday

Each week I print
the word
the image
the verse
faithfully clipping on Vera’s board

They pile up
not happy to be
left alone

highlighted in red
waiting to be transcribed in vox
delicious with humble meaning
waiting to be released into prose

I ignore them
week after week

Their spiritual aura surrounds me
on this special day to shine
finally penned in a non-rhyming verse


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The perfect word
arranged in the tiles


on a triple word box
a plethora of points

find a place
where it could rest
earning more points

change a tile
add a y
no change to ie
would be ideal
in this game

a new word appears


go with it
the dictionary
does not agree

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Short Poem


There are no words to relay

for my short poem today.

For if I utter a word or two or three

ineffable it will no longer be.

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Courage to Change

Bike ride NW 2017-05-28 10-30-14

Flying downhill
In perfect balance
Feeling tremendously alive

Trying to carry this vitality
Into each day
Remembering to
Live and let live

Embracing whatever life brings
Everything has something to offer

Be grateful
Thank God when problems present
Replace self-pity with gratitude

Aliveness is mine

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Seeking Salvation


shoulder to shoulder
on the shoreline
cane poles in hand –
jellied worms
lead weights
plastic bobbers

In wife-beater shirts and shiftless calico
they stand [some sit] urgently
fishing for the message
hidden in the murky and muddled
mass of pond scum

Those who believe –
Oh Blessed Brothers-
can become one with the bass and catfish

Under the sterile pecan tree –
like Jesus with the loaves and fishes –
Thelma fans the flies with
Lamb’s International Funeral Home
and prays for the
sheetcake to be enough
for the unexpected plethora of unbelievers
casting for eternal life

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Donny was Right


One bad apple
won’t spoil the whole bunch, girl.

From the garden
I picked from the tempting tree.

The one with a wormhole
piercing the skin
won’t ruin the other
spheres of my life.

Peeling back the layers
of glossy red and yellow
reveals the complex fruit of my life.

The wormhole just a tiny
inconvenient tunnel to the core.

At the core,
the worm
is no longer there;
allowing me the freedom to feast
on the succulent and delicious
fruit of my life.

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