Monthly Archives: July 2012


“Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Far from the usual
ways are the paths
I travel.

Follow at your peril,
for you may not expect
where I lead.

You will find rare
revelations, magical

messages of hope, fear
and salvation. Along
the way will be perils:

love and hate, victory
and defeat.

My paths are not your paths,
but, if you have the courage

to go with me, you may find
what you seek,

perhaps even more.

"Finding the tool to unlock hidden pathwa...

“Finding the tool to unlock hidden pathways is a gift few people have – Unless you have a key.” (Photo credit: Jerrycharlotte)

For the Poets United Vice/Versa prompt.



Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

No Sympathy For Mortals

Give no sympathy
to the mortals —

measly men, in senseless
exertion to direct destinies
and assign structure
to paradise —

in a constant state
of humble failure.

They are dependent
on the effort, the exercise
of will and vigor
in the pursuit of the trite
of Freedom
and Excellence.

Do not abhor their defeat,
nor laugh at their endeavors,
for it is the striving
that gives them life,

without it, they will
surely die.

Waiting for the Fall, Prague, Czech Republic

Waiting for the Fall, Prague, Czech Republic (Photo credit: Grufnik)

From one of Shawna’s word list at Flipside Records.



Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts


He sat on the sidewalk
in front of the old house,
running his hand over
the rough concrete.

A child’s wayward ball
bounces past,
visions of a robust life.

Memories settle into
the porous path like
the colored chalk
stains in the channels.

A child’s wayward ball
bounces past,
recollection of a strange life.

Recalling falling,
the frenzy of an attack,
surprise, fear
and a world shattered.

A child’s wayward ball
bounces past,
recalls pain of a normal life.

Fingertips release sublime
sensations; form and substance
found in faint histories hidden
beneath the hard surface.

A child’s wayward ball
bounces past.

It isn't everyday when you find a baseball lik...

For the Sunday Whirl

Shared at dVerse.


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts


She takes her culture
through a straw —
a double on the weekends —
and finds German food
pedestrian, oysters
unpalatable. Brie with
red pepper jelly
and broiled lobster
being more to
her taste.

He, an amateur musician,
playing street corners —
psychedelic clubs
on good nights —
on the bad nights he plays
blind through the migraine
with fairy lights dancing
behind his eyes.

He smelled the lobster
one night when he played
beneath her window,
not knowing what it was,
only that he was hungry.

Once, she gave his
hat a dollar, then laughed
at his mis-matched black
and white shoelaces
as she walked away.

English: Street musician in the Avenue Villema...

A second one for Shawna’s word list.
Also shared at dVerse for Victoria’s “Balance” prompt,
though this one is sort of out of balance.


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts


Treetop coral filters
light through the veil
of humid air

I kick-shuffle among
the leaf litter and

uncovering dying tree
roots instead of hidden
universal truths

Leaves on a Forest Floor

Leaves on a Forest Floor (Photo credit: Rennett Stowe)

Taken from Shawna’s latest word list.


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

A Glass Of Wine

It is a good day
for a glass of wine —
red —
a sunrise walk
on the beach,
and again at sunset.

A sunday drive would
suit this day,
a route to nowhere
while exploring everywhere.

Food should be had —
southern in style —
pancakes for breakfast,
raid the ever-full pantry
and fridge for lunch,
enough to feed Cox’s Army
for dinner…chess pie,
banana pudding,
blackberry cobbler…..

Memories will be explored
this day;
grandchildren’s love, screened
porches and rocking chairs,
meals and mountain roads,
pets and the ‘adopted’ kids
children bring home.
Too many to list, too many
to forget.

Holiday’s and vacations,
time around tables
and the kitchen island —
eating while standing —
homemade cheese popcorn,
books everywhere, family
pictures wherever you look.

Short of time, all out of fight,
betrayed by a body, treatment
worse than results…the first
time she was not happy
to see her son. Not ready,
not ready, not ready…..

It is a good day
for a glass of wine.


Happy Birthday Mom
Pat Windham
July 23, 1944 – September 27, 2009

A glass of red wine. Photo taken in Montreal C...


Filed under Poetry


Treasure collected
throughout life, stored in a niche,
found there after death.

used to be dad's

Haiku written for Sunday Scribblings and One Single Impression


Filed under Haiku, Poetry, Poetry - Prompts