For Leontien

An ordinary day
becomes lavish
when you open your eyes
to morning.
The December fields
are covered
with a khaki army blanket;
white faced cows
black specks on the fabric,
like whiskers
or lint.
Days dangle and blur
but thrice wedded love
stands strong
and steadies your slowing steps.
Abnormal cells steal your youth,
your dairy dreams,
but not your miracle mornings
piled high
past two weeks
pushing to tomorrow.

I wrote this for Leontien, a blogger friend, who is battling cancer.


Midnight Call

I fumbled
across the bed;
the phone
close to my ear;
with excitement.
It would be love
no more
love affair.
His voice,
low and intense,
rushed at me.
A question
and a pause.
I can’t leave her yet.
The phone turned to stone
and a river
tumbled me away.

Prompts: Adele Kenny for phone poems and Three Word Wednesday for affair, expectation and free.


The garden gate swung open,
my emotions raged and roared.
I felt my passion falter,
the flowers bruised and tired.

My emotions raged and roared,
then whimpered and died.
Your familiar touch felt cold.

I felt my passion falter,
my faith in your sunlight
buried in the rain soaked mire.

The flowers – bruised and tired-
can be pruned and tied.
But what if roots have died?

Prompts: Poetic Bloomings for the form (trimeric) and Three Word Wednesday for the words – emotion, falter and touch.

Two Paths

Two paths stretch, tangle and turn; two
roads bramble lined and narrow,
diverged and dove out of sight.
In confusion, I walked
a distance in the oaken shade, then the
yellow yarrow called so I left the
wood and walked where I could feel gold.

Prompts: Margo’s Tuesday Tryout which is an acrostic but with a twist.  Margo offered a couple twists to choose from and I chose to write a sentence acrostic, using a line from a poem and starting each of my lines with those words.  You probably thought to yourselves as you read, that it sounded like Robert Frost and indeed it is.  Thanks Margo, for a very fun prompt.  I also incorporated this week’s words from Three Word Wednesday.

The Choice

I threw away the hoofpick
that I carried with me
from apartment to apartment.
The one I found
in the dirt
at the stable I haunted
as a child.

I returned the soft grooming brushes,
red curry comb,
and bulky saddle pads.

My dream vanished like mist
on a spring morning;
dried and destroyed.
I resigned myself to life
in a drab dark condo
with a man who drove a blue Buick
and clipped coupons.

I buried the dream
of living free
in a canyon cottage;
windows flung open
to wind and rain and sun.
Hay in my shoes.
Grain in a bucket.
Carrots in my pocket.


I wrote this poem from two prompts.  Adele’s prompt to write about the road not taken and from Three Word Wednesday’s words for this week: mist, resign and bulky.