Saturday, April 30, 2011

DAY 30 - FINAL POEM ... AFTER LEAVING HERE ... APRIL PAD 2011- dedicated to fellow writers at Poetic Asides aka (for myself and some others) "The Street"

After Leaving Here - I Will be There

I wrote the other night to all that I could possibly include
knowing somehow that this year this ending April would be a difficult interlude
Wrapped in the moon-silvered and glimmering
The sense of collective community a chorus of one voice
Fragmented and in the street still simmering
Whispered on the air, drifting in the soft night breeze
The comfort of the muses rising from each to other singing
Sweet, painful, searing lyrics to each other seizing every soul
Until the street was emptied and all that remained
Were these wispy whispered fragments, shimmering with soft light
As each lingering poet walked ostensibly alone in the darkened lonely night
As the pavement glistened, sole foot-falls rising from the ground
To meet with the others for leaving this place although one bound
Never is actualized, never does occur - once Muses meet and coalesce
Forever vanished, extinguished that existential torment on the street that is a living tapestry
Good night to all the knowledge that creativity is a brilliant speck of an incomprehensible vast collective universal oneness...

To De.. who began today... I agree as usual this April somehow more difficult and to MA Dobson - my birthday kindred spirit I will meet you at the waters' edge and into the turquoise depths dive and dissolve..until De and the others come to the ever after and arise in one new form or another on the street, that we have never left. The Street that inspires, sustains, challenges and soothes, the street that is Poetic Asides.
We are individuals and and we are one...
Always and forever ...
I am not re-reading this... I am at the water's edge - I see MA Dobson and the others in the distance
as I dive...and for an instant disappear...


Balloons Will Forever Float

After leaving here no looking back there
The flowers will stay until thrown away
Balloons will float to the ceiling and stick
The covers will be neatly folded back
Soft stuffed animals placed into the trash
Today -  Flowers will celebrate us two
Balloon bouquets tied to your bassinet
Tiny bear, yellow duck, flop-eared plush pup
Pastel covers shield signed papers from view
After leaving you here no looking back

Friday, April 29, 2011


POEM 1. Ode To A Street

Cobblestones pavers
Gentle underfoot sheened
Whispering lyrical loveliness
Through from earliest dawn
All the night through
Someone, somewhere stirs
For a stroll
Under bowers of word petals
Because there is no beginning or end
I honor The Street both teeming and serenely still



A World Without Poetic Asides Fondly Called By Some The Street
Would Be a World Emptied of Images, Rhythms, and Poets to Greet

There would be no Robert Lee Brewer
Our fearless leader whose pens through
A “Strep Throat"
No Walt writing of “A World Without Poetry”
“There would be no beauty if poetry was not…” it would come to an end
No De Jackson writing “Sans” of “Hearts that won’t mend…”
There would not be Sam Nielson’s humor as in “Without Wind” writing how “There are those who say – I am like an unwanted wind”…
There would be no Chev or Jerry either – no words of “The World Without Dandelions”
no indented lines that showed wishes floating away
No Gloria Bostic… who pen no poems about the sons never born
Nor Mariya Koleva – musing on “The world without its center?”
No Kit Cooley - no “Bee-less” images of flowers blossom
No PKP and “Dr. Kulachs’ Piano Recital”
No musings of Michael Grove penning on “Hate No More” or “peace …that rise from oceans floor.
No chuckle poetic flirtation between Daniel and De who would not have “this prompt so…promptly
No De Jackson and her wide range – no “Poof” …(abracadabra) Wave of wand, ..All gone.
No Mike M. pondering a still life “Without Storms
No Marie Elena’ s sweet membership in the commentary team that have gotten many including this poem to return and boosted esteem
No souls would be held as Gloria’s father
No M.A. Dobson writing “The World Without Sleep…” in the throes on insomnia vividly
There would be no Autumn N. Hall’s unique twist removing the “E”
No Anders Byland … and his wonderful search instrument nor his knowledge” about why the cage bird” does sing
No Zeb with his enthusiasm playfully “Imagining a World without Z”
No Linda M. Rhinehart Neas no “ The World without PAD”
Nor Maxi Steer or “The World Without Slime”
No Patricia Hawkenson with a range from the celestial to “The World without Casseroles
nor “curry” nor mush…
No Michele (Banana) penning “Hopeless” “as things are calmer now…”
No Walt imagining a world “Without Gravity”
Gone Joseph Harker – and his “Sonnet For Peak Fuels”
No Walt continuing on – no “WHERE HAVE YOU GONE, JOE DiMAGGIO recalling an era’s jewels.
No Katie Dixon and her “Ambrosia" no “from the night on the rising steam.”
No Dare Gaither, no “Poison Ivy” Without Temptation
Nor Shannon Lockhard sweet “Temptation”
No Rose Anna Hines and her piercing “ A World Without Taste”
No Marie Elena and “These Things I can Do Without” from “brussels sprout to falling out” they would not exist absolutely no doubt.
No Janet Rice Carnahan how could that be? No “WORLD WITHOUT ANTS” and all her commentary 
No Ivanius just come me to know …none of her poems “No Blanks” how would that go?
No meeting of Jane Schlensky and “The World Without You” a richness of images what would we do?
No Mike Maher and his multiple attempts of the day as “The World Wihout Something Else” whatever could one say?
No Pamela Murray Winters waxing on “In a world without clouds”
In a world without clouds
No Beth Rodgers as the world falls silent in “The World Without Music”
Nor Elizabeth Johnson in “Without dogs”
No Linda Voit taking up no cause because there’d be none and so no “Without Labels Taking the Lead” and no Lois S.
No Joe writing actively of “Monotony”
No Nancy Posey no prompts, no “World Without Weather”
No Margaret Van Pelt sweetly combining “Strep Throat” and kisses
No Catherine Lee who this year has come and then “No World Without Rhythm… what a vacuum
No Bruce contemplating “less terrifying” “A World without Tornadoes”
No Connie Peters imagining “A World Without Flowers”
No J.D. MacKenzie “Without a Place to Call Our Own”
No Richard-Merlin Atwater or “A World Without Love”
No Justine Hemmestad “with no reason for expression” in “A World Without Passion”
No Kim King who could not leave “The World Without Poetry”
No Mike Bayles in a “World Without Music”
No Karen Legg to wittily imagine what “A World without Will”
No Nikki Markle who I can never read without hearing my favorite poetic word sparkle – no “Starless Shadorma”
No Taylor Graham – no lush language of “Fleas”
No Gil Gallager – no Stephen King of PA no today “Without Sky”
No Rob Halpin pointing to the perils of our “PAPERLESS SOCIETY”
No Rachel Green would e’er be seen and no “One Demon Less”
Nor Marian Ververka in “A World without Music”
No Andrew Kreider and no “The World Without His Genius” a place of far less caffeinated flash and fun.
No Autumn Hall nor “A World without Proselytizing”
No Katreylu Angus no one to write a poem of a world “WITHOUT ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVISTS”
Nor Mbschied in “a world without whining”
No Dheepika – No passionate poem no “ A Surrogate Mother”
No M. Wood – none of his intellect no “Without” speaking of “Books molder on shelves.”
Nor Chimnese and therefore “ No World Without Homophobia”
No J. Lynn giving tribute to the tornado victims “Home” …falling-…into the center
of the earth.”
No Michele Hed and no “Blue” oh how sad that would be if she were not here, true
No P. Wanken creating an empty reality without her “Without You”
No prolific Walt .. and so no giggle at “NO UNDERWEAR”
No LBC and then No “World Without Sound
Nor Sara V? how could that be no “Staunching the Flow”
No Marcia Gaye finding a poem by James Gaye Jr. thinking on “The World Without Dress Codes” and how that all might be
No Sheree Rabe to think “On Utopia”
No Arielle Lancaster-LaBrea! This “new-to-me” voice of brilliance no today of “Without that morning at your house”
Nor Heiberg and never “INTO ACROBATICS” having me smiling still
No Barbara Young no “world without walls…”
No Lori Thatcher penning “A World without Us”
Nor Joseph Beckman who can write a poem “Sans Inspiration” which of course inspires
No Hannah Gosselin no fairies, creatures, and such things as “A World Without Marshes”
No RJ Clarken and her unique take. No “World Without Sticky Notes”
No “meeting” Domino and no “The World Without Lies”
No Mariel Dumas – No “Projection-less World”
No Miskmask- and then no “A World Without Arthritis”
No ACD and as it would be no “Without Fear”
No Nina B Lanctot and none of “THE WORLD WITHOUT AGENCY”
Nor Joe or “A World Without Lovers”
No Kyhaara or a “World Without Chocolate”
No Daniel Ari’s 3 “Without Judgment"
Nor Angel V and a “World Without Sin”
No “meeting” for me Andrea Boltwood and never reading terrific “A World Without Onomatopoeia”
No Sara McNulty! “No World Without Your Smile”
No De Jackson – hard to imagine the shrinking of scope no “Bumble”
No Ideurmyer and therefore no “Gripers and Complainers”
Running out of steam and want to be sure to include everyone I read this last April PAD night
No Ann No “I heard the black crows” a voice that finds the light in the dark
No Annie McWilliams. No “at the edge of the world”
No Genevieve Fitzgerald. “No World Without Words”
No Benjamin Thomas . No “A Dog-less World”
No, Amy Barlow Liberatore!! No Advocacy! As in tonight’s “No Gay Men” how would that be?
No Salvatore Buttaci –No “Worlds Will Grow Silent” ????
No Michael Grove – such kind words directed to me no “family” or “my baby, baseball..”
No “meeting” PSC in Ct wonderful poems and commentary No “The World Without Goodbye”
No Jacqueline Hallenbeck sensitive as all heck. No “World without gossip”
No Sandra Robinson – new to me on PA street – No “World Without Sports”
No Buddha Moskowitz – no lists – no scintillating lines? “No Color TV”
No Melissa Rossetti Folini one of the most beautiful names on this street.
No Karen Phillips – coupling of lines and images in her own style
Nor Jo Lightfoot – a distinctive voice that lingers on
No Cameron Steele – remember shedding a tear
No Judy Rodney – a wonderful blog site and great visiting there
No Rose Anna Hines – tender heart, writing of difficult times
Nor Kendall A Bell – No “Imagining a world without hippies”
No John Pupo – No “Stevie Nicks” who I distinctly remember someone no being able to sleep til she found
No Robin Morris – new I do believe welcome and sound
No A.C. Leming and not tonight’s “The Last Straw”
And finally in the way of all mortal beings hard to imagine especially on tonight the beginning of a special day that there would be no PKP's  
  World Without From Here To Eternity

