i want to say it was summer
that afternoon
we coiled like smoke
around each other
on the couch
watching reruns
of Sanford and Son
straight, broke, hungry
but none of that mattered…
i want to say it was summer
as i laid there
tangled up in you
and knew for the first time
what it meant
to love someone
with my whole mind
and body and spirit
to be in your arms
and yet ache
to devour you
at the same time

i want to say it was summer
because it was…
it was the summer of my life...

Posted in response to Sue Vincent’s #writephoto Challenge



caught inside the labyrinth,
he has learned to call his home.
he sleeps under the hyacinth,
on a mattress made of loam.

he has learned to call his home,
this tangled cement string.
on a mattress made of loam
he lies, and hears his mother sing.

on this tangled cement string,
he paints the mural of his life.
he lies and hears his mother sing,
and dreams he’s dancing with his wife.

he paints the mural of his life,
in vinegar, piss, and wine.
and dreams he’s dancing with his wife.
on gold paved streets- her living shrine

in vinegar, piss, and wine
he sways, unkempt for all to see
on gold paved streets, her living shrine
he slow dances, with his Marie.

he sways unkempt for all to see,
through the labyrinth of his dreams.
he slow dances, with his Marie,
as once more the banshee screams.

through the labyrinth of his dreams,
he weeps, thru dilated blood shot eyes.
as once more the banshee screams,
and again- his beloved Marie dies….
Photo Prompt Maze

This is a form of poetry called a Pantoum and it is posted in response to Helene at Willow Poetry’s What Do You See Photo Prompt, Maze.

Un Intermezzo

staccato lines

of separation.

a duet sung

in broken tongues.

your long dried reed.

my unstrung instrument.

un intermezzo

played out of time..

movements plucked

via pizzicato,

staves comprised

of crooked lines.

my solo voice

an intoned requiem.

your obbligato

nocturne, sublime..

pages torn

from il libretto.

silence broken

with each reprise.

internal melodies

defy translation.

lyrical rhythms

untouched by time…

Posted for Eugenia’s BrewNSpew Cafe prompt- off kilter

But instead

Aged on Pixabay

I called her today.. I called her because I wanted to tell her how much I loved her.
How much she means to me. How she had once been the very center of my world,
and no one had ever been able to take her place…
But instead we talked about the weather, her class reunion,
and the way that age had of making things that once seemed so all important
bleed and fade like unblotted ink on a page….

I called her today. I wanted to remind her that she was my first love,
that I had never loved anyone as much as I loved her.
That it was her love that had made all other loves possible..
And against which, they would all forever be judged.
But instead I told her about the the poem I had written, and the book I may well never finish.
We talked about the garden and the dogs and the man who said he would come to cut the grass,,
but never did…

I called her today. My heart so full of love, my mind overflowing with memories
of the times we spent in each others arms, the tender goodnight kisses, the loving glances
that stripped me of my insecurities and made me feel as if I could conquer the world
But instead I told her that I would talk to her later, as this long distance was costing me a fortune-
and anyway, I should be feeding the cats, and getting the dogs in for dinner, or folding the clothes
that finished drying an hour or so ago….

I called her today. With every intention of making today the day I told her
all the things that have been weighing so heavily on my heart.
All the things I have wanted to say for so long but had never gathered the courage to do so,,
All the things I don’t want either of us to ever leave this world without me having said…
But instead I waited until after we had said our goodbyes, and then added- almost as an afterthought-
“I love you…but you know that, right?”

Second Chance

passion by Nora Troll

I was given
a second chance
at passion.
It consumed me
oh, so many years ago.
I sold a husband
and my children
to obtain it.
And if I’d had it-
I would have sold
a whole lot more.
It was the kind of love
that people burn in hell for.
It was the kind of love
that burns you to the ground.
It was the kind of love
that leaves no (wo)man standing-
and in the end
it was both of us
that drown.
You might think
that kind of love
is curse-ed.
You might think
no love is worth
all that much pain.
You might think
I am better off
for having lost it-
but if I could
I would do it all, again.