Friday, December 31, 2010

Flash fiction 55 12/31/10

As the crow flies
they live twenty minutes apart-

I stand watching
a man to the north,
sweep a big gray barn

and the man wearing a cowboy hat
to the south,
rides an Appaloosa.

If I brought them together
would they speak of more than horses ?
It is a matter of life and death.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Magpie Tales.12/29/10

She liked to drive very fast-

When I found these gloves on the floor
it threw me back
into her very low
very fast car...

I knew how soft the leather was
before even touching them

I wanted the rabbit fur
against my skin;

but not the tightness
that would encompass
my hands

then run up my arms
to my heart
and crush me.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Microfiction Monday

They call this pristine?
it's not a natural setting anymore!
They either put the fence up
to keep kids from drowning
or dogs from swimming

Sunday, December 26, 2010


Written yesterday, but I had no time to post-

Predominantly white,
with gold highlighting blue
wishing peace to all people
and animals too- 

Evergreens, berries,
birds here and there
Outdoors and indoors
shaking off cares-

Bring wishes and hopes
smiles even prayers,
to Churches and houses
streets everywhere;

With gratitude draping
eachother we dare
to hope, hug and sing
all the love we can share

Monday, December 20, 2010

Microfiction Monday 12/20/10

"Man-o-man,there's no such thing as a quiet, still pig!
Good thing he's not greased. Hope I can hold on to him 'til we get to
Grandma's. "

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Poetry bus , "Star"

He was always driving
a small, rusty dusty car

came down our road mostly on Fridays
on his way to the farmers market.

He carried little jars of balm
made from herbs for scrapes and bruises.

One time he arrived in my yard
just as I was about to bury
a songbird found in the garden.

" May I ?"
He cradled the limp form
lifting it in both hands,

sound started from
the back of his throat,

moving into a chant
with movements of a well known ritual,

it ended with  humming
as he covered the little body with earth.

When I asked where this came from,
He said " Sta-her.

Far, far away
in a place
where sled dogs run."

Friday, December 17, 2010

Flash fiction 55 12/17/10

Sometimes we get to help
free a prisoner
who did not know
she was being held-

From a darkish basement
hidden behind curtains,
in her daughters house.

Bring her and her little dog
to a place,
with her own kitchen and bath

her own closet,
tables and chairs-
light pouring in
and friends reaching out.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Microfiction Monday 12/13/10

She dressed for the play, hating pink, the pinch of patent leather shoes

and rouge. Somehow the black lipstick kept a smile on her face.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Poetry Bus, 12/12/10

She loves
to cook and scatter herbs

above a turning plate
or steaming pot,

it lays scent out
and draws hearts in.

She loves to pinch
and spray tiny seeds,

rock hard shells
unpierced by wet
or temperature-

Stepping back on spiral stairs
she leads

up rocky paths
to sing with yellow birds

Can bring us to a lake
on corners of our world,

where elders wrap
colors around a fire,
to wait for stars and moon.

Friday, December 10, 2010

Friday flash fiction 55 12/10/10

Two weanling calves
uniquely checkered
black, splattered white,
one slapped by chocolate
all across his cheek.  

They hop and pop
twist and give a kick
surprise themselves,
with a grunt or little moo,

They've come to
tear it up!
I love to watch them
on a square of sturdy green
with shelter framed by trees.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Microfiction Monday, 12/5/10

Where are the sheep that are supposed to be keeping the grass down in this cemetery?
there were either holes in the fence or someones memory

Friday, December 3, 2010

Mag 43 ; Our Church 12/3/10

On Main Street
In a cold rain
I stare up at four tier staging
covering the front of our Church.
No workers today,

The circular Rose window
has been removed
honey plywood covers
its arch, under plastic sheeting
pinned on the grass
by rubble from inside.

I walk around the corner
where dark granite stones are grouped,
binary forms waiting for their numbers.

Half the face lies here,
white veins glowing.
old blocks, all from a local quarry
are not as square
as I imagine they would need to be.

I feel for my key
in a pocket and step up
to the side entrance.
The first light switch ?
it will be dark inside
I have no help from a flashlight.

Inside the reception hall
half our wooden pews
are facing toward the Sanctuary,
Two stout wooden columns
sit like pawns
with paneling flat in front of them.

The air is a mix of welcome
and sacred in disarray.
It is only temporary !
I murmur and turn
walking past the stage,
toward the rear stairs.

The bookstore
with many boxes of donations
have waited patiently
for our attention,
these last six months.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Drop down and go,

A river singing
over rock,

white bubbles flashing
popping into mirth,
under tones flinging fish aside.

Rough ride
deep tea brown
coursing from upstream,

leftovers from heat
of summer under trees.

Smoothing out into
plates of current
with roaming edges,

until ice forms
and tumbling debris
creates a fork

splitting, shifting boundaries
raking, taking more
with many claws