A world without the crashing waves
Of Lancaster's from Here to Eternity
would have left this April baby
with a different paternity
I mis-estimated the time this might take and looking at the clock see that I’m in the process of an all-nighter to take which would be my pleasure which would be my joy to somehow even for only myself to synthesize the month into the now … but today is a day that others want to celebrate and so I must leave as Janet might call this pearl necklace for it is late. I thought that I’d say much more witty and light as I begun that this street would be emptied, cold and deprived of much light, if even one single voice here was not heard, read, created into a post, a time of community, of sharing of dedication and perhaps a kind of collective like-minded poetic love most…

Whoops ... Here's to NINA AND GEORGINA who perhaps
Because you somewhat rhyme stayed floating together in mind's predawn foggy mist
And as I drifted and realized where were you on that  PA LIST!

So this was last night's ODE TO PA rough iPad  dear compatriots in the night turned to day and at my own erodes I was groaning a complete  tribute a testament inevitably I must have failed although I tried... To any slips of mind but not affection or admiration I apologize and thank you for sharing with me and allowing me the place to share with you!

POEM 3. Ode to creativity

To that flotsam and
Skittering glittering scatter
To the skin creeping draw
To all that seems profoundly to matter
To the forms and the styles that
To to the glitter falling try to contain
To the surrender to falling
As particles join into shape
To that which comes from
No one truly knows where
Ode and honor some say the same
To the coalescence of the spark to the sparkle

POEM 3. Ode to An Ode

Perhaps the first remembered bit of poetry
was an Urn that was odes for all us to see
That idea might not have been great
For all these years later late
Not too much about odes committed to memory .....

POEM 4. Ode to a Feline

An ode is a celebratory homage
Traditionally respectful, solemn all that
Most decidedly the subject would exclude
That of a cat...


POEM 5. Ode to an Ode
A form both austere and some
Might say -antiquated in your hpristine way
And yet
And yet
To you dear ancient ode
Fare-the-well shall I never bode
To you dear venerable through ages strong
For you dear ode to honor by mastery I still long
Long live the Ode!


Thursday, April 28, 2011

DAY 28. PA PROMPT - WORLD WITHOUT - POEM 2. The World Without War

The World Without War

No body bags
Or flags draped
And folded just so
No proud seminal moments
Of current horrors
Survived into the now
So they become the long ago
Too easy to say this dictator
Or Fascist or Terrorist monster would rule
For truth would be if the world without war
No war for any ideological school

DAY 28. PA PROMPT " A World Without.." - POEM 1. - Without Dr. Kulachs'  Piano Recital

Without this recital who knows what might have come to be
The etiology of a "pianist's" drama follows immediately:
She was sixteen when finally
She got a seen-better-days-upright
For her birthday
She had wanted to play with a
Passion burnt since age three
The upright could have been the grandest Steinway
Found Dr. Kulachs  Viennese  teacher
In a small studio above the place where they sold pizza
He had a metronome a chair, silver mustache and thick accent
And understood serious classical music her bent
You will not play a single recognizable line for ten years
You will play scales and exercises, You understand there will be no tears
With a commitment only a fervent sixteen year old can make
She begins and with full heart and three daily hours of practice did lessons take
For three weeks and came on a day quite cold
Sat at the metronome and he stopped her with her name written in bold
In a program for first years
A piano recital on January to be
Play a single line of a Brahms lullabye would she
This was not their contract the others were six
She was respectful but pleaded do not humiliate me in this mix
The programs were printed the line she would learn her name there printed in bold
"She would not disrespect him". he would not accept this said he icy cold
He gave her the line simple , she told her family they were not to attend, no tickets sold
At the school that evening she sat a young woman with breasts
Amongst tiny talented kindergarteners all by proud mommy's very best dressed
Finally after the little ones went one then another again and again her name on the page
It was called and-stun stumbled to the center of that vicious floor creaking stage
Took a deep breath it was one line only, this she could do
And on the third note hit it wrong,and clamorously too
And at that moment precisely was through
She stood calmly there with a heart drained pounding and wan 
Walked to the front of the stage offered apologies said she could not go on
Turned and walked quickly trying to find the opening curtain
The exit would be there of that she was certain
It was not and she wandered in nightmare rush
Until eventually found a door to the outside to push
She did not see. Dr. Kulachs until a woman with a babe if her own
Met at the produce section when she returned home for a visit all grown
"Do you play?" he asked her holding onto his cart
She just shook her head as she thought, No not really, just scales, although still in my heart
"It was my mistake you were all children to me
I did not notice the serious young woman, I did not see"
In the bright light of the market in that flourescented aisle
Her heart filled with music as they hard-teared embraced in duet crescendoed smile
PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

DAY 27. - POEM 10.

There once was a November NaNo would-be poet novelist

whose fingers flew on her keyboard between being an analyst

up the stairs from her office she'd run

to complete a few poems and a word count that morning begun

stopped at the door to a tiny meow to find a co-writer fluff ball of fun

DAY 27. - POEM 9. - In the Pouring of the Flow

There has been talk of the "flow"

of writing, thinking, acting in

a motion that has no stop only go

where time takes on a different beat

and little thought or agitation greet

in the pouring of the flow

when to stop is impossible to know

DAY 27. - POEM 11. - In The Gloaming of the April-Poem-A-Day-Challenge

In the golden-gloaming-winding-down-days of April PAD

there is an inclination for me to become gree-a-dy

to take up space in this haven-ish place

with fingers typing at a frantic-flash pace

As though spilling words from this head equalled quality

DAY 27.- POEM 10. - In The Joined Luck of Feral Kitten Meeting NanoWriMo/Analyst on the Run

There once was a November NaNo would-be poet novelist

whose fingers flew on her keyboard between being an analyst

up the stairs from her office she'd run

to complete a few poems and a word count that morning begun

stopped at the door to a tiny meow to find a co-writer fluff ball of fun

DAY 27. POEM 8. - In the Split of Pants

In that split of pants


a decade of teasing

a one-time joke

a life-time of shame

a non-event elbow poke

it all depends

it all depends

DAY 27. POEM 7. - In the Quiet of a Pre-dawn Morning

In the quiet of a pre-dawn morning

There is a special quiet
in that not so silent night
filled with breath and dreams
and things that have not yet
gone bump

