The first day of his smile

Banishing the chill of a late frost

Thus my love comes

On the dawn of the first day

of the first spring

To tend my garden, till the sacred soil

Where the silky folds of my flower blossoms

Gently, widely

As my summer sun also rises

When he gazes past the twin hills

To the valley beyond

Offering the sweetest of nectars

Thus my love comes

To reap that which was so deeply sown

On a harvest moon divine

The fruit of his labor stretched out

Across a starlit ravine

Call him yet home again

Thus my love comes

On the last sunset of the last day

of the last fall

Stoking the hearth warmth

And we rest

The seventh day of my smile

Poetry Picnic Week 37: Peace…

The List

Them! She turns and points out to the ones
Sons of a son who once harmed her young dear
Years paid with glee at her blatant lying
Sighing, I check her on the list with ease

Please help! My child dies! A mom screams and begs
Dregs! Responds the suit ignoring her needs
Pleads we just can’t fund this, now close the doors!
Scores the suit on my list for lies, the fool

Cool water sprinkles her newly done face
Placed perfectly by the surgeon’s hand
Grand, she still wants a little done right there
Unaware her name has just been marked down

Frowns cross his brow as he simply just stares
Dares himself to leave her, just walk away
“Staaaay” purrs a voice not his wife and he smiles
While I write his name to my dossier

Beware! Fists comes down on unaware face
Trace the tears that fall along with his goal
Rolls the jewelry he’s craved so deep inside
Snide for a moment, I check off his name

Same old, same old she says with a sneer
Leers at the ones who can’t afford her styles
Smiles as she plied with even more trite things
Brings her to my list with renowned due haste

Waste best described most indolent ways
Staying far from hard work Oh she’ll try
Dry her nails is the most effort given
Livin’ as though, I can’t check one more name

Blame? I have none the choice made is their path
Wrath, Greed, Pride, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth,
Cloths my claim for the dark souls of theirs
Care not on the cause for their deadly sin
In smiling silence, add names to my list

Gist? Your name could be added next, ahem!

Anagram of Sin

Did anyone notice the pattern? This poetic form is called a Rime Enchainée. The pattern of the Rime Enchainée is very simple – the last word of each line rhymes with the first word of the following line, and the last word of the last line rhymes with the first word of the first line, bringing the form back full circle.

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Poetry Picnic | Week 26 – Seven Deadly Sins

The Chanteuse

There were the songs she sang for lovers
There were the songs she sang for the souls departed
There were the songs she sang for dreamers
This is the song she sang for the brokenhearted
Joshua Kadison / Vanishing America – El Diablo Amor

She’ll parcel out her song as is her right
But they come to see her every night
To listen to her words in the smoky light
Audience of eight or a hundred and one
Captivated by whatever music is spun
For all the pain, all the joy she uncovers
With an opus of her choice
To the last trill of her voice
A soft lingering note that gently hovers

There were the songs she sang for lovers

With wail of discord or a comforting tune
Her voice shrieking notes high or the low of bassoon
Her words soft in true tribute or mocking lampoon
Be it last year, last week or just the other day
From the memories of love from those passed away
Full of the hope from sage’s last wisdom imparted
Whether the brief friendship or the closest of kin
A personal memorial from her to them
Who now walk paths only the heavens have charted 

There were the songs she sang for the souls departed

Just believe love will come all bright, shiny and new
Or your craziest wish will certainly come true
From her song, nothing is impossible to do
Twinkle with the moonbeams and become a new fish
Or savor the flavor of a favorite dish
From a childhood feast full of rambunctious screamers
We’ll have naught of ye olde stodgy civilities
Take a chance with infinite possibilities
Life is a parade complete with shiny streamers 

There were the songs she sang for dreamers

The audience’s mood takes a moment to gauge
Before setting a tempo designed to assuage
And all from the comfort of the dim, smoky stage
Whether an upbeat tempo or sad notes that swooned
Pure heartbreak is heard no matter what song is crooned
She always seems to know when love has been thwarted
Each table has candles lit in a glass that’s clear
Maybe the soft light glistened off my single tear
One look at my face and she knew that love had parted 

This is the song she sang for the brokenhearted


Glosa poetic form

The Glosa is a Spanish form that also works well in English.   Glosas open with a quatrain from another poet, called the cabeza, followed by four ten-line stanzas terminating with the lines of the initial cabeza in consecutive order.  The sixth and ninth lines of each stanza rhyme with the borrowed tenth line and is the only required rhyme of the poem. There is no set meter or syllable count for a Glosa, however, a good flow is always recommended.

