Wind is Released

Ride a horse
Ride the wind
Wind that whistles and roars
Wind that whispers
Whispers of freedom
Whispers of abandon
Abandon stress and strain
Abandon chores
Chores like laundry
Chores choking time
Time with a curry comb
Time to saddle up and go
Go up on the rocky ridge
Go watch hawks soar
Soar on warm updrafts
Soar on wide wings
Wings that span the sky
Wings broad and strong
Strong as life
Strong as love
Love wild and wise
Love shining in a shaft of sunlight
Sunlight washing away worry
Sunlight glowing in my eyes
Eyes emerald meeting your
eyes blue sparkling sapphire
Sapphire mountain lakes
Sapphire autumn sky
Sky wider than the Pacific
Sky above sycamore trees
Trees whose leaves fade and curl
Trees that drop brown leaves
Leaves above green and gold
Leaves below dusty and deep
Deep ravines to cross
Deep shadows
Shadows lengthen and dance
Shadows deepen dusk
Dusk draws us home
Dusk’s last light brings chill
Chill creeping under my jacket
Chill blowing white wispy fog
Fog from horse sweat
Fog from our breath
Breath pulled in deep
Breath released
Released Relaxed Gone
Released from worries

Prompt from Poetic Bloomings for the form, Blitz.


Sevenling (Sloppy, Slobbery Horse Kisses)

Sloppy, slobbery horse kisses smeared on a white t-shirt;
jumping puppy paws crusted with mud;
a cat curled in the sun.

Espresso sipped slowly on frosted mornings;
crusty bread cooling on the kitchen counter;
cabernet swirled as the sun sets.

Escape from cities, cement and cocktail parties.

Prompt: Poetic Bloomings memoir project: what is your passion? and Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads for the form: Sevenling.


The first time I saw
my stoic mother
was when our Basset hound,
Hermione, died.
The dog was tri-colored:
milk and dark chocolate,
with splashes of coconut white.
Her ears were chocolate ganache;
crusty at the ends,
where she dragged them
through her food bowl.
She traveled with us
from California to Tanzania
and back.
The night she died,
I layed in my bed
listening to memory’s
soundtrack play back
my mother calling
(out the back door
and up the street);
until stumpy hound legs
brought warm bright eyes

Prompt: Poetic Bloomings memoir project — first exposure to death.

First Love

He was a swimmer:
Fit and tan, a blond lock of hair
curling on his forhead,
eyes like sapphires
burning into mine.
We swam in the same water,
our strokes perfectly matched;
We surged and sighed
until we reached a waterfall;
I resurfaced,
gasping for air,
and found myself alone.
Summer suns watched
us swim in separate rivers.
Many miles downstream
a radical shift
in the water’s course
left me dripping on the shore.
I sought out his ocean,
held my breath,
and jumped in.

Prompts: Trifecta “radical” and Poetic Bloomings “At First Sight: Memoir Project” continued.”


They called me Stretch
because I was all long limbs
like I’d been stretched
on a rack.
Long toes gripping
the starting blocks,
like lizard claws
like a gecko;
clinging, then springing forward
hurtling through the water
kicking, pulling, flipping, pushing
fighting for the finish;
voices on the deck
as I reached for the wall.

Prompts: Poetic Bloomings memoir series and Margo’s Tuesday Tryouts.

For Mrs. Zastrow

She stood in front of the class,
(Honors English, senior year),
Shoulder length hair
black and shining
like raven wings.

I received back my essay,
staring in silent disbelief
at her red ink covering my blue.
I gathered my books,
blinking back tears of rage;
hating her youth
her poise
her raven black hair.

I went to her classroom;
the harmonious years of easy As
replaced with the discord of a D.
I coughed and sputtered.
We sat.
She wrote.

I finished the year in triumph.
I practiced the power of The Preludes;
The picture painting power of words.
I did not fail,
I earned my proudest A.

At 49, she was gone,
leaving her sparkle,
her raven feathered life,

Prompts: Poetic Bloomings continued with its memoir series of prompts asking us to write about an influential person (other than family) in our life.  I also used the Vice Versa words for this week.