Tag Archives: Poetry

letting go

letting go

from a distance
letting go takes one’s breath
a symphony of amber, crimson,
gold, emerald summer flare
fading, cool winds of change
wooing us to dance like dervishes
to break free of all bounds, to ride
the gale with abandon, to flutter
softly to the earth, in afterglow
of ecstasy, to drink the dew, to sleep
letting go takes one’s breath
from a distance

when one draws near
there’s no denying truth
clarity, reality, convey a somber
view of brittle bones, age-dappled
skin, fragile veins, the cusp of
death, spring, summer, now autumn
fading, letting go, the grim final
hurrah that exposes our nakedness
letting go is not so pretty, we cling,
longing for a spring we’ll never see
there’s no denying truth
when one draws near

in the end
when all is said and done
when all that is left of us is dust
when the earth reclaims our mortal
shell, what stories will our brief life
tell, memories perhaps of greening,
vibrant, shading, dancing, dreaming,
kissed by sun, caressed in moon glow,
brief, a blip, we laughed, we loved,
we lived life full…oh how we loved!
when all is said and done
in the end


mother oak

mother oak

she stands, deeply rooted
amidst a grove of shallow-footed
firs, bursting with fruit; her evergreen
friends taunting her as she blushes
red, surrendering her modesty
to the cool winds of autumn

what dreams she’ll dream when
winter comes, memories wakened
in the deep, dark loam, buried there
where only her roots can taste them,
memories of seasons past, of
seed-burst longing to breach the
grave, to life, to feel the sun upon
her face and the sweet seductive
breeze, the thrill of greening

she stands, deeply rooted
amidst a grove of shallow-footed
firs, some felled by tempests, or the ax
destined to waste away to dust covered
in gaudy baubles and tinsel, their
ever-greenness an illusion laid
bare at the altar of lost souls, and
rendered to ash at vanity’s bonfire

yes, she stands, deeply rooted
in the bosom of she who keeps
this blue orb spinning, sailing
through a sea of sweet milk just
far enough from the sun not
to be consumed and close enough
to the moon to see her reflection,
light and shadow colliding, in
ecstasy, heart and soul all-knowing


-Inspired by a new book I’m reading… “Seeds From the Wild Verge” by Brendan Ellis Williams

what it is…

the hazing starts when we are girls, 
sheltered from the outside world
where monsters claim the unsuspecting
we fledge our natal nests expecting
limitless opportunity…
too soon smacked by reality
that most of us will just make do
while fate rewards a chosen few
we learn to make the best of it
find happiness in simple shit
work our fingers to the bone
and if we’re lucky build a home
find love, companionship, have kids
for most of us, that’s all there is
and it’s enough, we tell ourselves
our dreams collecting dust long-shelved
our parents didn’t mean to lie
they hoped we’d crack the ceilinged sky
but we were set up from the start
ensuring disappointed hearts
only to learn life’s bittersweet
where happiness and sorrow meet
and if we live to see old age
our minds intact, our bodies razed
as memories flash in our mind’s eye
at least we can admit we tried,
gave it all we had and then some
fought to glimpse another sun
though life is messy, it is all
hard to let go when the sickle falls




the day and gloam meet
subtle wafts of musky air,
leaves, weary of summer heat
crisp, clinging tight where
parched sap chokes mid-limb, no life to spare

pencils freshly sharp
notes of soft wood, shaved lead, tools
of learning the three R’s, art,
notebooks, college-ruled
students, masked, head anxiously to school

pumpkin that and this,
ad nauseam, morning brew
concoctions promising bliss
at a price, it’s new
again, some wait all year, sad but true

blink and time is gone
soft body, aching, graying,
dreams unrealized, nights long
and dark, days fading
winter coming soon, too soon, just saying

another harvest
wisdom gleaned from books and tears
choose your poison, leave the rest
the death we most fear…
not living life full while we are here

A new form, to me at least, lured me from hiding…actually, forced me from what has become the chaos of surviving. I paired it with my own creation, the horatiodet. Ode to my favorite season. 

The cadralor is a poem of 5, unrelated, numbered stanzaic images, each of which can stand alone as a poem, is fewer than 10 lines, and ideally constrains all stanzas to the same number of lines. Imagery is crucial to cadralore: each stanza should be a whole, imagist poem, almost like a scene from a film, or a photograph. The fifth stanza acts as the crucible, alchemically pulling the unrelated stanzas together into a love poem. By “love poem,” we mean that your fifth stanza illuminates a gleaming thread that runs obliquely through the unrelated stanzas and answers the compelling question: “For what do you yearn?”

Horatiodet is a total of 5 lines, syllable count: 5-7-7-5-9 / rhyme scheme: ababb. In other words, it is a short Horatian Ode (only one stanza), a form based on the style of Horace, Quintus Horatius Flaccus (December 8, 65 BC – November 27, 8 BC), the leading Roman lyric poet.

dressed in tears

dressed in tears

i dress myself in tears these days
not for me, i weep for others
orphaned children, childless mothers
victims of cruelty and hate

justice denied for those who wait
i feel their pain, those who suffer
i dress myself in tears these days
not for me, i weep for others

for every soul who’s led astray
hope one day we can recover
learn to care for one another
with compassion, kindness and grace
i dress myself in tears these days


Well I completely fell off the NaPoWriMo wagon this year! This poem is based on one of the prompts. I’ve been adding a line or two over the past week when i have the time. Along with my day job, I have been caring for a sick pup who requires a special home cooked diet (our other pups are on the diet as well to avoid food nabbing) and with two very large dogs (175lbs and 125lbs) and a small one (20lbs) I am cooking daily along with all the household chores, while my partner works a second part-time job to pay the medical bills for our Winston. we don’t know how long he will be with us but are doing what we can to make his life a good one. How could anyone say no to this face! 
In case i didn’t mention it, this is a Rondel. Here are the rondel poetry form rules:
1. Poem consists of 13 lines in 3 stanzas
2. Rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains)
3. Usually 8 syllables per line

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