DAY 27. - POEM 6. - In Friends of Friends

In friends of friends
lurks those dropped and forgotten
In seasoned grievance

DAY 27 - POEM 5. - In the center of the cookie

White sugar creamed filling
Taunting the tongue come hither
To season "Bets-Off"

DAY 27. POEM 4. In the Middle of Your Hate

Wednesday, April 27, 2011 3:33:41 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
In the Middle of your Hate

From bottom up, your chin
Has a few hairs trembling
As you yell
From bottom up
On you I can only see
your far-off shoulder swell
Your nails look shiny painted-
Your fists on thighs
Rest clenched, huge knuckles
Close to my head
In your sputtering, shouted, love shuttered, animosity
You have forgotten the you and he, you and she
That became that me,
that is still
in the middle of your hate

DAY 27. POEM 3. In the Middle With You

In the Middle With You

Wish it were so
Wonderful if it were true
If I could stay stuck with you

DAY 27-POEM 2.In the Middle of the Aisle

Wednesday, April 27, 2011 3:24:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
In the Middle of the Aisle

Wedding march plays on
She grips the paternal crisp
Suited arm
And simply stops

DAY 27-PA PROMPT-In the BLANK of BLANK-POEM 1. In The Middle of the Street

In the Middle of the Street

Cobblestones wet with fresh dew
In distance behind glisten
Ahead blurred on mists of
Here in the middle of the street
Sun golden
Shoulders showered in white petals
Blowing in the still warm breeze
Here in the middle of the street

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

DAY 26- POEM 7. Strike Up the Band

Here we go and here we come
marching from four corners there
our leader carrying that four legged chair
Banging, clanging, singing proud and loud
Trumpets blasting in the air
Our leader carrying that four-legged chair
In a circle jiggling, wriggling, stomping fun
Forgetting why or where we have begun
Until someone finally shouts in the air
Why does that person have a chair?
And in the way we've come to know
The chair is handed to that person and
on we go
In the march from here to there
With only one four-legged chair

DAY 26- POEM 6. Change the Order

Followers beget
leaders if only to break
the boredom season

DAY 26 - POEM 5. Dance


The only man
that I could follow
no matter what the
dance - was the first man in my world
who held my pajamaed
bottom against his tuxedoed
chest, my bath wet curls resting
on his sweet cologned neck
as around the living room we whirled

DAY 26- POEM 4. Pledge of Allegiance

I pledged allegiance to the flag
My hand upon my chest
and worried in grades one through three
where my right hand would go
when I finally grew my awaited breast

DAY 26- POEM 3. I'll Show You Mine if You Show Me Yours

Here we go said he to me
Behind that leafy banyan tree
I'll show you mine
Here right now you'll see

Hmmm I've seen my Dad and
brothers three
Not sure what you might offer

Now maybe mine you have not yet to see
But you will not in front or behind
this banyan tree
So pick up your trousers from your knee
Before your bum is bit by that circling chubby bee

POEM 2. First Grade

Paper card clutched in eager hand
reading the words, that hot June final Friday
"she is a natural born leader" they did say
Read and birthed a "follower" of all rule
A good little girl in love with a loving school
Voracious to read those same "leader" words another day
Learned to scope out the teacher eye and learn his or her "game"
Before to the class or perhaps even to the teacher "it" even had a name
"Leader, leader, leader" in years two
and then on and on and on years tumbled through
Watching the eyes, the tilt of a head,
the smile of approval an addict led
From that original well-intentioned
neatly written "leader" writ on paper lined
a hyper-vigilant follower only seeming to lead - defined


Neither follower nor leader be
Listen to the shifts of paradigms
Cracking the box and see what you shall see

Monday, April 25, 2011


Tossing as a filly
Pawing at the gate
She throws her mane
In his direction
Mindful of the hairpins
Pulling her sacrificial scalp

POEM 6. All Fall

All Fell

For a moment
Return to melt
One onto another
In giddy loose limbed
In one tickled tone
All fall down 

Poem 5. Failing Falling

Failing Falling

She thought she could skate
Until they told her she was
Failing at falling

DAY -25-POEM 4. -Into Arms of Nitrous Oxide

Into The Arms of Nitrous Oxide

Head back breathe in
Float into the sweet embrace
Where drills are rushing rivers
And burnt bone, crackling fireplace
Breathe in the floating
The hand on cheek suddenly
Softly sensuous as the
River runs and the fire perfumes
The air of most precious intimacy
He with his arm in your opened mouth
You, eyes closed drifting deeper
Into the sweet embrace
PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

DAY 25- POEM 3. In The Twinkling-

In The Twinkling 

High above the twinkled twirls
Of breathless children eyes wide
She walks soft pink shoes on
The white rope solely tulle 
Fluttering with the quiet
Calm of folding
Butterfly flicker
High above the twinkled twirls
One delicate doe ankle crosses
Again and then again
Tulle catching the light
As breathless children eyes 
Silent but for the first
Piercing scream of the 
First child to see a perfect
Pink toe about to step
Onto the air


Fear of falling

She is ninety and they keep repeating "oh quite spry"
Bends easily o,er her electric blue Nikes
Tightly to tie
Along the boardwalk
Others bike and run
She walked proud
Until this fear
This fear begun
So strange to fear
To fear at all
The fall she took just last week
That now out of family sight has
Her treading meek
Buying new sneakers
Bending to tie
Reminding herself
"pick up your feet"
"don't shuffle"
So annoyed at this new
Frail old shuffling woman
She'd like to spit in her own
Fear wide eye


The Fall

Whispered in dappled
Days of long ago
Leaves rustled above
As long lean
Muscular legs flexed and grew
Ran within strong safe 
Boundaried solid edges
Toward a horizonless tomorrow
Here a loss, there a dimpled
Despair, an edge crumble
Until in an incomprehensible
Instant almost nothing
Remains here in the wisp
Of frightened
Filaments of fear
Wavering shaky legged in the finite
Marginalization of the unmisty
Whispering of days long ago
Invisible to those of strong 
Legs running 

Sunday, April 24, 2011

DAY 24 -PA PROMPT -A "PRAYER"- POEM 1. An Agnostic's Prayer

Wouldn't it be nice
If in this fathomless stratosphere
There actually was a Universal Consciousness
Sparking, Sparkling, Sentiently, Sensitively, Simply, There


Slipping the bonds
Of feared hum-drum
The weighty chains of
Mediocrity, breathe
Deeply, eyes loosely
Shut against the
Here and drift
To the there of that
Turquoised island
Of that never setting
ribboned horizon free
Youth sparkled ever sun

Saturday, April 23, 2011

DAY 23-PA PROMPT -QUIT-POEM 3. -Quit Pecking Those Peeps

You think that no one can see you there
You think no one will notice or even care
That no one the indentations will even know
Match precisely your tiny fingers sugar sticky in bright peepy yellow-oh


Warning political/sexual content parodied.......

Quit Fixating

There are too many people around heah
Who are fixated on the President's birth year
With so much to do
And to get us all through
I am confident that before he did run
Before all this had begun
Others certified the respected US State of Maternal Vaginah 



All brittle complaints
Desist every fallacious
guarded hate-filled  illuminates
Juggle kindlessness laments
March never on pillaged-pavements 
Quiet roads-instead  surrender-you
there-before under vastly-view
Wander xanadued yammerless Zenith-graced in- peace-so-true 

Quit your belly-aching-and love from a-z
Poem Happily!

