Summer Fling


Through ocean’s waves fast we did run.

A sand castle built then we sighed,

Away it washed with the tide.

It wasn’t love but it was fun.


Another stab at poetry, this time a memoriam stanza.




Pandemonium, clamor and din,

cacophony, caterwauling.

Heads are spinning, make it stop!

Where is tranquility?

Walls close in, smother

day in, day out

we long for



Inspired by a recent afternoon in an airport baggage claim/check in area. My first attempt at the poetry form called nonet, a form that I, as a novice poet, particularly enjoyed.


The blue man shoots. The black man dies.

A crowd will gather, rage again.

We hear the keening, louder cries.

The blue man shoots the black man. Dies.

Bring back trust, hope, let us be wise,

for all are red beneath the skin.

The blue man shoots. The black man dies.

A crowd will gather, rage again.

I am wading yet again into the world of poetry, this time attempting a form called triolet.





She’s a baby.

Diapers, band-aids, mean girls and tears.

Boyfriends and breakups, college, the beer.

A wedding, grad school and the career.

A house in Virginia, I wish she was near.

Has it really been so many years?

She’s having a baby.



Burning through the depths of my soul,

Your poisonous presence so toxic

Triggers emotions that torment and crush.


As my heart threatens to implode, crush;

A bright, tiny ember in my soul

Flickers and flames to fight the toxic


You.  The shining torch rising against you, toxic

creature, filled with lies meant to crush;

So powerful now is the rage within my soul.


Desire glowing, oh my soul, threatened no more from the toxic, my lips long for other lips to crush.

An example of a this month’s poetry slam style, the tritina.

The Fruit of Summer


Caress the soft skin;

Breathe in the heady fragrance;

Taste heaven, taste warm;

Nectar dripping like honey

Onto the tongue, down the chin.

Before we run out of the month  of September, I wanted to participate in Yeah Write’s September poetry slam and try the art of the tanka. It is a Japanese form of poetry similar to haiku, but with 5 lines and 31 syllables, broken down per line to 5-7-5-7-7.