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Thursday Poets Rally Week 61 (January 25-Feb 3, 2012)

Poetry Picnic Week 23: New York Times Headline Topics
Inspired by NYT article: Sounds That Come From in the Head and on the Street

Longing For The Feel Of Spring

Crocus buds in snow

I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.
The fresh snowfall does not joy bring;
I want flowers in blush of bloom.

Oh, morning bluebird please come sing,
and chase away the winter gloom.
I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.

As the phoenix’s prayer doth cling,
Of rising from the ashes womb;
I long to escape from this tomb.
Oh, just a glimpse one green thing!
I’m longing for the feel of spring.

Entered in

Poetry Picnic Week 22:
Spring, Colors, Trees, and New Lives


A warm summer’s sunset out on the shore
Water filters sunlight as golden ore
Gently subdued, perfectly cued
To order the beautiful night in store
Evening spent with the one I adore
It sets a mood, but one to brood

I know these are the cusp of summer’s days
Each growing shorter as it gently sways
With each downed sun, into autumn
A sense of farewell drifts upon the haze
And Fall’s aspect settles into phase
It has begun, yes it’s begun

She reaches out and pulls me close to hear
Her former words now ringing crystal clear
Reminded twice, this was her vice
She pushes back and I must face my fears
For the first time ever seeing her tears
That turn to ice, pure drops of ice

A sense of welkin shows before my eyes
As sudden snow storm transforms her disguise
then my heart aches, oh how it breaks
As Winter Aspect clears the stormy skies
And is called to home even while she cries
Each love she takes, she must forsake

Snow Queen

It is their ilk, this temporary quest
It is how each season in turn must rest
Refreshed to be, so completely
To continue to do what they do best
A joy and pain to which they all attest
It’s hard you see, for them as me

She handles her snow mare most expertly
And once she’s proven her veracity
Heads for the sky, darkening sky
And just before she’s out of view to see
Her breathy kiss slowly wafts back to me
Saying good-bye, her last good-bye

Throughout the night, I remain defensive
Before I find reason to her motive
Equally drawn to be loves pawn
I ponder how to go on now and live
But there was one last mercy left to give
As comes the dawn, memory gone
Snow Queen on glacier

‘Tis The Season

‘Tis the season full of joy
smiles on the faces of every girl and boy

Presents wrapped by the tree, searching for your name
trying to guess the contents – toys, clothes or a games

Singing carols by the fire,
or listening to carolers, outside the door
Not worrying about the last cup of eggnog
knowing there’s more

Snow covering the streets,
adding to the yuletide
I remember when I used to see it all from the window inside

My Christmas fire, is the heat felt through a grate
Though I haven’t even had much of that as of late

A new coat for me is someone’s thrown away old
that I find here or about
The only game I play, is guessing when to leave
before the cops throw me out

I’ve long since given up on the Christmas deal
I count my blessings that I make it to the next meal

The snow covering the streets, freezes me to the bone
for all the shoppers on the street, I sit here alone

Moving from one corner to the next, just to the pass the time
wishing for more than a nickel or dime

I get more dollars than coins these days, for some reason

Oh right, I remember…

‘Tis the season


Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 18:
Snow, December, Winter Vacations & Wildness,


The subway commute is always an awkward ride
More than an hour of standing with the sweating masses
Somehow managing to remain looking dignified
When buffeted about by strangers’ asses

It’s near winter but the air-conditioning is set to Siberia
And several passengers seem on the verge of hysteria

I risk serious hearing loss by trying to drown out the inane
Cacophony of various mindless teenage chatter
I’d read, but my weary eyes just won’t bear the strain
And a snooze is impossible amid the jostling and clatter

The smell of food on the subway making my stomach rumble
The leftover stench from a derelict rider causing a grumble

