Thursday, April 23, 2015


Eights & Aces Haiku

King of Fake Diamonds.
Queen of Broken Hearts.  Your hand,
my hand. We both fold.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


Today's prompt was to write a pastoral--a poem that engages with nature.  Mine is sans passionate shepherds.

Iowa Spring

The open book of the land
waits for the plow, the misty lines
of green that will come, pulling
themselves toward the sky, swinging
on the ropes of the equinox, finding
a foothold.  Today, robins buck
the cold breezes over last year’s furrows,
ricocheting off the clouds that graze
in the clean blue sky. The walnut tree’s
fingertips are fat with buds, waiting
for the first peal of thunder to burst,
green fists uncurling, palms to the sun,
finally, finally allowed to stretch.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015


Didn't follow the prompt today.  This presented itself instead.


That’s what you called me,
the one who shook you
from your hamster-cage of a life,
the supernova that blew you free,
the storm wind that sent you
spinning, the baking soda
in your vinegar.  Fire-starter,
mind-changer, energy shot
in bright rays from me to you,
altering your chemical makeup, or
so you say. If no energy is ever lost,
why am I?  What of the years spent
sparking others, waiting
for my own explosion?


The prompt for Monday was to write a poem about things that you know--I started doing this for myself, and was coming up with lines like "I know an appalling amount of soft-rock lyrics from the nineties" and "I know the cat's secret poopy spot"--and while that might be amusing to pursue someday, it wasn't what I was in the mood for, so I abandoned what I know and dipped into fiction.  This is a persona poem using the "I know" prompt, from the point of view of a character of mine from another project.  Cross-pollination FTW!

Character Sketch

I know the rules.  Oh, do I
know them. I know how to rattle
you, and I know how not
to get caught.  I know fourteen words
for the color “blue,” and I know
the names of the stars
between here and home.  I know
freedom in spurts, in the feel
of the wind in my hair, tearing
away from here. I know which end
of the gun to point away from myself,
I know how to hit a moving target.
I know that wanting is useless, and
that wanting never stops.  I know how
to handle a  man with knives in his boots.
I also know how to dance, but
not worth a damn. I know it’s all bigger,
better than they let on. I know the fear
of falling miles, the fear of sudden,
violent nothing.  I know that one day
it’s all going to split wide open, and I’m
going to be there—you bet your ass
I’m going to be there.