#NatPoWriMo, Day 10

Image by BARBARA808 from Pixabay

Us five,
all in a row.

Ducklings in full waddle,
and Mom, with us in tow.

Double shopping carts,
backseat car-seats
littered with toys and fries.

Christmas presents
in multiples of five.

In or out — they’d say
and we’d be on our way.

It’s been decades
but the memory of us

all five of us,
sweating in the sun
camping by the river
swinging, chasing, elbowing,

rising up, one by one,
little ducklings in the sun.

I had the joy, the struggle, and the gift of growing up in a large family. I am the oldest of 5 children…


#NatPoWriMo, Day 1, “fool” prompt

Image by diapicard from Pixabay

Brown-headed cowbirds,
such ecological Jesters.

They spring into my morning
and pluck fruit from the feeder;
their greenish hue shining through.

I delight in these tricksters.

They, themselves,
offspring raised by fools,
all instinct and wing, searching
for fools of their own
to raise their own,
never knowing the joys
of rearing their own young.

A perfectly respectable cloak
in charcoal and brown,
warbling notes fit for their own space
in the uplift of song — of wrens, Juncos,
Titmouse and jays…
but the Cowbirds seek birds
who’ll look the other way.

A new egg! Oh joy! Then babies, larger…


Poetry in ode form.

Photo by Hasan Almasi on Unsplash

O loves! Lost to me, sailing now upon the wind.
Carried away, each of you, fated not to be
I once clung, a quiet, desperate sin
Bound by paths I once traced upon your skins.
You each let loose the complications of we
However wrong each love, thy hearts all lost
And removed from the horizons of me,
Have now and all at once set me free!
O — lovers lost, now bent upon the wind
Spirited away, each a to windswept end.

O my loves! When once I clung passionately to thee Consumed and wrecked, such emotional costs Once…

a free verse poem

photo of Jay’s book, by the author

When I think of Plath, her elegance with morbidity,
observances, keen on twisting my mind
to see the underbelly of the mundane, the flipside
of life (yes, dark and dreary, perhaps a bit twisty)
and call it bright, I loathe the simplicity of my words.

My syllables sing of trees. Simple, lifeblood of the earth,
sprouting up hope and converting it to oxygen.

I had not noticed the faucet.

I am naked and I am reading Jay. Sizemore, if you must know and you are not on a first-name basis with the bearded poet, quick with a drink and a…


A poem.

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

gather your unwindings
and plant them in the soil

they shall grow you
into something
new — Unwindings, CMW

You can’t run from the roaches
inside the walls, scurries that speak
your name and call you by heart.

They somehow get inside of you,
a stink you can’t wash from your skin,
scorching hot, the water leaves you pink.

How the impoverished
up at the sun,
this running — never done.

If you close your eyes too early at night
they’ll come, you know. Remind you
of the death-stench of poverty
racing inside your veins.

If the sun rises…


As writers we often let the reader decide our best work, this time; I picked.

author’s graphic

Oftentimes as poets we have favorite poems of our own that get overlooked, or worse, fall flat with readers. Sometimes this is because the poems are too cerebral, too cathartic without offering much else to the reader, or they simply were ill-placed and weren’t seen. As poets, we also let our readers and fans decide which of our work is the most valuable.

Not today. I decided to share with you three of the poems that I feel are some of my best works, though the readers didn’t necessarily swoon over them. Perhaps, they’ve been simply overlooked. To make it…


Free verse poem about a nature encounter

Author’s photo

I am afraid

I tell God on an afternoon
walk to the car
for yellow plastic baggies
of soup and ravioli
and those cheap razors
that don’t hurt my skin.

God does not answer.
He sends a toad.

The toad hops into my path, a fat
and relaxed thing that brings
me to a laugh I hadn’t expected
while preoccupied
with my own
uncertainty and fear.

Uncertainty can do that
to the over-thinking, stressed mind,
but a toad —
a toad can alter it all.

A toad has no concern over where they will live, or whether there will be…

Where will you be when they die?

Image by AD_Images from Pixabay

The following poem is partnered with A World Without Butterflies and A World Without Birds to press humankind to reconsider all behaviors that harm our planet and the sanctity of life for diverse species. This time, the stakes are higher.

In 2018, the LAST MALE Northern White rhino died.

The Last of Their Kind

There are only two Northern White Rhinos left in the world.
They are both female.
Ceratotherium simum
at risk of disappearing — forever.

I do not want this world
without creatures that carry
horns on their faces.
How can merely
warrant erasure?

The Northern Whites, square-lipped, captive, the last two…


a free verse poem

Image by HG-Fotografie from Pixabay

scatter yourself about the land,
one quiet dream upon dream

gather your unwindings —
those celestial moments within
that yield to your spirit,
yield to your sense
of adventure

scatter your cares about the land,
one purposed moment of quiet,
of observation, of mindful appreciation

for the legs of ants, that never tire
for the wings of hummingbirds, that move
like one endless breath,
for the ripple of the water
keeping the secrets of fish

gather your unwindings
and plant them in the soil

they shall grow you
into something

Thank you for reading — I wish you joyous…


Because poetry, especially lately, is being ripped right from my soul

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

This is the first time I have done an article quite like this. I know that I enjoy knowing the “inside scoop” on how an artist came to their inspiration for a painting, where a lyricist developed their words into song, or what the inspiration is behind a famous novel.

I like knowing how a creator got to the created piece.

So, given my recent upheavals in life, I realize my poems are coming at me full-force and they are difficult to birth. They are painful and personal, or they are deep-hearted thrusts toward hope. Regardless, they have stories behind…

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