Friday, April 22, 2011

DAY 22 - PA PROMPT- ONE OF A KIND - POEM 4. - Mean Kids

No one is like you
Not at all
There is no sense looking
Behind us up and down
the hall
No one is like you
Do you not understand ?
You will never be like us
Will never carry a football
Across a touch down line
Will never wear a new outfit and feel fine
No one is like you
Do you not see
That you are hideously
One of a kind
And shunned and bullied
Your destiny

DAY 22 -PA PROMPT - ONE OF A KIND - POEM 3. - Papa - Not A Looking Sort Of Guy

One of a kind Papa Jack
Never looked at another woman's front or her back
Until once on  a tropic porch chair 
A young lady walked by quite bare
And Papa Jack, chair and all, fell to the ground with a smack   

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT - ONE OF A KIND - POEM 2.- One of a Kind that Dear Boy

One of of a kind was he, softly she thought
That dear loving boy so harshly up brought
Had been shouted and screamed
For a child senseless it seemed
Understood as her lip split as in his fist caught 


Up the stairs
He would spryly come
Mail in hand
Smile on face
Stop! To him, shouted Papa
Let  ME read MY  mail

But he'd tell
Before you could see
What written
There for you
Electric bill or bright post-card
From missing Unk Lou

It was fun
It was very sweet
Giggle mire
Until the day he brought tears
Unsealed gaping wire

He folded
onto red brick step
head in hands
first to see 
Death's announced delivery 
no one wished to be

 ( mhmmmm not sure a shadorma can join a quartet,,,)  

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " - POEM 1. - In The Heated Hallway - There Went the Bride

 Twenty in Alencon sharp edged bright white lace
Standing air in  claustrophobic alcove
Father primping flop sweat off his black brow
Fan stilled above floats an omen shouting
Silent screams of impending disaster
In Alencon bright white lace jabbing skin
Pricking memory of broken teacups thrown
There in the eyes in the gilt edged mirror
Faded blue to yellow under long sleeves
In the heated hallway marches forward

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " - POEM 2.  - On Kaitlin - Murdered-Four-Year-Old

No second thoughts play
at the child in mud leafed sprawl
Spring awakening 

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " -POEM 3. - If The Door Had Been Locked

if the door had been latched above plump fingers 
reach, never opened to the calling breeze
never followed the summer scented air
to the incomprehensible beyond
never run barefoot o'er emerald grass
to the piney darkened woods awaiting
never to the open arms vile embrace 
if the door had been latched above plump fingers
never silenced soiled-stuffed laughter frozen
never found thawed fresh drifting in this spring

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " -POEM 4. -Second Thoughts

One-one thousand
Two-one thousand
Three-one thousand
Holding plastic stick
In hand baby thoughts
Bounce off bathroom
tiles to a future 
With or

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " -POEM 5. - If He Passed On Coffee

That morning crisp 
and by now blue cliche
if he passed on coffee
cream and sugar
took it black
where might he lay


If the would-be questioning bride
standing at her father's side
turned and ran as fast as she then could
never later able to birth a child she would 

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " - POEM 7. - Hickory Dickory Dock

Hickory dickory dock
all running to a clock
racing here and puffing there
as though it all matters getting where?


My dog Spike
would have run along side my bike
on fields of green
alone unseen
untouched and safe
on my bike
with my dog Spike
Instead of my dog Fluff
stuck inside a room of white
where she and I hid out of sight
And read and did not get out enough

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " - POEM 9. - If They Said We Simply Can't!

If the mad-man was treated as he such
And no one listened very much
But let him rant
Until all simply said "we can't" forseeing the inevitable followed cost
Six million would never have been, cargoed, killed and lost
If the mad-man was treated as he such
And no one listened very much


The raised hand
in the room where
decisons are irrevocably made
the second

DAY 21 - PA PROMPT "SECOND THOUGHTS " - POEM 11. - Several Hundred Poems

Neatly stored in folders
Computerized in labelled files
Even in a blog
Fingers fly on keyboard
Not much good, but easily
Lead to wonder .... Why?

Wednesday, April 20, 2011



Here on this sandy beach
Hidden from all grabby reach
Know you will understand if this you find
Leave me here and never mind!

To whoever finds the note
To Nancy Posey writ
Wanted you to know I realize how
unlikely would be her finding it

Even more unlikely now I know
that you kind reader would find
not only one note but two
an indication of sun on the mind


Written here in this strong black life-proofed ink
Joy in the blackness on this page now white
Seal this bottle, with a ribbon to my ankle tie
From this bridge jump, sink from sight
and die...




Here back of closet shelf
Paper stained with alcohol
The final vow proofed


Recall and hold fast to all
that flushed your faced and
quickened your heart
that had you pause in
awe struck wonderment
that had you throw off your shoes
and dance in bare feet - even once
on the sandy shores
of receding time


Wednesday, April 20, 2011 3:42:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

I realized when I rolled
The paper carefully
With all written so precisely
Each word pain stakingly chosen for posterity
For beauty,
For Muse-icality
Writ in perfect penmanship
I realized as I rolled
The finished paper
That the bottle
This only bottle
Finally found
Was cracked
And listened as
The Muse laughed
And I in frustration
Threw it anyway
Into the rolling sea


Love Sticks

A sharp steel duckie headed safety pin
Pushed hard through the plastic diaper
Into your day old skin
Three decades later I feel the pain....

Unlove - Does Not Feel

A hand placed where
it does not ever belong
Tears that
Only annoy
Even decades later....



Innocent of all things
Physical and ephemeral
Expectant, tremulous,
Waiting for the
Right one..

Sunday, April 17, 2011

DAY 17 - PA PROMPT - BIG PICTURE - POEM 5. Big Picture - Little Girl

Take each day as a given gift

It is not guaranteed

Perhaps not the most reassuring

Intonement, perhaps not a three- year-old's

Life creed

Yet held in strong young arms

Black hair gleaming on his head

Drawn to share something in case he soon was dead

Showed me grains of sand and

Vast sky and rolling sea

Comforted by the grandness

By the beauty of the small

Of the interconnectedness of the tapestry 

shimmering of each, in every, that is the Universal All

Take each day awake as a gift he said

Look at the sand, the sea, the sky

Each creature, flower petal, each leaf

Shimmer-whispering rustling in each tree

And, if I should soon leave and go,

You will find me there and everywhere

All is there for you to feel and come differently to know

Although you might as you know me, not see

I will be where all things living are, this I tell you so

Where all does shift, and merge one into the other

In the big picture, moving in the wind, seas, sky and very air

continuing in the ever flowing show

( will edit later....just a thought )

DAY 17 – PA PROMPT – BIG PICTURE - POEM 4. The Big Picture

 About ten feet across

Leonardo painted

that last Seder supper

Passover, Palm Sunday

Could be joint celebrations

If not for an unpretty portrait

Painted for political purpose

Passed around and down

Through Inquisitions

To ovens

To less catastrophic castigation

Leonardo painted

That supper that

Might have been a supper last

But not a rendering

Of manipulated guilt

Purposefully misplaced
In that magnificent canvas

That could have been

Symbol of room enough

For all at the table

DAY 17 – PA PROMPT – BIG PICTURE- POEM 2. – In The Big Picture

 In the huge shifting

Living canvas

The grandest is

But a single drop

Of color


DAY 17 – PA PROMPT – BIG PICTURE – POEM 1. - From Out There

From beyond out there
Things may not be as grimly
Self- involved as here

Saturday, April 16, 2011

DAY 16 PA PROMPT -SNAPSHOT POEM 4. - In Front Of the Piano - First Snapshot as a Family

In Front Of The Piano - First Snapshot as a Family 

One curly haired dimpled nine year old boy, serious face watching the ceiling 
One tiny girl espresso hair sleek as a wet baby otter, eyes sparkling
Both holding trailing ribbons tied to a dozen giant helium balloons, arched into a
Floating rainbow chuppa, bouncing inches above the top of each parent's head
The children dressed in their holiday best, the girl in a party dress, the boy in a jacket
As they wished
The rabbi wears jeans with ironed creases, a blue shirt and tie
The bride and groom white shirted, hers pure silk opened two buttons
His school teacher Oxford cotton rolled to the forearm 
Her jeans ride low on slim hips,  as do his, she on tiptoe in soft heeled boots, he in new Fryes 
Snow falls outside the living room window 
Shirts stretch as they soul seal kiss their vows, shining bands lighting their fingers
His and Hers German Shepherd dogs sit straight, ears up, eyes bright in the flash of the
Photo snapped by the older boy who did not want to be in the picture



Two Snapshots In One Double Frame 

Baby boy at breast
Flushed faced 
One dimple showing
Eyes looking up 
to the face
the shot

Tall grown man at front of Capitol
High colored
One dimple showing
Eyes looking straight ahead 
to the face 
the shot

Side by side in a double frame
Time passed - minimal needed to refocus   

DAY 16 - PA Prompt Snapshot - Poem 2 - Graduation Day

Graduation Day

Black hair
Flopped on forehead
Flannel faded soft shirt
Over thin
jeans outlining
Ropy veins
On the back of
Big hands
One on the base 
Of her spine  
Massaging, hidden
The other hanging open
Heavily on her graduation
White sun-dressed shoulder
Smirking, possessively  for
Her daddy's camera

