Don’t drink the stagnant water
It gathers filth
Reeking a stench
Malaria and dengue
Silently awaits its prey
A moving current ~
Health to all
May one abide still yet move?
Restlessness begs tranquility
Hope breathes upon a fixed mind
Gently birthing serene, rippled waves

Quadrille Monday at dverse. An exact 44-word poem. Prompt word is tranquility.




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No Space For Regret



Summer is winding down. A thin crispness shapes the morning. Temperatures rise slowly, bringing humid afternoons. A stretch of thunderstorms followed by a week of drought, extremes can resemble imperfection.

I separate the mint, fashioning a bouquet I donate to a restaurant each year. Overtaken by weeds, I trim the flowers and brown, leaves. What is left is more than what I removed.

I don’t envy to be young, nor do I despise my years.

Back side of summer
Reaching toward Autumn’s colors
Each season a gift


Open link at


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How to Fly, Yet Free Another



Emotions harbored in an enclosed vortex
Anchored amid troubled winds and billowy waves
My heart is set to the one who created both quark and VY Canis Majoris
My eyes see beauty in cardboard and paint having no space to breathe
Crowded behind a fragile glass
While I am perched outside, free yet grounded to this prison

Wings unmoving, my feet remain heavy on the outskirts of my prison
Flutter without flight, I am caught in a vortex
A mirror rather than a window becomes this fragile glass
An anchor below the surface circumvents winds and waves
I am now more than cardboard and paint, still labored breath
Yet His breath is in all from quark to VY Canis Majoris

Who can see without scope but God, either quark or VY Canis Majoris?
But I free, can see from where I come, this prison!
Cardboard and paint a metaphoric illusion stops my breath
I hear the clicking of my emotions harbored in an enclosed vortex
Anchored by another, powerless are wind and wave
Perched I am free while I see others in the same prison

Shadows from the outside are cast from this fragile glass
They won’t hear of the one who created both quark and VY Canis Majoris
I tell them they are safe from troubled wind and billowy waves
But they see me alive, yet still bound to my prison
Emotions echo louder enclosed in a vortex
How do I reach cardboard and paint so their beauty breathes?

Why are they inside and I outside my prison?
Cardboard and paint interlocks, one picture, one breath
What if I broke such fragile glass;
Would my emotion shatter from this vortex?
Who frees is free, who is free, frees both the quark and the VY Canis Majoris
Inanimate I sit, showing off my pink wings, no one sees my new prison

This anchor a tether, stronger than wind and waves
Tells me I am more than cardboard and paint; I can breathe
Though outside, did I drag my fear with me from my prison?
What is most easily broken, but fragile glass?
I am somewhere between the quark and the VY Canis Majoris
To you, I may appear silent, but not within this enclosed vortex

A vortex of empathy swells as rising waves
Quark and Majoris are no more beautiful than one who cannot breathe
Mirror or glass, my choice remains to free us all from our prisons



Linked with

It came from staring at my framed puzzle of the butterflies. My first Sestina. Six stanzas with a crazy line scheme for each one, and a seventh 3 line stanza as an envoi.  Not sure about this, but it is what it is. It took days!


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A Moment of Hope

Light rushing into the room without invitation blinded her. Pulling the covers around her shoulders, she turned, burying her face into her chin, her long black hair falling over her eyes. Space between asleep and awake, she felt heavy as she plodded through thick, impervious sand dunes in her head. “A few minutes more”, she heard. Loud words, she couldn’t tell if she actually spoke it or thought it.

Like morning fog lifting, she slowly opened her eyes. A gentle breeze from the open window felt unfamiliar on her skin. Its loving caress reminded her she was through the worst of her withdrawal. For a moment she wondered if this time it would last. How many times she had wanted the words to prove true. “You will love again the stranger who was yourself.”

Neither Atheist nor Saint, only human, desperately reaching for hope.


Monday prompt for is “Prosery” exactly 144 words of flash fiction prose including the line “You will  love again the stranger who is yourself.”

Praying for the multitudes who suffer with addiction.

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From Me and You to We

In symmetry we Move
Together searching unknown
Deep places of our soul

Immovable and cold
Each thirsty, yet defiant
Reaching for our own mirage

Twisted unity, unbroken
Furtively bound by time
A tightly woven tapestry

Sharp, slicing clean
Wounds below the flesh
Cries muffled in fury

Weightless surrender
In shimmering display
Unfettered and free to be

dverse is exploring “lost in translation” . Choosing 1 of 3 poems, derive your own translation from the original.

This is new for me, and I am audacious enough to take a challenge.

Octavia Paz (1914-1998) – Another Spanish speaker and more recent Nobel prize winner. Born in Mexico, he was a political activist, ambassador and essayist so that much of his poetry reads like prose poems, “written within the perpetual motion and transparencies of the eternal present tense” **

Two Bodies 
Two bodies face to face
are at times two waves
and night is an ocean.

 Two bodies face to face
are at times two stones
and night a desert.

Two bodies face to face
are at times two roots
laced into night. 

Two bodies face to face
are at times two knives
and night strikes sparks.

Two bodies face to face
are two stars falling
in an empty sky.

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A Space In Between

I was mute
Then I spoke
No one listened

I withdrew
Then I wrote
To some, an imposition

Now I’m mute
Till I hear
The only voice that matters

Christ in me
Speaking clear
Drowning out the clatter

Often God speaks loudest in metaphor Quadrille for Monday. An exact 44-word poem. The prompt word is voice.



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For Khali

Momma, am I alive?” “As steady rain.”
“Why can’t I find me, why feel I so numb?”
“Fresh as ripened grapes and Autumn’s wild grain.”
“Will I e’er be whole, or to fate succumb?”
“You ask what all have asked in our own tombs:
Sweet grapes crushed for wine, wild grain ground for bread,
Rain to quench the thirst of parched souls that tread.
Child, more alive than men who think they’re stars,
When a rose drops petals, its fragrance spreads.
Child, we feel all of you, so yes, you are!”


I link this to . It is a Dizain. A 10 line poem with 10 syllables each, the last 5 lines mirroring or replying to the first 5. Rhyme scheme ababbccdcd.  This is my first attempt.

Asking for honest critique as this is for a 19 year old girl in my church who was struck by a vehicle last week and is in a coma with broken bones and some brain damage. A young, beautiful, brilliant young lady who just finished her first year at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Florida.

Her family is asking that people stop at 9:00 pm each night to pray for her and all involved. She has loving parents and 2 sisters.

Thank you!


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