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I tried, I really really tried the NAPOWRIMO and well…..between Passover, Easter, unexpected guests, more guests, and getting ill I just couldn’t produce the poetry. I have a couple written on *gasp* paper-but they didn’t get to here. And well, the more I look at something I’ve written the more I hate it. Thats why I write and post fast w/o looking back. Otherwise I would’ve given up a long time ago!


sun caressed cobwebs linger affectionately
inside the creaking house
where wind whistles like a train

who howled like that last night?
barely above a whisper
echoing through the staircase,
and darkness

trucks pass by on the highway,
planes overhead roar

underneath it all
a high pitched moan
shimmers on an endless loop inside
your now wide awake mind

sweet succulent juicy
red bites of
summer smeared
across my lips
strawberry delicious kiss

Empty seashells
scattered across
listless beaches
beaten by the sun
red sea
crawling with
microscopic shards
of glass
we all stand
burnt by
post noon glaze
staring out
across deadly
unable to walk


a hawk flies


during my drive


rt 45


will  it




to grab

an unsuspecting field mouse?


when I was younger

a seabird flew low

wings wide

in front our canoe

a snake held tight

in both talons

my heart raced

or maybe

it was a stick




for a nest?


the hawk circles above


            lower still


my car

does not notice

the other cars ahead

nor the red light at the

end of the road


I look down

in time

safely stopped

gazing skyward yet again

the hawk is gone

I drive off







You are a funny looking fruit, hard sleek orange shell with a tomato like top round and dented.
I have yet to eat a ripe one, always the taste is the same.

I open you up-forgetting what the inside is like
because after the first bite
all I recall is my mouth sucked dry by your vacuum like powers
depleted of all liquid from my throat
what gifted taste remains, is a dry cotton acid
I gag, and damn myself again, for being tempted by your name.

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a single sentence of 17 syllables, thank you A. Ginsberg

a cup of tea
this chilly fall night
I simply sip the cold away


spooning lemon soup together on a chair sit two children plus dad


we awoke to a white prickly blanket covering the lawn, first snow!


driving my car poetry is created,erased and forgotten.


where is my blue kazoo?
can we buy a kayak with it now?

fat white flakes drop from the sky
children, tongues out
run laughing, to taste snow