making lemonade

there’s a mellow
lemon melon yellow sun
rising in this stubborn sky,
………and i
have but a few hours to live
and breathe in indigo.

we’ll fortify our stands,
add more sugar; charge
a dollar for a cup of this
looking glass Lake, for
the sake of staying. or

we’ll sprinkle a little
into our own
smiles, brave the miles
and take our puckered
-promise lips home.

quickly prompted.


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An Abundance of Blue


In 1986, it was eye shadow.
mascara. Liner. All in various
shades of Electric Boogaloo Blue.

We’d paint our changing faces
under an AquaNet fog, clog
our pores with Cover
Girl because Christie Brinkley
said so. Today I know

a different shade of shadow:
the way a stone turns the
Lake into turquoise cobalt
aqua; the way God pulls his
indigo shade at dusk. These
are hues I can cling to, sing
to, bring to a grateful heart
that sees the world
through brighter eyes.


quickly prompted.

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the sanctity of now

breathe in
breathe out
…remember how?

there will never be another
right here
right now.

quickly prompted.


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Darling, I am growing old…

Won’t you come toddle
with me
a little closer to the sea,

braid my graying tresses
through your
gentle storytelling hands?

Let’s stand at the edge
of the world
and salt our sorrows, shed

our fears into the breeze,
weave our
joys into this sanded shore.

Let’s stand and watch the
day dawn,
break itself open against a

cobalt sky, pass on by and
then fade into
this golden wave-whirled yawn.

title phrase prompt from quickly.

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As Long As We Both Shall Give

“To marry is to halve your rights and double your duties”
– Arthur Schopenhauer

Marry, marry
quite contrary.

How does a garden grow?
With silver linings
and seashells
and com
-promise when you
have a row.

Mr. Schopenhauer,
don’t dis the bliss;
from where I sit,
it can be amazing.
But see, here’s the thing
(perhaps you missed):
You have to water it.


quickly prompted

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readying for rain


we scrutinize the skies, list
-en to the forecast, gather
clouds and silver-stitch our
names along their edges.

we battle drought and
doubt and drizzle,
trade dry land
for the steady
of windshield wipers.

we pilfer puddled hope;
………… umbrellas.




prompted by poetic asides


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that there poem

was naughty, any way.
what do we care
if it ran away?

we won’t miss its
scream, or squall or sway.

we’ll let it stew
awhile in its own
nasty juices. no more
temper tan
-trums or lame excuses.

see that there trail
it left behind? bread crumbs,
low hums, old pork rinds?

let’s follow them. maybe
it’s changed
its mind.


inspired by my poetical friend and encouraging reader, Anne Katherine,
who said i should write a “that there poem” poem. ;)

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