The Best Days

Had a gal named Sadie; she be one bow-legged lady
Big ol’ gal named Sadie; thick-thigh, bow-legged lady
Could drink many a grown man under the table
But the only way to look at her was drunk
If you was able

Had a face so fulla craters, she look like a ‘tater
Whole face just fulla craters, she look like a ‘tater
But in the middle of the blackest night
With them bow-legs wrapped around
She be one pretty sight

Woke me up early one morn, just this side of dawn
Oh woke me one morn, just this side of dawn
And threw some tiny pair of panties at me
Saying I hope she worth the time
So who they be?

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life

Well I was so outta luck, so I ran, got in my truck
Oh I was SO outta luck, I just ran, got in my truck
But she stood in the doorway holdin’ the key
Yelling boy you ain’t takin’ a thing, nary a thing
That belongs ta me

She say boy I told ya twice, in fact done told you thrice
Yeah she had told me twice, in fact done told me thrice
If I was ever stupid enough to get caught
I’m a lose her and everything
She ever bought

And I knew it weren’t just talk, so I started to walk
‘Cause her shotgun know how to talk, so I started to walk
But she said boy them clothes you gots belong to me
And all she let me keep were my guitar
And my skivvies

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life

I’s followed by Lucky, our one-eyed pet that’s mangy
Yeah good ole one-eyed Lucky, three-legged and mangy
But Sadie just whistled twice and that ol’ dog
Sat down in the middle of the road
Still like a log

Not knowing what to do, I walked down to Sue’
What else a nekkid man goin’ do, I walk on to Sue
But ‘fore I can even say what’s up Luvva
I greeted by her new man and his gun
Name of Bubba (Dang!)

So now I ain’t gots no wife, just my guitar and barely my life
No I ain’t gots no wife, no truck, no dog – just guitar and my life
And I start ta thinking halleluiah I’se now free of pain
I looked up inta the summer sky
It had started to rain

And them be the best days, yeah the best days of my life
Oh they be the best days, yeah the best days of my life


One Stop Poetry Form Monday — The Blues

untitled… (Subway)

As if rush hours on the train are not bad enough, I left my iPod on my desk and of course, since I’m running late, I not only didn’t get to pick up my paper, but I am now sardined against the doors. Because of the crush of bodies any chance of feeling the air conditioning is close to nil at this point and I just pray my suit is not an offensive half soggy mess when I finally disembark. To the side of me is an older woman with enough Aquanet in her hair, that if they actually wanted to hive there, I seriously doubted bees could have penetrated the hirsute turban. And oh fracking hell already!!!! Did this guy next to me pour every ounce of cologne in existence in a tub and immerse his entire body in it? Gee-shush!! Pinching the bridge of my nose while trying hard to keep my eyes from watering from both toxic scents, I stare down into the long expansive blackness of the tunnel before the next stop.  The immense dark was very fitting to my mood indeed.

Looking for any distraction to try to pull my mind out of its funk, I notice this gorgeous woman in shades in the glass’ reflection. I could just barely make out the shape of her eyes behind the dark lenses, but couldn’t really see them. She made up for it by having beautiful lush lips, emphasized the more with whatever gloss she was wearing. They looked as though she drank water not even seconds ago and I all but expected an errant liquid drop to fall. I couldn’t tell if my sudden thirst was for this unseen water implied or for the lips themselves providing that implication. She’s seemingly staring straight ahead, but I can’t tell if she’s really staring ahead or doing the non-dance we commuters without personal diversions do of looking at anything, but seeing nothing. It’s a lovely few minutes of I’m looking at you, but I’m not looking at you to while away the time.

As the train is pulling into the station she slowly lifts her shades and stares up quizzically. It was her, at first what the…? rapidly increasing to OH MY GOD, expression that finally made me stop looking at her reflection in the glass and actually through the glass itself. Her confusion then shock is rapidly matched by passengers waiting on the platform as the train starts to slow.  Mesmerized by their expressions, my mind does not fully register the crimson streaks snaking their way down the panes.  As the train jerks to its stop, the bloody body that suddenly slides from the curved roof of the train, to be caught on God only knows what and now dangle hideously in front of me just as the doors open, setting off screams inside and out of the train got my attention fully. The front of the skull was slowly turning towards me and with a slow sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, that had nothing to door with the bloody horror dangling before me, I realized I recognized what was left of the face attached to it.


This is an entry for a  challenge to write a story opener for a murder on a train. So? What do you think?

Each Day Anew…

I wake and start each day anew
I shake myself to clear my head
I take on faith I’ll muddle through
I make myself get out of bed

The day is as it was before
The play of life’s dramas unfold
The clay of my face gets new scores
The way it will for days untold

Time flaunts with me in its cruel way
Time wants me to think I’m all right
Time daunts my tears in light of day
Time haunts me then in dark of night

Can’t lie my pain will soon be through
Can’t fly away until it’s gone
Can’t buy back moments to redo
Can’t die so no choice but go on

It’s true that heartache ends, but when?
It’s few the days I feel it cease
It’s due I know, but until then
It’s through my pen I find release

I know I have the strength to cope
I go as heart and soul say to
I sow my seeds of faith and hope
I grow and start each day anew


[written several very short, yet long years ago – about six weeks after becoming a widow.]

