Monday, October 29, 2012

Hurricane Haiku

Ensconced in embrace 
Of Frette linens crisped white
Hurricane waiting

Grayed skies soak power
Draining all magnetism
All natural force

Playing cards slapping
Snippets of songs, sighs, curses
Father-son Sandied 

Static sentinels
Stutter staccato signals 
Beyond the patter

Manhattan island
In the roiling spilling sea
Torch woman watches 

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Spun Sugar

A tiny girl twirls in a pink tutu 
Spinning like cotton candy into a woman
A little boy spins in laughing circles 
Faster and faster until out of the blur emerges a man
Small children wish for simple pleasures to come their way
Women and men leap the damaged portions of
The Way 

From the horizon of the Universe
A single clear voice calls


Of  the power 
in a single thread of DNA 
released within
the coalesced transcendent possibility
Of a collective commitment to the We of The Way

For each sugar spun child melting into men and women

Bound Toward

Bound toward the filamented future

They travelled, the cheerful vagabond men the
Twirling castanet clicking women

Bound toward the filamented future

Stepping lightly over the damaged past
Journeying together a single shining
thread within the embrace of the 
Infinite ribboning  "Think" way 
Women and Men

Bound toward the filamented future 

Dancing o'er the horizon of 
The power of the connected 
manifested WE

Yet to be realized
Curling like a crested wave

Bound toward the filamented future 

Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Blue Marble Chant

Simple Blue Planet by Atra Venatoris

All is connected all is one
Train hoots in early morning fog
Through meadows sheep grazing
Desert sands blow heat furnaces amazing
Sensibilities from burka to bikini
Wax poetic prophetic human
All is connected all is one
Butterfly sheds chrysalis crackling
Rhino tusk flash primitive attacking
Rhyme scheme and prose free verse and chanting
All is connected all is one
First blade of grass from seed dropped through fog
Lambs bleating
Sweat pouring
Bikinis neath burkas
Wrinkled newborn centurion
All is connected all is one
Seed floated into the earth
Shoot grows a field, sheep grazing
Train hooting in the fog
Looping as a seed floats on worn barren
Earth and begins again
All is connected all is one
Train vanishes into early morning fog
Lambs grow to grazing sheep
Sweat beads diamonded droplets
of dew
In the meadow where
sheep graze on verdant fields
sun blazing in the shifting desert
A withered hand falls cold fingers splayed
Suckling infant grabs the breast with wrinkled fingers
And opens new eyes wide on
The blue marble
All is connected all is one
As the train whistles
somewhere in the fog

A"chant"  Written for Poetic Asides WD/Pearl Ketover Prilik

Monday, October 22, 2012

The Gift

"May I recommend something?"
He face folded in origami wrinkles 
asked brightening 
As he reached toward the gleaming cabinet
Opened its doors and from the recessed shelter
Pulled the delicate thing into sturdy studied hands
"A perfect gift for love "
And there on a fan of emerald fern
Posed a perfect butterfly translucent
Wings shirring shimmered rainbows 
"It is not peanuts I know
The cost is dear but
I will guide you in it's care
And the score that will be 
released will lift 
you to soar forever more"

Moments before mayhem

Moments before mayhem 

It was a time of happening 
He was bright eyed in the cafe
Hands moving hotly over hers
They needed no Cabinet to guide them

It was a time of happening 
She would walk quickly in her sturdy shoes
On her tender slim ankles and he would
Be there to shelter her as the peanuts 
Exploded from under the fern where 
He had placed them yesterday
And her face would shine in radiance 
Of a score settled as the elephant so
Long ignored raised its trunk to blare
At the slivers of sparkled glass 
Falling like ice chipped fire rain 

It was a time of happening 
And her tender face luminous with purpose 
Passion and possibility 
Agreed to walk the irrevocable 
Path he fervently did recommend
As diners sat innocent laughing
About them and she fingered the
Plastics she would perfectly place

It was time for happening 
She nodded 
He smiled
Their eyes burning bright
In those mystic unveiled  
Moments before mayhem 

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Osgood Crosby

Osgood Crosby

Hi Harry
I know there hasn't
been much happening 
lately but listen up
I'd like to recommend 
that you make it your
business to save Wednesday
of next week

Well of course I know 
you're still trying
to get the front wall up
from the latest hit we took

But that's just the point
Osgood Crosby.. What? 
mean "Who's Osgood Crosby?"

Osgood - you remember 
the cabinet maker with 
those soft eyes and hands
Yes the guy with the long
hair and sandals

Yes, that one
He IS good with a crowd
Anyhows he agreed to come

It's not important 
how he agreed - 
The thing is he agreed to 
appear at the cafe

Yep, he's going to give 
a little talk on how to 
sturdy shelter when the wolf
comes howling through town

Yes, by all means bring Fern
she always does a good job
passing peanuts and acting the guide

So, we can score the interest on each 
possible scammable face  
See you then, 
Good Buddy

Too long in the wild

Too long in the wild

There in the bushes 
careful, careful see the face
on the right cheek there's a tiny
score that's where the knife
yes, he used a knife to guide
them to "do their job the right way"

I hear them kids lived on peanuts
Don't even know how a grown person
could handle that kind of treatment
But those Harrisons were always 
a sturdy lot

Sssh, quiet that there is the little girl
she takes shelter in the cafe sometimes
sneaks in somehow after closing
I don't know how I just
know that one morning I
opened a cabinet 
and she was curled up in there
for all the world like a wild 

