Forget Not

PoeticBloomings    –    Rondine here


Forget not… should the forgetting commence
as I’ve seen it happen much too often
to those I have loved gone to their coffin
who before looked at me with dwindling sense,
recall, at least, our love which was immense
for I could not bear its tragic loss, hence,
Forget not…

And when I hold your hand, take no offence
this stranger’s tears must be beyond your ken
but I will repeat, I love you, again
and again, lest love be only past tense.
Forget not…


Fire and Ice

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the twiglets    blooming white

I passed by the border of a flower garden
Red, orange and yellow flowers so bright
blistery as the wicked flames of a hellish fire
and wondered if this is how the world ends.
I wiped the beaded sweat from my  brow
and thought it would be a quick way to go,
but no, please, no, not in a vapor of ash.

Then my eyes lingered on the sweet alyssum
mounded along the flames, fragile snowdrop,
flake upon flake, a glacier of silent movement
and wondered if this is how the world ends.
In blooming white that slides across the ground
and slowly, steadily freezes everything to icy
dreams of warmth cocooned endlessly in black.

If end it must I’d choose to dream of endless things.

Overstaying Your Reluctant Welcome

For Red Wolf Fall 2020 Journal


You came unexpectedly
for a visit, you said
You were a friend of a friend
and needed a bed
just for a night or two,
maybe a little longer, we’d see
I put up with you at first
with  polite, civil hospitality
but you’ve stayed and you’ve stayed,
getting on my last nerve
and I’ve used up most of my
dwindling patience reserve
you are a slob, I clean all the time,
spending lots of money
using my last dime
on bleach, masks, gloves. OK sonny,
I’m sick of you, smelling dead fish,
if I had my wish
you’d die a painful death
in a giant petri dish.

Pond’ering Lullabies

Rainbow Hollow in Tennessee
sang lullabies to me at night
on her mellow, silvered moonlight
mirrored on the pond’s peaceful face
at the cattle’s watering place.

Bullfrogs deep bass
Cricket’s strident sound
Long bay of the Howard’s hound
Lowing of a mother cow
Hoot of a hungry owl…

Now on restless nights far from home
I float on songs from Tennessee
sighed by that pond of childhood dreams
sweet, viscous, honey-comb dreams
oozing from honey locust trees

Alongside that pond’s peaceful face
at the cattle’s watering place,
Rainbow Hollow, in Tennessee.


Lullaby for Water

thetwiglet   –   sleepy water


Mama wind takes the pond
in her maternal arms
hums a soothing lullaby
rocks the tiny thing
close to her breast.
All is calm and quiet
save the lapping sounds
of sleepy water
as the wind lays down
her charge, blows a kiss
and silently breezes away.


I read this on prompt and knew I wanted to do something like this:  “Remember how your mother took you gently up, then folded up the ocean,” Jeanne Murray Walker writes in “Notes To Yourself,” a poem found in Pilgrim, You Find the Path by Walking.

Do You Remember Carefree?

Haiku Sequence, Prompt Posted by Frank J. Tassone at dverse

Busy summer day
on my bike on country lanes
no fear except scrapes

Back to the school grind
fire drills we laughed at the break
fun interruption

Back against the wall
sit in the hall cover head
bomb drill was scary

Cold war foreign spies
watch your neighbors carefully
danger everywhere

Intruder alert
lock down the school sounds of guns
no place is safe now

Terrorists in the sky
backpack bombers on the streets
worry is the norm

Be afraid, afraid
from within and from without
social distancing

There’s nothing to fear
but fear itself so tremble
fear is here to stay

Bad Moon Rising

MzQuickly – My Word


Mal-  bad, ill, wrong
-luna-  relating to the moon
 -escent word-forming element meaning “beginning, becoming, tending to be,”


A malunescent presence
is spreading over the land
hard-core thrash metal band
harsh, screeching, unpleasant
sounds while the sands
of incivility, unrest run out.

There’s a bad moon rising
a wicked moon becoming
a chaotic, callous, drumming
as I sit here analyzing
both sides of fustian humming
that we can survive I doubt.

Biding Time



Her eyes are weak, a watery blue,
red rimmed and tired that leak
at the corners and fill the finely
etched wrinkles that zigzag across
her cheeks. Seared creek-beds
of sorrows and laughter and frowns.

Rheumy eyes of the dying
pains me to see as she peeks
from under the covers. She is
a frail antique, an ancient crone,
and death stalks her exhausted self.
I breathe in the reek of angel’s wings

Danse Macabre

dverse                          Jazzing it up on Prosery Monday                      prompt by lillian


See the source image
image found here

Hattie lay quivering in her bed, jumping at every crash of thunder, eyes blinking at the flashes of brilliant lightening. She remembered every word her grandmother passed on to her in her youth. The warnings, the superstitions, the mythology of death in Appalachia. The stories passed like a funeral procession along her memory.  At ninety-six years old the stories were no longer deliciously scary.

When the night moans like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops and the rain slashes the leaves like a reaper’s scythe, when the wolves howl near the door, when the owl swoops to the lowest branch in daylight, when a black butterfly lands on your pillow and the tap, tap, tap of the deathwatch beetle begins… these are the signs, the harbingers, the not so secret code of the death angel. And Hattie lay quivering in her bed.

(144 words)
“moans like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops” from Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia



They scattered my ashes
on the flowing river
that carried me to the sea
left traces of me
along the banks
and on the small
colored river stones
now I am
the wild grass
the moss
the meadow flowers
fish, crabs, crawdads,
and the tides
carry me to the deep
on the back of a
great grey whale.
And we, I
are all connected
see and hear
taste and smell
feel the texture
of the world…
synergic link