A garden’s sultry day perfume
is not as sweet as her night bloom,
but blooms too delicate for day
are fated to be trimmed away,
that dying glory won’t conceal...

A writer’s obsession never dies.
She’ll keep writing even after demise:
If they opened her crypt,
she’d be clutching a script,
unable to resist the urge to ...

Happy Friday the 13th! Couldn’t let the day pass without a little creepiness.




The Merwives’ Café


A warning to diners who travel t...

A pair of owl photogs thought it a hoot
to capture Molly in her birthday suit:
Photography lost its fun,
when bare Molly pulled a gun,
and captured them with her own...

Creator!
Or am I forsaken?

I am a mother—I am a god.
I have bottled lightning when my milk drained dry,
and watched them scald their tongues with its heat.
I...

Imelda Pratt married a rat
encouraged that he would be king,
and she’d lead the life of a royal wife
with all that nobility brings.
But after the plight of her wedding ...

The saddest clown I have ever seen:
had just had his painted face scrubbed clean,
was brought to dinner in spite of his pleas,
and warned to be quiet and eat his peas.

Am I forsaken?

I am a mother. I am a god.
I bottled lightning when my milk drained dry, and watched them scald their tongues with its heat. I stitched machines that hurtled them ...

He opened my grave to stake my heart;
    he staked a claim instead.

Now we own a tomb for two
    in the city of the undead.

Our ...

Okay, I cheated. This was meant to be a blackout poem, but I didn’t do any of the blacking out. I just pulled the text from jestferlaffs’ 10 Minute Writing Challenge - Key.<...

To Winifred’s alarm, the sky began falling!
The truth is--she was inexplicably talling.
Her head became lost in a cumulus cloud.
Her voice became thunder when she cried alou...

We mixed sunlight with moonlight and made twilight.
We took the best of the worst and survived the fight.
We would be good together if we kept to gray,
but I’m bound to dark...

     They closed the Rite Aid on the corner of Fisk and Hornaday.
I drove past it on my way home last night, saw two of the walls standing,
the insides pulled out...

Our bird teacher pecked lessons into a wooden board.
The writing was as useful as failed buckshot.
She despised us students, what her life had become:
We were not poets; we were...

Hanna doesn't know what snow is;
I don't know how to explain it to someone so young.
I wonder if she will be afraid, cry,
or laugh as snowflakes tangle in her breathing.

Hungry moon grew full too soon from eating too much light.

He soon found his belly too round to pass through the door of night.

“How will you lift to work the nightsh...