Sep 20
poem 0 comments challenge: General

If I Could Fold the World

Once I folded an origami rose,
Layers of curled petals spiralling,
Gently leaning back in the sun,
Wrapping in close to itself.

Imagine if I could stretch my arms and reach,
miles and miles
the North Pole with one hand,
the South Pole with the other.
Folding the northern tip of Canada down to the equator.

People would dance, arms curled around each other,
The world would gently lean back towards the sun,
The world would wrap people in close to itself.
If only I knew how.

The instructions are not folded away in a drawer,
Hidden among layers of paper.
Leaning back into my imagination’s sunfire,
I must find my own way,
Wrapping my hands close around the idea,
that will let me fold the world.
Dec 03

The Kind Squirrelyhoo

Chick a lick
Wickle a doo!
Where are the nuts

Chatter chatter hee haw
on the prime kazoo!
I will proudly continue,
to make a delightful hulaballoo!

Scribble scramble
down the bark, on the ground
waddle a hee!
Green stalks run amock!
How utterly blithersome!

Dig a lig,
scrape the soil to find the nuts!
Nothing but empty soil?
Silly beyond belief!
I am absolutely certain they were there.
In the frizz of the bizzy blow.

I must find them,
chatter, scramble, chatter,
But nothing but the foloumph of
green grass in cloppery clumps.

I see another squirrelyhoo,
hopping like a hooligan with a nut
She always finds her nuts.
I look down, eyes large and sad.

She stops,
sets a knuckly nut at my paws,
dark brown top serrated with layered hexagonies,
Nov 22

Her Sister's Sea Glass

She smashes the pieces of her sister's sea glass onto the ground,
multitudes of colors like sugar thrown into her eyes,
she, rocking backwards and forwards in anticipation to show her sister
how many more pieces of sea glass she would have now.
Oct 22

Santa's Gift

            A window in the 5th story blinks on blindingly in the night.
            A girl squints through the window into the dark. She could have sworn she had just seen the top of a red hat with a pompom duck quickly out of sight on the street.
            "Momma, did you see that?"
            Momma replies in a soft whisper, "It's Santa's magic, darling. He's everywhere on Christmas Eve."
            The girl smirks slightly. "Stop it, Momma. Probably it's someone dressed up like him. He's a made-up character, too ridiculous even for a story. And it hasn't even snowed yet, so I wouldn't call this a proper Christmas Eve at all."
May 16
poem 2 comments challenge: General

Holocaust's Colors

Can you imagine people crammed like livestock into trains?
Grinding over parallel train tracks
with fresh green strands of flattened grass
rust orange and red on the metal.
People snatching dry bread tossed
through broken windows
lives labelled as being worth
by Hitler.

A man with severely parted black hair
in fancy clothes, dark green as flattened grass
aloofly regarding thousands of rust orange and red uniforms saluting
him as if he were a god.
I wonder if he really is the Hitler
the monster
who caused pain greater than himself.

Hitler never could have caused it all
he was the heartless lever
with gears of vivid rust orange and red
propelling “normal”, “perfect” people,
into flattened green clouds of poisoned propaganda.
Hitler never lay a finger on a Jewish person,
he convinced Germany to do it for him.

I see myself on the grinding train,
May 11
poem 0 comments challenge: General

Success Inverted

Start with the left stanza:

The world will never be fair                                                                                                        If you simply think     
Don’t believe                                                                                                                              There is no such thing as success
Success exists                                                                                                                           You need to listen to this advice
Everyone trusts that                                                                                                                   You are capable of writing well
You will never be good enough                                                                                                  It would be witless to think
Mar 14
poem 0 comments challenge: General

Power of Words

My eyes drift along the page, fearlessly,
The words are trapped in the pages of the book,
like colorful fish swimming about in a tank,
harmless, even entertaining,

I can press my hands and my face to the glass, 
following the fish with my eyes, 
if they glance at me as they paddle by among the reeds, 
there is a wall of glass between us. 

But later, I am alone,
the story rears and hisses like a snake in my ear, 
the glass is weakened by my imagination,
the snake in the glass cage smashes through,

I see visions; colorful flashes of scenes or faces of characters,
Lasting for a fleeting second before scampering away, 
like a squirrel up a tree in an ancient wood, 
I wonder if I have actually seen something.

Visions repeat themselves in strange sequences when I close my eyes, 
In layering contours like a terrifying landscape of scarlet hills,
Feb 15

The Word

Most likely this word,
Being just a single chip off of a scarred wooden plank,
will fall in the wrong place,

It will sail down in swoops, like a white handkerchief,
Stark against the dark sky,
A mere piece of dust in the forbidding world, riding on the air,
Searching for a patch of ground to land,

Coming to rest against a few spry leaves,
Still wet with their mother tree’s tender sap,
But life’s ambrosia will never again run through their unknowing veins,
They will dry out and crumble, their color will fade, alone, forgotten,
The small piece of wood snuggling against their sorry fate,

The wind will sweep the piece of wood up back into the air,
And thrust it into a rushing river,
Where sharp, great black rocks will mock the tiny piece of wood,
as it rushes helplessly by,

The chip of wood will be carried along the roaring water,
Dec 22


What we say resonates from our mouths,
Spiralling through the air to each others’ ears,
Ears that process the words like a promise,

But after the promise is made,
There is nothing left but a vague memory,
A memory that is buried under enormous drifts of other thoughts,
The promise that stumbled before it even stood up,

In the dangerous world that looms all around us,
A breeding ground of problems and suffering,
We must do more than speak!
We must rise up, and make our promises more than a forgotten memory,
A present state of acting and trying,

The longer we wait to take action about black shootings
the more African Americans lives
are at risk
taking action today
instead of tomorrow
could save a life.

Imagine if a close friend
or a family member
would simply disappear
because of the rash instinct
of one police officer.
Dec 21

Tomorrow is Today

The world has never been perfect
Most likely it will never be perfect

But we must strive to reach this light at the end of the tunnel
instead of saying that “the world needs improvement”
we should think from a different angle
- the world can be even better than it is now.

The longer we tarry, the worse the situation becomes,

The longer we tarry, the more lives are lost,

The longer we wait to take action about black shootings
the more African Americans lives
are at risk
taking action today
instead of tomorrow
could save a life.

It will soon be too late
urgent poignancy to act
no time to spare
- that’s the reality.

The “tomorrow” where Donald Trump is president
has come
we must act - we must protect ourselves
not too close to become twisted in his web
not too far to lose awareness of what he is doing.