Prone yet unprepared

a fantasy about our hero waking up
in his own bed finally, after the longest journey
looking in the mirror
will he see a hero? will he recognize that face?
will that wound heal, or will he have found
new ways to ignore it?

lost in the yellow wood
chased by the demon Despair
Thwarted by the demon Difficulty
constantly pulling our hero away
pouring poison into graduation
getting stuck on the horns until
they turn to face you, bull with no shit.
sherlock, you’ll never get there by thinking
it always was observation your power.
you’ll need to label those two roads
before you’ll let yourself choose.

theres two things about that decision.
1. your wordfilled mind might guess correctly what your wordless heart knows for sure
2. the decision has nothing to do with roads

Pan is trying to show you, nascient hero
Difficulty is not your enemy, but sloth and ease conspire
The garden told you that all day, what did you learn?
Are you still bringing Anger and Discontent with you?
is it yet time for you to barf up that apple? or will it have to get worse?
the long line at mcdonalds makes it clear.
Feel the sunlight on your skin. Heart discerns but
mind won’t listen until VitaminD comes along. heh, look at that
vita mind.

With all these characters i can’t see anything
if i stay on the stage. but, out in the stalls
things become clearer. widen that perspective a bit more
and set the theater on fire

maybe the whole globe will need to be lost
for the raft of Love to lift us up

or not exactly. what about this:
the globe is my idea of self, every Thing in the world
that’s what needs to go away, (and it will need to get worse to drive our Hero out)
the earth, the world, is here for a purpose
which it is fulfilling, in spades
think only of this as you cut into it,
here i am, cutting into it. this moment
holds everything you need

even here, i’ve told myself what i insist i don’t know…



Brendan at Earthweal is blowing me away,.  what a finely polished mirror!  Thank you Brendan!




move remember love surrender

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

my awkwardness kept me from sports
my chest grew anyway
so i was teased about my breasts
which i tried to hide away

cornered too many times
by my girlfriends to whom i lied
in order to avoid regret
i quickly learned how to forget

She broke the bond built the wall
severed the cord between us all
what else could i do, what else could i know
so my own heartwall did grow

craving all that i denied myself
strenghth in body mind, and love
my will invented stories
i could not believe, nor prove

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

now in the middle of my lifes summer heat
shut out into the desert i made myself
dried up date and burning meat

she’s sat outside my walls for years
waiting for me to ope my gate
turn the crank and grease the gears

i tell her i’m trying to release
to open, to love, to grow
to learn who i am and find that peace

accept that I am whole, complete
to claim my inner dragon beast
to love the me i finally meet

afraid she’s about to give up
desert her post, abandon me, walk away
spill the wine, smash the cup

i did not let my body move
i would not let my mind remember
i could not let my heart love
i have not let my spirit surrender

now i shed my scales, drop my armor
my bloody sword clatters on the stones
time to pick up my self, my amor
listen to my deepest tones

time to run up the stairs,
from the bottommost chamber
open the cage, lay heart out bare
time to own my title, Sir

i love my body, and so it moves
i love my mind, and all remember
i love my heart, and so grows love
and to God above i surrender



global poetry writing month asks for repetition,

imaginary garden asked for rebirth

global poetry writing month asks for repetition

4 poems

The prompt today at the D’Verse Poetry Pub is to write a poem based on one of four artworks by artist Catrin Welz-SteinI had not heard of her before, but the images are fantastic.   Surrealisim too often seems to be weird for weirdness sake, but these seem to have a deeper meaning, an insight into the wordless truth that all artist in some way try to represent.  Equally compelling is the range of interpretation that different poets bring to these images.  Below each picture is my four-line poem, and beneath that are links to other poets who have written off that image.  I hope you enjoy.


1.  catrin-welz-stein-tuttart-castlehat

I’ll keep my dreams
Of castles and walled gardens
A fine nest for princess me
The finch thinks it’s cheap

Other Poets interpret this image:

Lillian lillian the home poet
Vivian Zems Smell the Coffee
Frank Hubeny frank hubeny
Jane Dougherty janedougherty
Carol Forrester carol j forrester
Linda Luna Dark Side of the Luna
De Jackson Whimsy gizmo
Margaret Bednar margaret bednar
Truedessa true wanderings
Sascha Darlington sascha darlington
Rosemawrites areadingwritr
Sarah Connor fmmewritespoems
Susie Clevenger confessionsofalaundrygoddess




On a skiff
Black cat dreaming stars
On a whiff
Of Pachyderm exhaust

Other Poets Interpret this Image:

Annell somethingsithinkabout
Candy rhymeswithbug
Lillian lillianthehomepoet
Sarah McNulty purplepeninportland
Lynn madhatterpoetry

3. catrin-welz-stein-teacup

children playing house
Called quick for dinner
Left a feast for the Fay
Who got deep in their cups

Other Poets Interpret this Image:

Kim M Russell writinginnorthnorfolk
Dwight Roth rothpoetry
Frank Tassone frankjtassone
Mary mehflowers
Walter Marks waltermarks
Lady Lee Manila ladyleemanilablog

4. Catrin Welz-Stein Tutt'Art@

The key to unlock the towered mind
Held close to the heart you’ll find
Let in the butterflies
Start to grow wise

Other Poets Interpret this Image:

Bjorn Rudberg brudberg
Glenn Buttkus bibliosity
Revived Writer revivedwriter
Walter Marks waltermarks


Images by artist Catrin Welz-Stein

DVerse prompt
* a keep is a type of castle
* in ones cups was an expression meaning drunk.

Coconut Heart

when i die
crack open my heart
like a coconut
peer into that water

open that water
you’ll find you in there

once you know this
mind won’t matter
emotions won’t matter
i can never leave you

see how these words reveal
that i have not yet lived this?


Room enough for you

In the house of me
Upstairs, in the attic of my mind
Passed the dusty corrugated boxes, full
Childhood toys, costumes
Special occasions, memories
I don’t want to look at but can’t bear to let go,
Way in the back, There is a beat up old chest
Been there longer than I can remember
Prolly would fall apart
If you tried to move it
In the till of that old hutch
There is a little painted box, 
and tiny space within.
That is where you are, my dear
On the head of one precious pin


All to Ash

I feel like my mind is that ancient library
Haunted by venerable Jorge
And my awareness is one feeble fearful candle flicker
Brought by William of Baskerville 
Daunted by the scope of it all
Trying to find that one tome
That contains the wisdom
To illume them all
Without burning it all to ash


Thinking not Doing

My mind is fine,
Protecting me.
Conceptualizing in sweeping
Grandiose ideologies,
Thinking that I know,
Hiding my heart from feeling
That pain and insecurity,
Pinning it down with those words
Not letting it wash over me.
Unbaptised, the hurt remains.
And it’s eating me

I write all about
Letting the beast out
Opening that inner door
Face the fear, address my snorklewacker
Feel that anger, hurt

yet I do no work
Expounding about a ball field in Argentina,
Or that little shack in Estonia where they smoke fishes
Or Borneo, where they don’t eat their enemies
Well, not any more.
Writing what comes to me
What gifts I have been given, or
What imagination can fabricate
An armchair traveller
Sitting, fantasizing….
In that dream I am a warrior

Yet these very words betray me
For I can say, see? I know!
But here I sit, on the edge
Writing about the jagged rocks below

So here I am
Not doing it.  Not leaping
Not plummeting, nor flying.
Sitting.  Alone.  Afraid.