Granted, it’s always better when I can find a seat
Unless I relinquish it to someone pregnant or older
And sometimes, I wish I had stayed on my feet
When a strange sleepy head leans on my shoulder

But right now I’m good though the train is again stuck
For I’m conversing with a stranger who is cute as all fuck

Treasures of the Mind

Hot chocolate on a winter’s day

The way her hips to music sway

The smile that reaches to her eyes

That to this day makes your heart sigh

The feel of safety in loved ones arms

The smirk as another falls for your charms

Catching ‘your song’ on the radio twice in a day

Watching your child perform in a school play

Getting that solid A on a hard book report,
The satisfaction of a job well done
Their smart remark, your quick retort
Then kicking back and having fun 

The clearing of your head after a few good sneezes

The clearing of your head after a published thesis

The joy of hearing your newborn’s first cry

The frustrating age of “How come…” and “Why?”

Having a quiet moment if for a short while

Taking a hurting soul to happy smiles

Seeing the tom-boy turn to lady before your sight

And that 3’6” terror became a 6’3” man over night

The pure white of the first good snow
The first buds of flowers to answer spring’s call
The summer fling that might yet grow
The sight of geese heading south in the fall

An outburst of laughter when you’re by yourself

Putting the championship trophy on the shelf

The feel of babies hand within your own

Eating Mama’s fried chicken to the bone

Massive holiday dinners and you’re stuffed to the gills

You’re asked for your hand and “Yes” you will

Lying in the grass, shaping clouds above

The first time you knew that you were loved

Being able to lay your head down at night
Without a worry or a fright
With the peace that comes from living right
And knowing God has you in His sight

All this and so much more you’re bound to find
Within the treasures of the mind

Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 17:
Photos, Nostalgia, Memories, and Families

He Sits

He sits
on a rock in the dark of night
Watching the nearby airport’s planes in flight

In the distance, city lights sparkle like gems
An hour ago, he stood among them

He knew he should have taken that first plane
But he was on a hot streak to leave was insane

His streak quickly went on a downward slope
Cashed in the plane ticket, a bus he could cope

“I believe just one more hand, and I’ll have it beat”
Now another person sits in his Greyhound seat

Resolute he tossed in the last token
Doomed, before the dealer had spoken

The wheel slowed to a pause, and he yelled “Stay gold!”
Worries over, he’d swear he saw heaven unfold
But gravity turned the wheel that one last click
Yes, fate had pulled off another cruel trick

He sits
on the rock, the eerie silence bliss
Shakes his head on how his life came down to this

Calm in this dark orchard of desert sand
Night creatures the least of his minds demand

Ordered to stay out of the Fool’s Paradise
God, how he wishes he had taken that advice

His brief streak ended, he couldn’t make book
Down to the last coin, his goose was cooked

He embarked on this weekend to have fun
Now he prays his wife forgives what he’s done

Wondering how is she going to cope
He’s taken every dime of theirs down the slope

He doesn’t try to run when the dark suits appear
Inside the loan shark’s mansion, he’s beyond tears

Not the first, not the last he falls in queue
As the suits do what they’re hired to do

So this is how it ends, the thought does occur
In the split seconds before the silencer

He sits
on the rock in the dark thick
Doesn’t even flinch, when he hears the click



Danse Sensual

A smoky haze billows upward
in the tangible heat that surrounds us
on the crowded dance floor
but for all the notice we give it
it may as well be
just you and I

The feelings
you stir up inside of me
as the air around us
with the electricity of us
the slow tempo
that achingly throbs
deep within

Your fingertips stroke
first softly here,
then a gossamer whisper of contact
caresses me
leaving me little
to imagine how it would feel
if you were stroking me

What is it…
…the music?
…the Chianti?
…the manly scent of you?
what is the driver
turning my
aphrodisiac screws

You breathe
so sensually
unto my neck
making me close my eyes
and embrace your touch
you could take me
right then
right there
and we both know it

A deep throated moan
escapes my lips,
lips as parted
as my trembling thighs
wish they could be

you softly whisper
indicating the exit
saving me from myself

too late


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Theme Thursday| Intoxicate