De-cember Begins

November was crunch time
and she got pooped of
so she
took a few days to breathe,

in the magic
of Christmas coming,
her heart thrumming
to little boys drumming
to a baby king.

Now all that’s left to do is



It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse. I’m hosting. Come get crunchy with me. 






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Black & White

Got a photograph of a smile
taken way back when we could smile.
Now this plane will take me
where, I don’t know…
– Collective Soul



There’s a sepia tone
smile somewhere in this drawer
that says we once were
something more,

before things went gray.
Before the lines got blurred.
Before you slurred the words
and punched the wall. Before

I balled up the dress that was
my mama’s and ripped the photo
in half
as my heart.

Before I started wondering
what else could be.

Before both the night
and the chalk dust
cleared, and I no longer


Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 30. Whew. 

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The Old Gray Mare


This poem was a goddess
once. A Godiva, even. Long
hair, horse. Now she’s a little

Stare at her long enough,
you might see the re
-semblance of her old song,
the hum
-ina humina humina
in her strum. The old girl’s

got a few good lines left
now, maybe. But back
in the day? She was somethin’
else. Somethin’ other

than what she is right now,
which is a little tired and a bit
worn. Torn between stretching
her poetic legs, and cocooning
those uniambic toes
in a down
blanket somewhere
and watching Netflix.

Perhaps she’ll fix
herself a snack,
and give it one


Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 30

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This Is Still to Say

{in response to William Carlos Williams}


I am sick
of plums
and that damn
empty icebox

which never
has anything worth
for breakfast

Forgive me
I am also
not much
worth saving


Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 29

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This Ain’t Love


This poem is a fickle mistress, a wandering
soul. She might stay awhile, and smile. She

might go home to the moon at any moment.
She’ll leave a note, but only the most tre

-bled clefs, no rest, no selah. She’s got a mind
of her own and lipsticked lips that say she’s

a gypsy girl, a swirl of indigo on a disappearing
page. The gist? She’ll jilt you, tilt you sideways

and leave you wanting. Haunted. Daunted be
-yond what you can bear. She’ll wear your shirt

and the scent of her will linger forever. She’s a
goddess, and you’ll long for her long dark hair

until you can no longer breathe, nor believe
there is anything else in the world but her sound

-less stare. It’s time to quit her, sit her down and
say the tirade of things on your too-full tongue,

lash her with words and switch and pitch her
back where she belongs. But you won’t. Oh, you

won’t. Because she’s a temptress, a seductive sylla
-bled siren whose song you must swallow whole,

whose soul has sifted into your bones, in sacred
befuddled bliss. And if this ain’t love, what is?


Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 28


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The Stories We Tell Ourselves, In Order {To Stay}

Love bites,
love bleeds.
– Def Leppard


We say
we might flee. That these
bleak skies are too much.
That we might touch peace
again if only we leave.

We say
we might be better apart.
That the stilted start and
unquiet center are signs;
that no one rewinds.

We say
we might see the ocean,
might touch the sand and
feel the surf change us,
rearrange us.

We play
games of paper, scissors,
rock of ages on tiny stages
for our own sanity,
our vanity.

We slay
dragons. Visions. Songs.
Belong only to the sea. Wish
for new veins, warm days,
brighter teeth.
Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 28

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On Top of Spaghetti

I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.
………….. – old Scout song


We have lost our ever

You will find us here,
to use our noodles,
find some new way
……to say

………….God bless you.


Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 27

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