DAY 16 PA PROMPT - SNAPSHOT - Poem 1. Moment in the Sun

Moment In The Sun

Arched back
Lifted on lithe
Hair brushes sand
Small waisted
Thighs to
Feet fingering
Sugared shore
Ribs ripple
Under full high
Breasts soft
On pulsing heart
In turquoise water's
Sun soaked time

DAY 15 - POEM 2- PKP


Mother asked
"Why do you have
to analyze everything?"
to have
an irrefutable

of course

just transcribing
the words
in the rhythyms
there since nine
the flotsam floating
ever, always freely
in mind
Relaxation in the

(see I really don't know where
these things come from.. A reader
for the first time of my own words)

DAY 15 PA PROMPT - PROFILE -POEM 1 - Profile of an AKAer

This is one where it might be fun
To be concrete and have a physical likeness done
But this will not happen....
Just no way, so I will simply let it lay
That including all my names is a mouthful to say

Thursday, April 14, 2011

DAY 14 - PROMPT -"AIN'T" MY BUSINESS - POEM 7 - Ain't My Business

Actor's lives in the sun
Beehive hairdos you think are fun
Caramels surreptitiously sucked before you eat
Dogs that you are enthralled to greet
Earrings in three, or five lined holes
Fingering quietly your benign moles
Galloping on an invisible steed at four
Handling canned goods in the store
Inching to a window to watch the rain patter
Jiggling joggers stumbling scatter
Kitten neighbors well fed tumbled patter
Lanterns on a summer's night
Mittens worn out in plain sight
New careers begun, tried, and changed
Oranges in fruit stores pyramadically arranged
Passed unread classroom notes
Queenly monarchy for whom none did vote 
Relay races, lovers of a boat
Secret smiles when one is alone
Terns swooping seeking a picnic bone
Useless memorabilia stored 
Vacation photos even when mildly bored
Wandering guitarists should they appear
Xylophones accompanying those guitars clear
Yellow parking lot lines faded paint
Zen poses, all above and more, because my business they simply ain't 

POEM 6 - Busybody's Complaint- It Ain't My Business?

To what
Do you refer?

POEM 5 - The Way of the Cat

Not my business
Sir or Madam
If your plate is bare
As long as my wastes
Are properly disposed
My dishes filled and clean
As long as you keep my
Environment as it should be 
Pleasantly serene
Not my business if your fortune
Falls, if your plate is blankly bare
As long as you have time to
Meet my needs
I frankly do not care

POEM 4 - Definitely Not My Business

If you want your hair bright green
If you wear a purple velvet hat
If you cross your legs this way
Or that
Not my business
Where you live
Or how or to whom
Your money you give
Or how you vote
Or if and where you pray
Or who you choose to love
And live and make your way

POEM 3 - What Is My Business?

Am I my brother's keeper?
Asked someone long long ago
Am I?
Am I?
Some say yes
In all ways
Am I?
Am I?
Others no
Which way
To go?

POEM 2 - Ain't My Business

Is not my business
that here in this started spring
written "ain't" as though no big ting 


POEM 1 - Not My "Bidness

Let them pull up their
Not my bidness 
If their feet are bare

Let some phenomena clean
the water, land and air
Not my bidness
If toxic waste floats here and there

Let each child his or her parents
Responsibility be
Not my bidness
All that I choose not to see

Someone else's
Bidness be

Wednesday, April 13, 2011



POEM  1.  To Big Matt. ( in response to editor Robert Lee Brewer's poem Big Matt)

He dropped Robert on his head
Eight times he said
And just look perhaps
Where all that head dropping

POEM 2.  My Dog Pal

Pal was half terrier and half bull
His face half white, half brown
He was the cutest pup
But as he grew squared t-shaped
He snarled, he snapped
He would have hissed
He slept in my girlhood bed
And would growl if awake I took up
Too much space, but if asleep
He left me alone my dreams peacefully 
To face
No, he was not the most pleasant guy
And aging did not his personality improve
As chaperone he was a fifteen pound DeNiro
Growling inside the front door at my side, giving would be
Lothario's a shove
It was long ago, this ungentle guy snarled, snapped and would have hissed
Yet, it was he, who never ripped my throat, who is still sorely missed

POEM 3. The butcher's son-in- law

The butchers son- in- law
Was tall, black haired, blue eyed
Leading man stunning handsome
His apron was a startling blinding white
Each button neatly done
His name was Seymour and
At four it became a thrilling name
He'd lean over the high high counter
A piece of salami in his hand
And though I detested the garlicy treat
From him it was a gift unparalleled and grand
The butcher told my mother that
He thought Seymour was a no good bum
I did not care what any thought of him 
To me, he was as good a man could come

POEM 4. Kindergarten Ruthie

I had waited for school to begin
For as long as I could recall
On tip toe turned the brassy knob
Found my unexpected all- on- my- own discovered friend
Ruthie, standing by light spilling windows
Ruthie, a little girl, quite tall

POEM 5.  Azalea Baby

Waited that time
Until all was certain 
butterfly wings
And then
Crimson pouring
Into the bright cold
Room where you
Trapped in your tube
Wild child
Exploring inner
Worlds you lost
Your way
And stuck
Fluttered forever
Leaving behind
Your wings
Under my heart
Forever four months

POEM 6. Azalea Baby .... Part 2

Wheeled past
Bundles full
An azalea plant
In my lap
Out the door
Without you
Azalea Baby

Waited that time
Until all was certain 
butterfly wings
And then
Crimson pouring
Into the bright cold
Room where you
Trapped in your tube
Wild child
Exploring inner
Worlds you lost
Your way
And stuck
Fluttered forever
Leaving behind
Your wings
Under my heart
Forever four months

Azalea Baby .... Part 2

Wheeled past
Bundles full
An azalea plant
In my lap
Out the door
Without you

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


FORM - Shadorma Dances

Slips into the room
Veils swirl white
In the jasmine sunset light
Shadorma dances

ANTI-FORM - Shandra Collapses

In she slips
Banging open the
Bedroom door
Ripped tee-shirt
With baby spills
At the final end of day
Flops across the bed in disheveled splay
Posted by Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik (PKP) at 8:41 PM 0 comments
Labels: Shadorma and Shandra



Do no know how many I will be able to get through
Perhaps some will stymie and I shall not do...
Will start at absract and end at vinanelle
At least for a free spirit such as I that is Day 12's self-assigned hell....


Jello Form

Squiggled wiggled
jiggled slither...


Word Bound

For one like me both drawn and repelled
Onto the rack of rule captured thought
Radiant with precision found
Morbid in the panic of the words so bound


Muse In Hiding

And here we are and
Be there we
Come only three letters in until it is
Done, done and over ain't this
Gone, the jaunty Muse is
Hid -alive
Inside a sparkling
Jar within a tight turned lid
Kindled spark still deeply
Mourning quiet, still deep in recess fit
Neath the blanket
Of the letters safe from the battered hit
Purposefully asleep
Quiet as that proverbial
Rodent peep
Silent in
The leagues of the deepest deep
X-ray vision only would
Yield a tell
Zealously protecting her creative spark from a from that her out would sell

Annagrammatic (Haiku-ish)

Race in on action
React, tear, not trace an arc
Create one actor

The Blitz Poem

Pen a form
Pen it in a poem
Poem it up and
Poem it down
Down into the depth of the poet soul
Down until the form is done

Done as you began when it was begun
Done – or moving toward the done in earnest try
Try, try to continue to mine for things to say
Try, and try again to keep all in the flow
Flow as crystal water over river rock
Flow as freely as one can

Can this happen
Can it be
Be a form that lets passion
Be not snagged on the rules
Rules not holding
Rules not impediments

Impediments drift only in the mind
Impediments will only then tie and bind
Bind one harsh and cutting off the sound
Bind one with blindfolds and mouth gags
Gags on with the incessant drum-beat of words stuffed
Gags on numbers forced onto image

Image breaking out and free
Image screaming let me be
Be not held by word placement that you say
Be not imprisoned in any way
Way beyond in horizonless flight
Way above what is wrong or so-called right

Right here and now
Right not left or down or up or on the side
Side turned backwards on its ear
Side turned ungraciously showing its full rear
Rear turning and then rearing up and full
Rear defaming this heinous binding bull

Bull stubborn chafing powerfully
Bull breaking from these binds to charge free
Free but not quite yet, no not at in the clear
Free still ranging on a plane still far from here
Here there is still the numbered game
Here stuck within this orchestrated same

Same repetition although if not in a state of transfix
Same could become different if not mired in this mix
Mix it up breathe and shake off the prison steel
Mix can coalesce within any space, created or invented real
Real is itself an image, not quite held
Real and rules and creativity can and do meld

Meld together, free the muse, let the words fly
Held only by the form of all that is in fact poetry

BOP – What To Do With Your Time?