The form used is called a Lento. Strictly speaking a Lento is two quatrains of eight syllables (a Double Lento has four quatrains, or as I have done, a Triple Lento with six quatrains). A Lento requires that you rhyme the very first word of each line in the stanza and have an ending rhyme of abcd. As you can see I took a little creative licensing here by repeating the first word and rhyming the second words instead and having an end rhyme of abab.

dVerse Poets Pub | Poetics: The Beautiful Sadness

The Only Thing…

The scratch behind the record playing
Hear it on the radio?
That susurrus? What is it saying?
Is it your mind about to go?
The ragged chill running down your spine
On a most warm and sunny day
The nagging feeling in your mind
That takes the words you want to say

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the light…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the night…

A sense when you walk in a room
That simply rubs you the wrong way
A sense of an impending doom
That turns the swiftest feet to clay
A little sense of something strange
That remote something not quite right
A sense that danger’s within range
That makes you turn on all the lights

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the light…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the night…

A feeling raises your neck hairs
It’s one that shakes you through and through
The touch you feel, when no one’s there
That makes you wonder is it you?
The tap, the tap upon your pane
That starts to freak you to your core
The tap that’s more than simple rain
You’re on the fifty-second floor!

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the light…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

What’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the night…

The creep who lives,
Across the hall
The one whose look makes your skin crawl
That tiny bug
Oh! Does it sting?!
You’re scared of every little thing!
The door that slams!
The glass that breaks!
The sudden loss of breaths you take!
The terrors!
Won’t just let you be!
What is the reason?
Can’t you see?
The only thing to fear

Is me!

Fear’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

Fear’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the light…

Fear’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows…

Fear’s in the shadows,
   in the shadows,
     in the shadows of the night…


dVerse ~ Poets Pub | Poetics: POETICAPHOBIA


A touch of warmth

My eyes slowly open,
To a blend of lightness upon dark

Ochre and orange and indigo merge
In such perfect umbrage
I know not dusk from dawn

Time is in flux

For a few moments
I sift through asleep and awake

High above hints of urban sounds
I have no aural clues
Whether to hurdle up or hunker down

A little too proud

I refuse to cheat
By simply looking at the clock

In just a few minutes
I know I’ll have an answer
But what do I do in this exact moment?

In the warm stillness

I hold my breath
As I wait in anticipation

Then I hear you beckon me to love
And quite suddenly I don’t care
Matters of dusk or dawn a distant chord


You know me and forms; this one is a <a href="Cherita.

when all that’s raptured

Some trust so hard in human fallacies
Only to mock and thrash against the rails.
Whose fault to follow those who cannot see?
Prophecies bold behind curtains and veils.
Can one but wonder what is there to be,
When all that’s raptured, becomes all that fails?
Even The Word states not when, only why
In God We Trust some say, but actions lie


Written for
One Stop Poetry
OSP - Ottava Rima
Form Mondays : Ottava Rima

Leathers In The Night

She walks in leathers in the night
Mine until dawn’s rays are spun
Her smile holds chills, not warmth of sun

Her stance is bold, a thrilling sight
Trapped in her gaze, mind in a daze
A sham I pose, to give her fight

I brace myself when whip is spun,
Her leathers whisper in the night…

The leather whips hard in the night
Stung with the strike of the first one
I writhe in joy, I am undone

And when sated, she’s gone from sight
Strange in her ways, she never stays
There is no wrong, there is no right

Just memories I can’t outrun
And hints of leather in the night

Double Challenge:

One Stop Poetry:
One Stop Monday Form – High Octains

One Shot Wednesday:
One Shot Wednesday – Week 47 Entry


hello darling
clear your mind

and just imagine

imagine me walking in the room
and you’re sitting there sipping an iced libation
(Got the drink? Sip it. Good.)

imagine you are listening to soft music
(Got the song? Hear it. Good.)

imagine that I give you this soft, warm hug
then look deeply into your eyes and kiss your lips with affection

imagine that I as I start to remove my jacket
you realize that all I’m wearing underneath

is my charm

imagine the feel of the shag on your back
as I lay you down
(The beige plush. Feel it? Good.)

imagine the emotional dispute on where to touch me first
until I run your fingers over each moist inch of skin I’ve exposed


imagine that I fetch a cube of ice from your glass
as I start to take off your clothes


imagine your deep throated growl
as each inch of your skin I expose is iced, and then licked


imagine the manner of my hands all over you, my lips all over you,
as I hit all your spots just right

imagine my tongue’s downward slide, as I engage your salute
with the proper oration

imagine that you want me so badly you begin to tremble
from my oblique slide on top of you

then imagine just as you’re on the verge
I do everything you want me to do


imagine the feel of every whisper, every touch, every kiss, every lick,
every move, every growl, every thrust, every moan


imagine as we calm down softly
whispering how much we love each other,
laying there in afterglow

then imagine I say ‘again’

so? are you ready for tonight?

Good. Because I’m putting my key in the door,



One Shot Wednesday — Week 53

First Feelings Part II (The Reality)

It was mine.

It was mine to give
to the one I chose.
Instead it was taken,
forever from my grasp.

Stole the most valuable item
That this fifteen year old possessed.

It was mine.
It was suppose to be a gift.

Somewhere out there
the potential recipient
knows not what was lost.

It was mine.
He stole my gift.

I had visions on how it
would one day be given.

It was mine.
He stole my dream.

For years what I gave
could never bring
me happiness.
It wasn’t The gift.

It was mine.
He stole my joy.

I should be able to reminisce
fondly when girl talk
falls to that time
but I remain quiet.

It was mine.
He stole my memories.

A stranger made himself familiar
in a place he should have never known.


dVerse Meeting the Bar ~ Symbolism