When I was Thirteen…

Poets and Story Tellers United Weekly Scribblings #68: Where Are You Placed?
Posted by Rosemary Nissen-Wade 

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a moment was frozen in memory
that evokes a sublime sense
of longing, fulfillment, loss.
a shimmer in the air  
a soft summer twilight
a child turning into woman
   the future a promise
      a kiss
         a hope
             a delightful mystery.
It was a threshold
a portal to the up ahead
that glimmered before me
and was gone even as I reached.
A tantalizing second sight
but I was too young to know
that anticipations  
follow its own path
and things are never
what we had hoped
but we make do.


Twiglets by Misky – White China

The dream of every nubile girl
to choose her china pattern,
wine glasses and silver
life was going to be hospitable
luncheons, buffets, teas and
proper sit down dinners
my how naïve we were
how programmed to serve…


Evening tiptoed into the garden
shadows falling across the sundial.
She eased in, her presence delicate,
subtle, like the scent of blue chamomile.
These are her best moments, unhurried,
letting the soft gloam arrive like a waft
of comfort. This feebleness is her strength.
I felt the sharp edge of day dull and dim
and welcomed twilight, a prayer, a praise,
a solitude of purple peace to soothe a soul.


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Like an adolescent, April arrives
awkward, gawky, feet entangled
tripping over herself in her hurry
to grow up.  Before my very eyes
she begins to change, budding out
in tiny green enthusiasms of hope
and grace promising to become
a warm, beguiling woman.

I Am Agreeably Disappointed

The Traveler’s Vade Mecum – Helen Klein Ross

in this place to which I have arrived
having made considerable effort and expense
in the acquiring of room and board
having researched extensively
with much reading and investigation
on the establishment and the country
to which I am now arrived
and have found that most people
are also agreeably disappointed with me.

Day 3 prompt from Robert Lee Brewer of Poetic Asides: Write a Communication poem for POETIC BLOOMINGS |

And thanks to Barbara Young, Mz Q, for introducing me to Vade Mecum


Image result for willow images

Poets and Storytellers  #63: Trees Posted by Rommy

The willow stands on an empty lot,
waiting, for that is what willows do. 
Stands with drooping limbs that brush
the ground at the whim of every wind.
Willow remembers far back,
and farther still, when a small creek ran
close by
when children climbed into her leaves
to hide
when a horse was hitched to the fence
to rest
when chickens pecked and scratched
for food
When all the children left one by one
for good
When the white-haired lady stood bent
and cried
The willow sighs, knows all things pass,
yet remains the same in essence
so willow waits, as willows do,
Waits with drooping limbs that brush
the ground at the whim of every wind.


The Eyes of the Lord Run To and Fro

Photo by Frans Van Heerden on Pexels.com
Poetic Bloomings – Ekphrastic

What is God’s eye view of earth
that sees a sparrow fall
sees the world a whirling ball
sees humanity as a mass
yet each clearly as a blade of grass
God sees from that lofty perch
with eyes that sweep and search
each heart, each turn of mind
of every being in humankind
everywhere God looks and sees
from a grain of sand to the Pleiades

My vision is so small
I can barely see at all
I wonder does God grieve
that I only cling and cleave
desperate to believe.

Waiting for Tomorrow

Photo by Enric Cruz Lu00f3pez on Pexels.com


Some days are painted in subtle hues
shades of pearl grey and dark slate
moody watercolors that seep into
the edges of each other, softly blur.
Dark hills that rise like blued shadows
from waters of mottled melted steel
and that, I think, is the future hidden
in a misty haze waiting to take shape
but where I stand the sea-glass green
buoys me in gentle motion on this
solid dock where both the day and I
await the ambiguous tomorrow.

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Quickly What the Dog Did – blackout poetry

They haven’t got no noses,
The fallen roses
They haven’t noses
steal a smell.

The brilliant
brave smell of dew
The wind,
The scent
The smell of morning,
God gave to us
And here discloses
they haven’t got no noses

Chesterton poem The Song of Quoddle here
Title from Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), by English writer Jerome K. Jerome 

This Little Piggy

Image result for little toe. Size: 258 x 160. Source: www.wikihow.com

MzQ Ode to a Toad – Write in praise of something homely

Second in homeliness
(the first is the knee)
like stubby fat fingers
big toe and peewee
useful for finding things
in the dark you can’t see
like chair legs or bed frames
you’ll scream like a banshee

Not really attractive
though a pedicure helps
and certainly olfactive
when sweat glands are active.
But, You can’t beat the laughter
of a baby’s reaction
to ‘this little piggy’
the toe’s greatest attraction!