Time a mecurial unmanageable thing
Moving, jiving along as we sing
Singing songs of days and things
Needing to get done
Personal stuff while folks
Starve and lives of desperation lived by some

What to do with your time? What to do with your time?

There are those who isolate
There are those who gravitate
Those who gather close and problem with brain storm
Those who run their hands upon each other’s form
There are simply those that seem to care
And others who seem to feel all too much to bear

What to do with your time? What to do with your time?

Isolate, gravitate, problem storm, hands upon each other’s form
What to do?
Concentrate on all of them
Or on those close to you
Do what you can when you know you must
Understanding that this way, that way, eventually all will turn to dust

What to do with your time? What to do with your time?

YIKES!!! I have wanted to go through the 30 odd forms listed on PA....!



Only six minutes to write a cascade poem
hands icy heart racing
rushing toward ending from start
thirsting to master this challenge set

Words fall from fingers onto the screen
eyes burn from the light in the room dimly lit
breath held, ears listening for an opening door
only six minutes to write a cascade poem

Time runnning short
will not be able to complete
clear this ridiculous bar that I set to meet
hands icy racing heart

Will not have time to rest in a room
footsteps coming on door opening down there
never will finish
rushing toward ending from the start

Faster, move faster
think not, simply move
Heart still, fingers, and face now
breath held, ears listening to an opening door

(191 words)
CONCRETE POEM - (a poor attempt) F IS FOR FORM

Form is what I was supposed
to teach in school to those
who had never read poetry at
all - not to concentrate on
the passion
but to teach
the pentameter
and the style
leave them in
blank isolated
alone in stark
picked off the
bone senseless
words stripped
of all the fun
music deadened
in those rooms
where poetry is
taught and came
to despise form
over substance
leaving this F
here as a banal
concrete bent
as well as an
upraised middle
finger sent



There comes a time when
it must be faced that
certain challenges are
When the light has drained
from the sky and taken all
the sun
There comes a time when
it must be faced that
some endeavors are private
to be set-personal-best-norms
There comes a time when
one must bury the strive to
write each of all the forms
And so perhaps there might be
one or two or more written in
a different way
But finally as darkness falls
this individual exercise played
for all to see - is done, and
laid to rest - enough mania to
last the remainder of this day...



Fifteen years of jogging
only on a one track mind



rises the haunting
howl of poetic discontent



Please pay now
the Japan Earthquake



With the ghazal
I had no mazel



Rain falls on kitten
invisible in the dark
mewling in the storm


HAY(naku - WHY?

writes forms
in the night



The bigot
stands with hands
over ears so whatever
brains there might be
there don't fall out -
The bigot does not see
even with glasses because
the bigot will not look


Okay folks I think I am through putting myself and others through this personal challenge within the challenge. (PS I don't like insult poetry but don't much care for bigots...:)

Monday, April 11, 2011


May Bea

May Bea was a young girl  when her widowed father keeled over in his garden, clutched his chest and died
Left her caretaker of the cottage and his roses, both of them  his pride

May Bea had planned to go to schooling a teacher she was certain she would be
But first the roses needed pruning, growing up there round the willow tree

May  Bea wore a hat upon her head but her hands in the wormy earth always they were bare
The roses bloomed in manic  profusion pouring o'er the garden under ceaseless songful care

Out in front the garden there  was a fence, a slat gated, simple white painted thing
Out there, on drifted air any passer by, could clearly hear sweet May Bea sing

May Bea sang in her high contralto, her tones at first pitch perfect crystal clear
Sang the songs of her father's boyhood country, the notes he held so dear

Months  they kept on melting one year soft as rose petals becoming five, then ten, and on
Blue veins sprouted neath her white skinned hands and pushed her youth til it was true begone

Miss May Bea kept on singing for eighty years, although at last her voice  grew whispered low
Her tattered hat slipped from her head, on rose strewn ground Miss May Bea, gardened go   
May Bea had planned to go to schooling when her garden chores were through
Only there always was a something that was in desperate need for her to do 


Sunday, April 10, 2011


Does the never
Tell us ever
When it has arrived
Last dance, last kiss
Last chance, last
On those seldom times when it is true
That it is known something is now ever through
Hold it close savor each precious drop so dear
For never again, not usually either known or clear


Never again
a little girl
Running barefoot
Hair a curl
Loose limbs
Whirling in a summer's twirl
Never again
A little girl
Except deep within
From this woman's eyes
A little girl's secret grin


Sunday, April 10, 2011 3:37:40 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)
Never Again

Never again babies bayonetted
In courtyards for sport
Never again tattoeed numbers
On wrists, trainloads
Of human cargo
Poured into pain
ending in smoke
Thick, black smoke
of shame
Never again...
the end product
Of treating
Another like
The Other
Never again?
Look and smell
the wisp of smoke
drifting in the air

Saturday, April 9, 2011


8:23 - 1970 - 1990

It was the newest precision watch, accurate in unmatched accuracy
Correct to a fractional second no deviation ever would be 
He was fascinated in one thousand, nineteen hundred and seventy 
Called the time on the phone regularly, watched the second hand click in perfect synchronicity
This creation of the best science brought him this watch The unparalleled Accutron
Used by NASA to launch and yet,  an alarm beeped each day although it was  never turned on
At first we all searched for meaning what could 8:23 be?
When each family event neared we all would think this time it could be
Engagements and weddings,  graduations and each new career
Babies born, surgeries, accidents, joyful surprises,  even a death for a few came quite near
Things happened at all sorts of times obviously 
Years melted one into the other and yet nothing happened at 8:23
Except, of course the alarm which a part of him came to be
A single quiet beep, in movies, in plays, even at second row Broadway shows we did see

A single beep during dinner, in fine restaurants, at home and away
And as the years passed, accepted and smiled at with nary a sigh and no more to say
He never did fix it, never would hear of a potential repair
Perhaps there was no reason, or perhaps there was, he did not either way care
The  beep was part of the precision at eight twenty and three
 Every evening for twenty years a beep beeped faithfully
Over the years becoming his quiet crisp signature sign
The familiar touchstone that signaled he was near and everything fine
Finally, a hot, searing hot summer came with a definite medical end
And though no one said it we wondered if 8:23 was ready finally its message to send
On that last day as he slept,  woke and breathed in the air of another atmosphere
We watched and we waited as the sun set and 8:23 moved nearer and near 
He died the next morning at 11:11 ... Not 8:23 
Although it would have been pretty, death is not poetry

Friday, April 8, 2011


Hi all... out in the Big Apple today... prompt wasn't up before I left... and then when I did get the prompt had no WiFi service .... thanks to trusty IPAD was able to write a few on the LIRR (Long Island Railroad)....

Now computer is glitching...Website a mess...mhmmm a celebration simply to have this lap-top and be able to post some of the little ditties... from today...

Hopefully, later this evening will be able to read and comment!

Just a little preamble disclaimer... I think Day 5's "Goofy" prompt has infected my poetic hard drive... So.. here goes.... #1

DAY 8 - POEM 1. Ready To Sell A Brate
In today's economy
it is acknowledged that
retail sales are not all that great
so even if not quite certain
of the product description
there will undoubtedly be someone
ready, eager and able
to sell a brate

(Insert groan here)
DAY 8. POEM 2 - Ready To Celebrate
There are the table set with sparkling crystal
Blossomed centerpieces
Napkins folded as fans
The floor glows waxed to the highest of sheen
Empty of all in the mid-afternoon shafted light
All but the mother to be of the bride cornered
At will out of any passing person's most vigilant sight
Room blurs before her
Into a mass of pink gleams
To where an infant daughter
Melts in her arms - arms suddenly empty it seems
With a sharp shake of her head
And a crisp squaring of shoulder
Blinking she clears the room, a calm smile on her face
Clearing the the clinging memories and repositioned
With welcoming de-lighted grace

DAY 8 POEM - 3 Ready Grin
Ready grin
Let's begin
the happy dance
we did back then
whirl and twirl
and hold on tight
lose that look - please
no fight tonight!
DAY 8 POEM - 4 - Arms Ready Belly Full
Arms encircling
breasts against the buttoned shirt
mothering the speckeady Grin

DAY 8 - POEM - 5 - Ready grin
Let's begin
the happy dance
we did back then
whirl and twirl
and hold on tight
lose that look - please
no fight tonight!
DAY 8 - POEM 6. - Arms Ready Belly Full

Arms encircling
breasts against the buttoned shirt
mothering the speck
DAY 8 - POEM - 5 - On The Train Ride Home
On the train ride home from the city
rocked into near slumber
liked a friendly spectre whisper
"You are fine, my dear."
Fine, as an antique tea cup nearly clear
in the meat-hooked paw
of the only now fleeing beast of fear
Before the laughter, hug and cheer
Rocked and alone
Allow this one single full fine-figured tear

DAY 8 - POEM -  6 - Ready Set
All around the
Banyan tree
Dance in purest
Falling, feeling
Glee from
Head to foot
Incorporated in the
Jasmined air
Loose they
March in
Never measured
Released at
Verily there comes
With ponderous ground shaking lumber
X-rayed, precisely placed
Yet brute as well, his smashing shout

Pizza pie called in
To be delivered and paid
In full with first check!

