Category Archives: poetry

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Wrought iron man

I know a man from an iron dale.
Stiff and creaky, he won’t change.
Rust flakes off as he hunts his grail:
the perfect woman, but he has aged.
She’ll let him do just what he wills,
drink and sing and run and hide.
A plastic doll might fit the bill.
While his joints freeze, dudettes abide.
He could do with rustoleum, a coat of paint.
He doesn’t see that he leaves a trail.
His friends cringe at his rusted taint.
I note that now they are all male.
He’s proud as hell of his iron will.
He’ll soon wake frozen, rusted still.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: wrought iron.

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Happy

Happy

May Sarton writes of happiness, in the quiet at home.

I am so happy when I dance that I smile with joy.
I wonder about the Sufis spinning
and if it is the same.
The poetry has that joy
and anyone who calls God/Dess the Beloved
has my attention.
One who was almost a friend
would laugh with me at restaurants.
Twice strangers thank us for having so much fun.
say our laughter gives them joy.
Thinking about happiness,
I think of my son’s capacity for joy
and wonder where he got it.
Surprise: from me, I think.
From me.

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Unvitiated

Wondering why vitiate
ads from drinking carbonate
seems a loaded silly freight
puzzle future centuries late
time foils stupid race hate
future can’t tell the state
from all attempts to carbon date

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: vitiate.

I look for songs with the word vitiate: pretty much heavy metal. Let’s go with this song instead:

We sang the lullaby in our last concert. It is gorgeous. Unvitiated.

I took the photograph this month at Kai Tai Lagoon.

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Fear

When someone tries to hit me
I fight back
I didn’t worry much in clinic
even when patients yelled
it indicated they were upset
and usually I knew why

Not much fear there.

So what do I fear?

Abandonment
and lies
the one who says they care
that we will be friends
even that they love me
and later walk away

But that has already happened
more than once
and I survive
and the Beloved is still here
and there
and everywhere I am
and everywhere you are
and everything is connected
so there is no fear
and even a chance
that abandoned
I still thrive

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The photograph is from Marrowstone Island in July 2022.

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Stone heart

My mind is done and unsurprised. My heart a stubborn rock.
My heart does not give up: loves where it loves. It doesn’t care
about reality or whether it is derided or mocked.
My mind moves on and kicks my heart, wondering where
this tenacity stems from. My heart is done with tears.
It agrees to new friends and joys in dance.
When my mind says forget, my heart jumps and steers
my body into a warrior fighting stance.
My mind is cynical and laughs and derides my heart.
I let them fight back and forth every day.
I cannot reach an end unless I start
to honor my feelings, the heart must hold sway.
My mind moves on, ignoring what you do.
Yet my stubborn heart remains a friend, strong and true.

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Fine fettle

Our giant salmon is in fine fettle
Stuffed with rhodys and not with nettles!

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Taken at the Rhododendron Parade in Port Townsend, Washington, on Saturday, May 20, 2023.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: nettle. Gosh, telepathy or prescience or something. I took the picture two days before the prompt and those are the only photographs I took of the fabulous parade!

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Untie

Untie my heart and go find
I am not looking anymore
I am playing for the summer
Back to work in the fall
but my heart is untied
and has escaped control.
It might be wild or quiet
or silly or angry. It might
like this today and that tomorrow.
It might wail with sorrow
and then laugh and laugh.

Heart untied and

Gone.

The white furry object is not a tie. It is a Barbie stole made of rabbit fur and lined with pink fabric. Both cats are enjoying carrying it around the house and shaking it and pretending that it is a live rabbit. That stole has to be nearly 50 years old, so I am letting the cats choose it as a toy. Good that I have great ancient cat toys.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: ties.

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Control

If control is the goal
this is not love.
If I listen to others
yet don’t share myself,
this is not love.
If you hoard information about others,
this is not love.
If I reject people I can’t control,
this is not love.

If you have to be the smartest,
this is not love.
If I have to know the most,
this is not love.
If you keep everything secret,
this is not love.
If I share nothing with others,
this is not love.

Is it fear that keeps me from loving?
Is it anger that keeps you from loving?
Is it hate that keeps me from loving?
What keeps us from loving?

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Snow globe full of lies

I took the bandage off today. I would really like to heal.
The scab between my breasts is bright hot angry red.
I gently scrub with soap and the scab slowly peels
showing the crater in my chest. I am the walking dead.
The small child wants so badly to believe your word is true.
You say you’ll be her friend forever no matter what.
My devil laughs, a cynic. My angel turns away from you.
When you walk away you drag behind each inch of my child’s gut.
I see the wound is pulsing and now I give a start.
You break your word, you lie, to my much abused small child.
The pulsing mass I see is my aching bleeding heart.
Every injury triples on the child you hold inside.
I don’t stop loving even though I am gravely hurt.
You’ve never loved at all: you grind hearts into the dirt.

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For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: snow globe.

A world built of lies, like a snow globe. Detached from reality. Contained, with music, and you can shake it up. It looks so pretty, but it isn’t real.