Thursday, November 12, 2015


For fun, I decided to use the same list of writer's prompt words from my last post to create another poem. I wanted to see if I could come up with a totally different idea but still use the same words. I got the words originally from the blog, Under the Porch Light by Delores. These are the words: cards, dangerous, flip, glance, sputter, and cowardly. If you need inspiration for your writing, visit Thursday's post at Under the Porch Light. Thank you, Delores, for providing these fun prompts.


After a quick glance at the judges,
the  skater stepped onto the ice.
She pushed off and began her routine,
spinning, twirling, 
jumping  once, jumping twice.

She knew it was dangerous,
but she had to try. 
She launched herself into a triple flip jump
leaping and reaching, 
meeting the sky.

She nailed it cleanly without a sputter.
Head up, smile beaming.
No one could call her cowardly now.
She glided back to her seat, 
the blades of her skates, sharp and gleaming.

She held her breath and watched.
Nervously she waited
as the judges made their decision.
The cards revealed all tens!
Roses rained down, cameras flashed.
She skated out in victory,
a sparkling. triumphant vision!

Monday, November 9, 2015

Cheaters Never Win

Delores who writes the blog, Under the Porch Light, gives writing prompts for her readers to use as a jumping off spot for their writing. I decided to play along. One of the prompts she gave last week was to use this list of words: cards, dangerous, flip, glance, sputter, and cowardly. I used them in the poem below. I put them in italics so they'd be easier to see. I thought the resulting poem was over dramatic and comical, which was not my intention, but I had fun trying to make the words work for me. If you need inspiration and want to have some fun with your writing, visit Under the Porch Light on Thursdays and try out one of the writing prompts that Delores provides.

Cheaters Never Win 

Smelling of smoke, leather, and whiskey,
five rugged cowhands sit at a bar room table
and hold close the cards they've been dealt.

Jed, with a furtive glance
and a flip of his wrist,
swigs back another belt.

Never known to be cowardly,
he slips an ace from his sleeve, 
lays his hand down, (Jed treads on dangerous ground).

"YOU'RE A CHEATER, JED JONES!" Frank bellows 
as he bangs his fist on the table.
He begins to sputter and swing his gun around.

Jed leaps to his feet and runs for the door.
Frank shoots without blinking an eye.
Jed falls and lies still on the hard, cold floor.

With a sinister grin, Frank drawls,
"Cheaters never win and sometimes...they die.
So long, Jed Jones. Goodbye."

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Election Day

Election Day

So much in the future depends
on the decisions made today.
Choosing leaders, passing issues.
Everyone has a say.

Politicians spend their time
trying to prove they are great.
The rest of us consider and try to decide
how they compare, how they rate.

I'm glad I'm not one of them.
Can you imagine how difficult it must be
to guard so cautiously
all that you do 
and all that people see?

Each word spoken 
must be carefully weighed.
Because you know for certain, 
the world will notice if mistakes are made.

So for all of our sakes
and for the sake of our future too,
let's hope the best men and women win.
The fates of many rely on so few.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

October Scenes

October Scenes

October, what have you brought to me?
Red velvet leaves drape a row of trees.

A skeleton trapped by spiders 
whispers, "Please, please, set me free!"

Pumpkins and gourds keep watch on who's sneaking around.

Old bones struggle to escape the ground.

A calico naps in the noon day sun.

Zinnias flourish, pretending summer isn't done.

A burst of red and gold peeks out from the green.

A ninja is always watching the neighborhood scene.

The colors of Christmas? No, not already!?

But the colors, oh the colors!

The colors leave me heady!

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Everyday Love

Everyday Love

He left a trail of paper clips
and made coffee cup rings
on the envelopes of unopened junk mail.
She followed along behind
and made their home tidy again.

Her hands were bent and twisted.
Ruled by arthritis, they were weak and clumsy.
He opened jars with tight lids for her
and swept up the shattered pieces of drinking glasses
that slipped through her fingers
and crashed on the ceramic kitchen floor.

Together they picked apples,
watched movies and sunsets,
and strolled through the leaves in the park.
He tended the houseplants
when she forgot to water them.
She could always find his keys
and his glasses for him
when he misplaced them 
and left them lying about.

Their love was so simple, so pure,
so real, and so grand,
that others couldn't help but to feel it
when in their presence.
Some of the gestures of love between them
were extravagant and beyond imagining,
but mostly it was the little things 
that bound them together:
a shoulder rub after a long day,
sharing the last piece of apple pie,
holding hands at the theater, 
knowing when to speak
and when to remain silent,
and carrying each other's burdens.

Their love was an everyday love.
Not an ordinary love,
not a boring, tedious, or plain love,
but one that was felt every single day.
It was steadfast, reliable, and unbreakable.

His eyes twinkled and teased,
her smile lit up his world,
and her laughter was his music.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Honeymooners

The Honeymooners

Late August early mornings
bring the raucous complaints
of a flock of geese overhead.

Their squawks and shrieks
rattle through the air,
breaking the peace,
clattering through the empty skies, 
like a honeymoon-bound car 
with strings of soup cans 
tied to the back bumper,
and a "Just Married" sign, 
taped to the trunk.

The honeymooners travel
with hope and uncertainty,
as the geese do,
to a new season
and a new start.

Geese making travel plans by the lake before taking flight.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Egg Custard Pie

Egg Custard Pie

One creamy, yellow slice of egg custard pie,
freckled with a soft sprinkle of nutmeg,
sitting in the bakery case at the diner, 
reminds me of childhood summers:
of blue sky days and morning glory ways;
of laundry on the line, drying in the breeze;
and dandelions and clover 
dancing to the rumblings of the honeybees.

Out of breath from racing our bikes home,
we take a break on the porch.
We sip lemonade over ice
and watch wispy, white clouds drift by.
We know all is good and all is right
because Mom has just handed us each a plate
with a slice of her homemade egg custard pie,
still warm (topped with whipped cream---piled high.)