DAY 8 POEM 8. - In The Birthday Chair
In the center
sitting there
powder on her cheeks
a flower in her hair
translucent skin reveals
cobalt veins tracking
one hundred years so far
As she looks about the room
and wonders
who all these people are


Thursday, April 7, 2011



A flick of the finger
A pop on the screen
Three years more ago
All burst forth to be seen
Too many to cite but
There in April they were
RB and WW and Marie Elena for sure
Barbara and Amy and Chev now in new name
Sharon, Linda and Sara both M and of course V
A word drenched street
Filled with the passion, poets and art
Soaked that April in sentiment musing the heart

Happy poetry month to all!

Hello to Laurie, my NaNoWriMo November buddy... Yes, you and Claudsy, and Janet and so many others were there a community that just kept growing... if I ommitted you in first thing in the morning poem... just consider it an April Fool from an April Fool :)

2011-04-01 DAY 1 – POEM 1- How Did I Get Here?
How did I get here
From where did I come
Was I somewhere before
Or just wispy flotsam?

Is all connected
a grand tapestry
woven of each singular
thread into living shimmered majesty

Or is it all random
Could I have been this or that
A bent willow weeping or a
Sleepy eyed cat?

Or perhaps I might never have
Come here at all
Remained stuck in neutral
In some cosmic stall

I have no idea how I got here
At all, although of course
The tale of the egg
and the swimmers was clear
its magic made no more sense
than flying storks or cabbage patch glory
I’ve a sneaky suspicion that only at the end of it all
Will I know the whole story

Until that day comes and I am in no hurry
I shall ponder and wonder, be open to all, and not worry

What got me here
Or even what here means to me
Open heart, open minded, relaxed I’ll just try to be…

2011-04-01 – DAY 1 – POEM 2 - Circles

What got me here
is the question
the question I see
Floating above me as
clear as can be
As clear as can be
What got me here that
is the mark I must beat
But as I walk
quiet round halls in
soft slippered feet
I know not where I am
or when me I will meet

2011-04-01 DAY 1 – POEM 3 - What Did Get Me Here?

Two teens in August
wrapped in the edge of the surf
Lancaster pounding
(14 words)

2011-04-02 DAY 2 -- PROMPT- A POST-CARD

DAY 2 – POEM 1
Here I am
forever young dancing
on white sands forever
beneath wrinkling toes

2011-04-02 DAY 2- POEM 2

On a memoir likened edge
Wind blowing cold stinging cheek up on the top
Please receive before I drop

2011-04-02 DAY 2 – POEM 3

Turquoise agate water shimmers in
Perfume air drifts on iguana emerald back
Blinking in the unreality of the here
Without you


2011-04-03 POEM 1 - There without me

Far less words rushing
Unasked for into varied people's ears
Far more tears unshed in salted water coffers

2011-04-03 DAY 3 POEM 2 -Artists Paused

She was eighteen and would have started college
or slung her camera on her shoulder, her beret
on her head and traveled the world, smiling in
that bright white flash she had
He was nineteen and would have finished college or
walked from his parents' home and business, rolled canvas
under his arm, paints and black tee shirts in his duffle
he'd smoke in the perfect light of Paris or Tuscanny
scented with turpentine
She would pause one day in the darkroom
and he stop midstroke and smile in fleeting thought
of each other and the innocents they had been
before they journeyed, afar, alone, abroad
their passion ignited and alive in their work
Not their child


2011-04-04 DAY 4 – POEM 1 - Depressed

Through a veil of gray
dawns and dims each passing day
interested in nothing
(11 words)

2011-04-04 DAY 4 – POEM 2 - Happy Little Idiot

Papa used to say
show me a man
who smiles ALL
the day
and I'll show
you a schmuck

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 3 - Middling Ones

Does not go up too far
or down too low
stays on the line
plane perfectly balanced
as they go

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 4 - Mothers Of Grown Children

Hold their opines to this or that
Focus on the mundane, like not getting fat

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 4 - Editor Of Poetry Site

Come up with a prompt each day
Stand and watch as poets play
Poking sometimes by and by
A little fun but watch the eye

(Thank you Robert!)

2011-04-04 DAY 4 – POEM 5 - Lovers

Drowned in eyes, ears, touch of tongue on teeth
In the possible " all" they dance beneath
Fingers twined pulse as one
Sure that never this, no one felt this... not a one
(29 words)

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 5 - Teachers

Rise and shine
Look and live for
the light the sparkle
that they somehow did ignite

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 6 - The Young Man On The Corner With A Spoon

The young man on the corner
Holds his spoon
Against his thigh
Tapping gently
To his own tune

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 7 - The Morning Phone Caller

He calls in the morning filled
with good intentions galore
and I stop writing more...

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 8 - The Boy-friend In A Father's Eye

all hands
on and

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 9 - The Uncomfortable Self

The uncomfortable self
is not noble at all
the uncomfortable self does not stand very tall
nor view the world with the kind smiling eye
the uncomfortable self's
not a very nice guy
The uncomfortable self
wants what it wants when it wants it
its blood rises and boils at the slightest bit
The uncomfortable self
is not noble at all
the uncomfortable self does not stand very tall
And when it appears
and will not leave on its own accord
Smack yourself in the head and bring comfort aboard
For sometimes all we ever do need
Is a good self-smack to get righted in thought, action and deed

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 10 - The Kindergartener

The smile spreads from ear to ear
Lunch box shining in September's first year
A skip to the step
A hop skip and a jump
Through the big doors
Heart going thump

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 11 - The Anxious Flyer

On the aisle sitting there
Icy hands in clasped in prayer
Lift off yet to begin

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 12 - Pretty Girl

Sashay of hip along the shore
in her bikini, flips her hair
as tide tickles her toes and she tickles much more

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 13 - The Nuns In The Park

I was but three
when I saw them walk
under an arbor in a Brooklyn park
chestnut blossoms white fluttered
down around on ebon shoulders and eyes clear brown
to me a glance of deepest calm did they give
and defined forever contemplative
(40 words)

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 14 - The Salty Fireman

At eighteen on a very hot dog day walked by the firehouse
as wet shirted, hero to me, firemen washed their fire truck
walked by short skirted, long hair swinging, smiled, face a flush
as one fireman...A FIREMAN mind you cried out implying he wanted to f--k

I would like to reverse that walk
and never hear from a FIREMAN that kind of talk

(Ah to be 18 again...or not)

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 15 - Poet Who Scans To Find Her Name

Who would do such a thing
A combination of crass, self-involved and neediest of needing
The skim that looks to find what has been said and does praise sing
Who? Who? Would do such a thing?

And now…… (appreciation for fellow poet’s comments)

Thanks to RC and thanks for the great word grinagog
Jerry …. Mhmm who is channeling whom that is the question …. lol
Debra E. glad you enjoyed depressed
Nancy J. thanks for the support
Robert thanks for the early morning encouragement
Linda thanks for the mention of Middlings glad you enjoyed
Miskmask thanks for the ‘go girl’ fun!
Patricia – thanks and great way of likening depression to a tooth-ache!
Joy thank you – prolific perhaps today – but really just having fun 
Joseph – thank you, for taking the time to mention
Marcia – thank you happy you enjoyed Teachers… that is what it’s all about isn’t it?
PSC – Thanks glad you liked The Editor and In The Father’s Eye… promise I am not Walt and he is not me :)
Kerry – Thank you I had no idea where The Man With The Spoon came from!  and thank you for enjoying the little kindergartener  Love that you wanted to hug this “creature”

Please forgive me if I missed anyone but of course I am certainly not one who would actually look for my own name and just found these incidentally in reading... something like finding "those" pictures in Playboy while reading the articles…...

