It Is Not The Bed

The sheets are on fire
Not a slow building ember to flame
A searing, blistering chemical burn
I swear it is the bed, not me

I am spread over the untouched cool middle
A flash of lightning
A low rolling rumble
I swear it is the bed, not me

The dog’s marshmallow jowls on my side
Peering, worrying, sniffing
Sweet brown eyes checking in
I swear it is the bed, not me

My hand on her head, she drifts off
Dreaming of fields or cats or belly rubs
Maybe I am approaching this all wrong
I swear it is the bed, not me


My grandmother wrote on envelopes

Glass jars
Olives, mayonnaise, jelly
Lined up on windowsills

Aluminum pie plates
Parker House roll tins
A haphazard tower of foil

Berry baskets
Derelict stacks
Cornered on the back porch

Ten year old instant pudding boxes
Betty Crocker Butter Brickle cake mix
Tang, neon orange cement

Grandchildren called three names before landing the correct one
Cousins named Bell
Friends named Viola, Pearl and Clarence

All best displayed around
The Sunday dinner table
Covered in floral print oilcloth

My grandmother wrote on envelopes


Every month I turn
the calendar early
This might be bad luck
I turn the page anyway
Why am I in such a hurry?

Every Sunday I cheat
at The New York Times Crossword
The clue was chum
The answer was pal
I thought it was bloody fish guts

Every day I write
on a MacBook
Could have bought the pro…for who?
Not me.

Can’t Outrun My Dog

Outrun tv facebook and twitter
What are zombies but
521 bestest closest friends
posting questionable videos
on a little blue bird

Outrun insanity ignorance and politics
Wonder at diversity   open the gait
Marvel at accomplishment   in a hijab
Lace up a strong spirit
Pin on a vivid goal

Outrun fatigue worry and doubt
Mysterious how expending energy invigorates
Certainty seeps in as sweat pours out
Honor belief   in all forms
A starting line is nothing but hope

Can’t outrun my dog
Four legs are better than two
Effortless jubilant unflagging enthusiastic
Never questioning
Our glorious contentious throbbing world belongs to us all

My Mother’s Name

I cannot run and cry
I tried
In a 5K to benefit breast cancer research
Names of women lined the road
Some survivors
Some not
My mother’s name among them

I cannot run and cry
I tried

Fortunate Twelve

Conquer that most human trait of putting a
Label on everyone and everything.
Minimal thought or action is required to gain
Acceptance into the mainstream, which is a
Symptom of laziness or apathy.  Probably both.
Ordinary may be safe or dull, but not
Meaningless, because we need a benchmark to see a
Symbiosis between madness and reason.
Purple is just red and blue after all.  Colors are an
Elixir few understand in the effort to stake out a
Territory of aspirations, because it is not about earning a
Fortune, but being fortunate.

2 Haiku/Home Territory

Open the back door
Morning sky in Tennessee
Pink territory




Shasta and Cleo
Home is their territory
Friends sharing a world


I’ll be a ghost someday
she promised   I don’t know
maybe she was always one
translucent turned inside out  so
I could not see her anyway
She left nothing real
except ashes and cold smoke

Just my luck.




Ronovan Writes Weekly Haiku Poetry Prompt Challenge #140

Distant cloud flashes
Shouts of luminosity
The still night air twists


Defiant clouds twist
Riotous, developing
Storm makes nature shout

Words for March

Hesitate for just a second and, poof,

Doubt will seep in and diminish the

Desire to save those quixotic observations and

Parlay each poetic vision into a

Vivid, technicolor creation that would

Swarm and swirl with whimsy and song, but you

Ruminate, don’t you?

Nervous about displaying your soul,

Nuance, innuendo and those crazy whispers your hope hisses is all a bunch of

Abstract garbage if you can’t get it down on paper.