December Rain

The sky sinks low, flat grey and leaking rain,

A misty wet wind shakes the sodden leaves;

Raindrops run down my neck and up my sleeves;

Gutters sing a pitter-patter refrain.

I duck my head under the barn doorframe.

My worn gloves are wet and starting to freeze.

Smoke from the house chimney feels like a tease;

I want to feel the wood stove's warming flames.

Feeling a bit Giddy

Two of my poems have been published in Curio. 

I am thrilled, amazed, giddy, feeling a bit silly... wow... thanks.

Thanksgiving 2011

Treasured time turning sour.  Cooking
hampered by confusing cupboards
and missing lids.
No cranberries and no yams.  I
know it's about family and forgiveness; not
stressing over short tempers.  I should be
grateful for another holiday with mom
instead of angry with dad's
vicious verbal
insults hurled in frustration.  His fear is
not managed well so I'm
going for a walk.




This form is a long line acrostic (the first letters of each line spell the subject).  Hopefully, you didn't notice the acrostic when you read the poem.  The prompt came from Margo.  I have also linked in to the Poets Rally.

And many thanks to the Poets Rally for this award.

Rancho Ynecita

When I was 15
   My father poked the oak fire with a stick
   And we ate hot spicy kolbasz
   Spitting fat and juice from the fire.

When I was 20
   I stayed a week
   And jogged in the evenings
   Jumping over the black hairy tarantulas
   Marching across the road, slow and deliberate,
   Like the ache in my heart.

When I was 50
   We walked the steep dry hills
   Through brown brambles and weeds
   Past broken bits of fence and rusting metal stakes
   Piled beneath overgrown oaks.

You wandered further
   While I waited in the car
   Pulling stickers out of my socks.
   Pulling stickers from my mind and memory.

Falling

This post is a haibun, which is a form that blends poetry and prose.  You can read more of them, and more about them, on Margo's prompt.


I was cantering in the arena -- balanced, smooth and relaxed.  Three strides before the corner, Jackson bucked.  Caught unaware and unprepared, I was tossed to the side of the saddle.  As I scrambled back up, the next buck lifted me further off balance.  I let go, pushing myself away from his shoulder and dropping to the ground.  The sand was hard.  It hurt.  Jackson slid to a confused stop and stared at me with questioning dark eyes.

You chose the other;

The wife and children, the known.

I let you go.

I have submitted this poem to The Gooseberry Garden Poetry Picnic.  Check out the other submissions. 

And, thank you very much to the Poets Rally for this award!