sundown at 4:25.
burnt pecan pie.
leftover turkey,
no stuffing, no gravy.
snowed all day, didn’t stick .

we are fat and round,
on couch, in down,
hot cocoa and butterscotch schnapps,
sweat pants and fuzzy socks.
waving spirit in pine
branches and christmas lights


for the prompt at dVerse


When I came screaming into the world, like so many of us, from the shock of it all, and they cut the cord connecting me to her, and bundled me off to a plastic bin with the others, little did I know how far they would go, how complete that separation would be, nor that one time she saw me, peering out from that hair, pouring such love over me, would have to last for forty seven years.

When I was king, and the usurper came and stole my throne, the strange conclusion that I had failed again, that I wasn’t good enough, insufficient, leaked it’s way into every facet of my young life. That’s when friends faded, surely driven away by this erroneous worthlessness.

The old wound not yet fully healed

There’s more to be endured

Before gratitude is revealed



If it’s darkness we are having

and it is. thick like porridge
flowing so slowly like ancient window glass
its velvet blackness wiping up all the light
that was spilled across the bar last night
its how the blind might imagine grass
you might be tempted
to sketch an elvis
across this unsun sky
that graffitti is not what we mean, here
just wait
let your eyes adjust
a futile effort that
as the pupils go wide
like a schoolbell recess ringing
stars and streetlights die
the moon winks out too
this is cave bottom dead flashlight territory
a ladle in the deepest tureen
when your mind finally gives up
the idea of seeing,
only then is revealed
the extravagance of being


dVerse where we are prompted to use the line from Jane Kenyon “If it’s darkness we are having let it be extravagant.”  I’m reminded of this material:  Vantablack and this song:  Darkness by The Police:

I could make the mark if it weren’t so dark
I could be replaced by any bright spark
But darkness makes me fumble
For a key
To a door
That’s wide open


so they made this stuff that is so amazing, it is a coating that eats light. Called Vantablack, it was developed to protect sensitive scientific equipment like telescopes from pesky stray photons. Ludicrously expensive to make, it cannot survive in unprotected environments. But as the goth children that live in the basement smoking weed will tell you, i’m only wearing black until they make something darker. Well my pale pretty, they have. Imaginations have gone wild, wanting it in clothes and cars, but the stuff just doesn’t hold up. And it’s not like you want to disappear. What you really crave, and fear, is being Seen.

20191111 for the prosery prompt at   dVerse Poets Pub

more info on Vantablack, from the maker

Taking down the tree, ii

long i stood
watched the wood
deer paths trod
then human foot
and horses hoof
with wheels
the paths became roads

they fought in red coats
cut loose captive bonds
carved a declaration
with ash and palm fronds

the byway become highway
scars of uncareful passing
paving blocks the rain
yet seasons keep turning
acorns in the making

long i stood
as they hurry by
cut down the wood
left only i

and they discussed
what to do with me
leave him be
take down the tree



Taking Down the Tree, i

Surviving hungry mouths until i was too tall to reach, survived the battle raged, when they fourmed their new nation. I was there when they signed that declaration, and when they were split. The path by me became a road, trod by foot and hoof for decades. Then the wheels, and motors came, coughing smoke and belching flame. A sign they hung nearby, telling my story to passersby, who rarely stopped to read. And every year more acorns i made, though they don’t make that bread no more. Then one day a big celebration, they make. Crowds came out and laid picnics beside me. A doctor a tree-surgeon spoke, and a native chief. They honored me then, and thanked me, with feathers and incense. Then came the man in flannel and leather chaps. He bent down, and pulled the cord. His chainsaw roared to life…


20191111 dVerse