Archive for February 2017

To the Moon, 4 a.m.

February 19, 2017

To the Moon, 4 a.m.

I thought I was the only one up,
but there you were, turning the kitchen windows
into blue stairwells.

My eyes climbed to the surprise
of your brightness, a not-quite-sphere of light that redeemed
this whole muddled night,
the unexpected that was exactly
as it should be,
for which I thank you,
(for which I thank you.)

A poem for Kerry O’Connor’s moon micro poetry challenge on real toads.

Another version for those interested.

To the Moon, 4 a.m.

I thought I was the only one up,
but there you were, turning the kitchen windows
into blue stairwells.

My eyes climbed to the surprise
of your brightness–a not-near-sphere of light that redeemed
this muddled night, its inconstancy
as reliable as the breath, or death, a circle not
wholly seen.



Pic is mine; all rights reserved.  Thanks so much for stopping by. 


No Wall – Tourists in Berlin, ’65

February 12, 2017

No Wall – Tourists in Berlin, ’65

The wall was made of riddled cinder block with barbed wire atop;
my parents bought me
a pipecleaner-bodied doll in a dark felt
uniform, supposed to be
a border guard, his nose incongruously
round, his eyes incongruously
googly, the ones we saw shadowed
about the eyes, at least so they seemed
at the checkpoints.


Draft 55-word poem for Marian’s prompt about a wall, posted belatedly to Real Toads.  Pic (such as it is) is  mine.

1984/2017 Poem

February 5, 2017

1984/2017 Poem

My fear too
would be rats.

I can’t even write
of the pinkish paws, bucked gnaws–

Oh, Christ, what is happening
to my country?

What cage are we locking
ourselves into, what mask is strapped about
our temples

so that even as we cannot
look away
we cannot save

That type
of mask.


55 word poem (minus the numbers) for Kerry’s prompt on Real Toads; prompt based (if desired) on George Orwell’s 1984, specifically Winston’s greatest fear. Graphic is mine; all rights reserved for it and poem. 

From DC (oh country mine)

February 4, 2017

From DC

Oh country of the frozen chair,
so blue in 1960 air
that January asking not DC–
oh country I was barely three–

oh country of the stallion bearing
the backward boots
but three years

country of resurrection city
that muddy sea, that peaceful sea,
my childhood Washington, DC,
oh dream that clamored its own name
oh country of the flames

oh country mine that I have loved
that we’ve so wanted to be good
oh country we believed
so good
oh country of my green

oh country mine


Draftish sort of poem for Shay Simmon’s (Fireblossom’s) prompt on Real Toads to write something of indirect focus.  (I’m not phrasing that correctly.)  I did grow up in Washington, D.C., and attended both JFK’s inauguration and funeral.  Resurrection City was a large civil rights protest in DC in the spring of 1968; also called the Poor People’s March on Washington–