Spam 2014

Well, this is it.  The last day of National Poetry Month, and, thus, the last day of National Poetry Writing Month.  In accordance with tradition, the last poem of the year consists of bits of comments in my spam queue.  (I had nothing in my spam queue this year, so these are stolen from my writing blog.)


Fill the senses with
color, scent,
and emotion. Severed, the flower
fades, but don’t you know that
permanent foundations are for things
that do not need to be moved, like houses
and not homes?

A good a person
will likely to attempt at the outset a genuine angelic tone
of fastidious conversation. It doesn’t take
a special degree or college education to do it,
but keep in mind no one likes it when someone
is copying off of everyone else and you may become


Thanks for the reads and the follows, and I’ll be back in 11 months to take the challenge once more. 

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Unknown Fear

You run to me

in terror,

in panic you flee

my embrace and I ache

for you, wish

I could help you but you cannot

tell me what is wrong.  Please,

come to me, let me

comfort you, let me love

the fear away.

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I close the door

lock it,

toss my jacket on a chair,

kick off my shoes.

Another day done, and I

am tired, but happy…

happy to be home.  Empty pockets

(to be reloaded tomorrow)


bra off…


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Black and White

A shadow meets me at my car.  I reach down,

bury my fingertips

in soft fur.  Angel permits my touch,

escorts me

along the dark street

to my porch,

twining around my feet.

Despite her best efforts

I manage

not to fall,

not to trip,

not to step on her as I wonder

if she came to meet me

or to kill me.


(This poem is in honor of Angel, a semi-feral black and white cat, who permits me the honor of occasionally petting her.  When she’s not trying to kill me.)

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Parking Lot Musings

Rain waters my windshield

but nothing grows

in this soulless lot

where yellow lines

divide each from each.

In metal boxes we live

our lives from place

to place – we can see


but does anyone ever

really look


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I have caught up to myself.

Temporarily, of course.  Time

marches on and I march

to the beat of a different drummer who

has no sense

of rhythm.  But I

don’t care.  I will

continue to chase me until the day

I stop

and let myself be caught

by me

by you

by love and death.

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Death Warmed Over

… and left to congeal again.  All

I want is life

or death


this halfway state

that is commonly known

as the common


(Yeah. I felt like crap all day. This is the best I could come up with for a poem and I’m afraid to see what I’ve written for Camp NaNoWriMo…)

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