2011-04-04 DAY 4 POEM 16 – The Type of Person Who Is Part of the PA Community

Look at what has transpired here today
Who cannot be awed and inspired... let them so say!

Good night to all and thank you for a wonderful shimmering mirage of life...

Here is one to us all! TO THE.....
(what followed here were snippets of poet’s work from the day…not included here as they were not properly cited)


2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 1 – Goofy Taken To Cedar Sinai Hospital

It is with regret
to report that
has been taken
to Cedar Sinai
hospital after
a random shooting
with long time associate
white glove found
at the scene
along with drug paraphernalia
details as they emerge
in what appears to be a
tragic ending for two icons

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 2 - ittle Girl

She has the weight
of the world on
her shoulders it seems
sighing heavily in
her three year-old-dreams

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 3 –That Grin

Lop-sided off his face
it slides toward
the giant sneakers
in which his thirteen-year-old
feet somehow glide
goofy grin
does not match skateboarded
serious feet
as he soars at his invented mete

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 4 - Investigation Ongoing On Goofy Shooting

In a related story
it seems that a
motive has been established
LAPD is searching
for missing Micky Mouse
1950's star of film, print and TV
it is now reported that he may
be armed with a shotgun
reported missing from the
home of a Mr. E. Fudd

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 5 - For Never A Goofy Girl

Never was a goofy girl out of place
Alongside all I knew
Told of children shoved to die in ovens
No Hansel. Gretel fable
Children starving in China because
of food left on my plate at table
We were to fear The Russians
Though they were my grandfather's family
So it was The Bomb they feared
Although we were the ones that launched one first
Did not seem fair at all to me
As they put a dog tag on my neck
On a chain cold underneath my shirt
From time to time we'd all get down
And hide underneath our desks
Watch for flying glass
That would shower us all
Duck so we would not get hurt
Think of children gone in ovens
And starving screaming far away
When recess time arrived
Being goofy was not seemly play

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 6 - Breaking News

An earlier report that Minnie Mouse
fifties film star seems to be in error
Ms. Mouse spoke with Barbara Walters
calling into The View
for an exclusive interview
in strong although wavering
signature voice Ms. Mouse
announced from her Bel Aire mansion
that she has retained Raoul Felder and
plans to sue

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 7 - First You Get Goofy

They got the news on one of those late hot Julys
The whole family there in plush icy offices
Smiling with teeth and ten staring skeleton eyes
Watching the door for the coming coat of white
Who came in films under an arm
and said something was not quite right
Smiling as though a family he was not about to rip assunder with harm
A simple error, said he, syllables beyond their wildest belief
pierced the thick shield of ragged collective incipient grief
It happens - just a block in a bile duct the endoscopy clear
No pancreatic cancer here!
As all in concert felt in that icy room the heat thaw through their fear
Mother to son, brother to sister
all to the father/husband center stage sitting a thrust upon starring role mister
Center stage black hair gleam against his barely lined face
yellowed, graying as eggs left too long to age

The air stopped,
each particle
between tears
and cheers
and then together
they all
got goofy -

Six footed brother pointed a toe
and piroutted like a ballet - Why? To this day no one did know
Daughter circle shimmied round her father's chair, kicked up her heel
and pinched herself again and again, pinched herself real

In that plush office they shouted up to the heavens beyond the ceiling did they call
"That folks is all! That folks is all!"
Laughed, and shouted correctly this time again
"Tha...Tha... Tha... THAT'S ALL!"
Then helped their reprieved guy to his feet
shook the docs hand, yes it had been their pleasure to meet
Jabbed the elevator button and giggling quietly falling into one another
Once alone inside as when he was ten fart noises made the attorney brother
Alone together the still until then mother
stuck her tongue out - and they all stuck out their tongues grinning one after the other
So when the doors did open they were flushed and colored high
And stricken beyond despair to see
the having-run-down-six-floors to catch them doctor
waiting there
this time the correct films under his arm
death in hand, tear in steel granite eyes did he bear

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 8 - August Dying

They sat in the still sun bright August room
white sheets upon his bed
crisp in the sun light that seemed
incongrous for him cologned against
his pillows knife creased pajamas lying
against his splayed fingertips
As he looked at his progeny and smiled
and ready all orchestrated closed his eyes.
A moment passed and then another
A jay called outside
Oxygen whooshed
The two year old in mother's arms stirred
And was shushed
the daughter on the bed covered one hand
the son sat on the other edge and covered the other
Together they sang ... Phantom ... The Night...
His face was calm
The song ended
Moments passed, the two-year-old needed to eat said she
A ten-year-old whispered "when?"
The son got up to pee
The daughter's leg began to cramp sitting as a child on knees
The grandmother stared, bit her bottom lip hard enough to bleed and fled
Half hour later he opened his eyes scanned room for the culprit and said
Am I still here, and not yet dead?
(153 words)

2011-04-05 DAY 5 POEM 9 - The Goofiest Joke Of All

Would it not be great
If all the consequences of violence
natural and human-kind hate
was just some sort of Universal
goofy global poke
to waken all the sleeping folk

DAY 6 PROMPT – DON’T _________ __________

2011-04-06 DAY 6 POEM 1 - Don't Look Back

Don't look back
The road ribbons ahead
What lies behind flattened
On the highway so much
Road- kill still and dead

2011-04-06 DAY 6 POEM 2 - Don't Rhyme Always

Don't rhyme all the time
Especially in haiku
Not appropriate

2011-04-07 DAY 6 POEM 3 – Don’t Turn Away

Even if it burns your eyes
and bile rises in your throat
even if you doubt there is
a single thing you can do
Don't turn away
Look, see and remember
If you can point the
way to others
If it is over repeat what you
have seen
You will be able to
If and only if
Do not
Look Away

2011-04-07 DAY 6 POEM 4 - Don't Keep Silent

You have the power
Of speech unique
Among species to
Relate, intimately,
Descriptively, the
Entire scope of perception,
Thought, and action,
Imagine, Ponder, Act
Shout, whisper, scream,
Implore, plead, demand
Ask, beg, sing,
Speak in any way
Each according to
The circumstance
It is the Universal mandate
For humanity's gift
Don't Stay Silent

2011-04-07 DAY 6 POEM 5 - Don't Stay Awake

The greatest poem ever read
Is not springing now from this head
As you lie upon your bed
Don't stay awake

( sweet dreams all...)


2011-04-07 DAY 7 POEM 1 - What If Pigs Really Flew

If pigs really flew
then what would you do

2011-04-07 DAY 7 POEM 2 - What If Oswald Had Sneezed

What if Oswald, that infamous Lee
Has sneezed or seized and misfired
How might the unspooling ribbon of history

2011-04-07 DAY 7 POEM 3 - What If Hitler's Mother Had A Headache

What sometime in that July
The synonymous frau had turned
Away, nein my dear please not today

2011-04-07 DAY 7 POEM 4 - What If That Novel Really Did Sell

What if that novel really did sell
What if all did know you well
After so long waiting for the shoe that now fell
What if it were simply calmly, merely, swell
(34 words)

2011-04-07 DAY 7 POEM 5 - What If I Read Before I Wrote

What if I read before I wrote?
Just relaxed and sat where I do sit
Saw Andrew's take on yesterday's spam*
Michael's path so divinely lit
Bruce's hubris and vulnerable Fuchushima
Daniel's Buddah birthday thema
Debra's yesterday's perhaps surreal dreama
What if I read before I wrote?
What if Robin had had a non furry bro or sis or two
What about RC's added syllable and deleted line down haiku?
What if Lori's surprise did not fall?
What if I read before I wrote at all?
Read Marie Elena's " Internet" and those she mused never met
MB's reflections on eternity and grace
Hannah, Hannah's sweet sun and the very air's musical dancing face

What if I before I wrote I read?
I think I'd never get out of bed!
With all these and more and Robert's possum dead!

(*The mentioned poets and work are all contributors to Poetic Asides)

DAY 7 POEM 5 – What if there was a PAA

What if there was a PAA
From reading writing and commenting
What if?
Would I really drag myself away?