I would recommend if she comes
toward us that we just slowly
back away
She's been in the wild too long
To be trusted 

Saturday, October 13, 2012

No Umbrella Needed

A brief note on a notable young talent before my poem "No Umbrella Needed" 

Introducing a nature photograph by Sophie Palmer

As we all know photographs are a wonderful accompaniment to our writings.  
Today I would like to introduce the work of a young photographer Sophie Palmer
who captured this particularly appropriate photograph last year when she was ten,
yes, that is correct, ten-years-old.  To a young woman with a wonderful eye.  
Thank you for sharing your vision  

Welcome Sophie Palmer

"Raindrops on Grass" by Sophie Palmer
daughter of Alexandra Palmer aka The Happy Amateur 

Rain Drops On Grass by michele walters

Enhanced Rainbow -Barb Ver Sluis

No Umbrella Needed

They didn't take an umbrella to play
They were five and six, boy and girl
Running knee deeper into the lapping lake
On a bright sunbathed day

They didn't take an umbrella
Did not inherit the excuses of their families
For why they should not play together 
When lightning cut the sky and thunder clapped
They joined wet pruned fingers and ran through 
Lapping water past the shore to 

The oak tree in the grassy center, their haven
Under low reaching summer full oak leaves, they 
Sat close, bumping bodies for warmth, half laying- leaning against 
The sturdy thick trunk and then

Vowed with a pecked kiss to
Meet again 
When they were grown
On this same day

Vowed to bring no umbrella despite the weather
And smiled in satisfied sighed silence
As rain spattered the lapping lake
And light-shifts lifted the clouds
As a falling shimmering sun fell quickly

And they rose and ran through the wet grass

Home with hair slick soaked
They were five and six, boy and girl 

No umbrella needed when the rain falls
Diamond droplets of pittered-patter-pleasure

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


Wonder *

She was just past three - she could remember that easily because it was AB - "after brother" - who was sleeping in a portable crib in the kitchen with her mother. She was sitting in the living room on the couch in the curve of her father's side - on the record player there were six small crimson records - Tchaikovsky's violin concerto - she sat with her eyes closed as the last record dropped feeling the music pound in her chest, her father's breathing a rough humid wind across the very top of her head. They sat together held in the bubble of sound and breath. She kept her eyes closed as he had asked her to do and let herself feel. She never knew what caused her to break that promise and at the very climatic crescendo of the violin reaching beyond the orchestra into a whirl of crimson passion she opened her eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to see a single tear making its way slowly down her father's cheek. She watched this single tear holding an entire concerto that she knew would play on for a life-time.

*This little flash of fiction was written quickly for De Jackson's Sunday Prompt at Flashy Fiction ( which is a great deal of fun ... always... This week the prompt was as the little piece is titled "Wonder" and the motivation written by De was as follows: 
Remember that wheeeeeee! feeling of experiencing something thrilling for the very first time? That wow of discovery? The whoa! of wonder, as nature reveals something so strange, or beautiful, it takes your breath away? Recapture one of those moments now, and pay careful attention to perspective and voice. Who is being wooed by wonder? How old is he/she? Who else is in the scene? And what happens next? 

Sunday, October 7, 2012

One Way To Get To The Head Of The Line...

Flashy Fiction

One Way To Get To The Head Of  The Line...

One moment she had been standing behind Mrs. Glouchester's ample rear covered in yards of a mini-print of what had to be thousands of bunches of posies. She had just gotten onto the end of the long snaking line slowly slithering toward Mr. Harrod's lemonade van. Mr Harrod was one of her father's best friends, who usually used his van for shampooing rugs, except for these ten days in August when it was time for the fair and he became the the best lemonade and lemon-ice maker she had ever met in all her eleven years. One minute she was standing there almost tasting the icy lemonade and thinking maybe she would get a lemon ice too, seeing as to how it was so particularly hot, and the next, well those posies on Mrs. Glouchester's bottom spread out into a whole field and there was a buzzing in her ears like a swarm of bees but the funny thing was, there weren't no bees, and even funnier was that she had gotten to be looking up at a circle of people calling "give-her-air-give-her-air" and the sky was this bright blue, the clouds puffy and white just the way they were in one of them picture post-cards and best of all Mr. Harrod himself was kneeling on the grass, holding a cup of lemonade, telling her he had called her daddy, and she was alright and to just sit up real slow and have a sip whenever she felt ready.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Willows Work

Yellow Rose by David Wagner

Willows spent all that day perched on the crust
of a coming rustle - mending, mending
Keeping several stitches beyond the unbearable 
Refusing entrance to the unthinkable 
Mending mending in the fever summer the
brittling  petals on that last rose of summer
Mending, mending 
before a premature piercing frost fell in icy sheaths 
Rendering any charm powerless

Willow spent, all that day bent over her work
Needle flashing in the sunlight - drops of crimson blood
On soft fingertips 
Until it was done 
and there in the lowering shimmered sunslant
that almost lost last rose of summer explode 
in brilliant blossom as
Willows wept in sweet summer showers

Wednesday, October 3, 2012


  1. Suddenly it comes and not on little cat feet
    It won’t
    I can’t
    It probably
    Was something
    Skin on skin
    Skin in skin
    Ceiling staring
    Pillow face breathing
    Skin slapping
    Slap , Slap,
    A little warm
    A little odd
  2. PKP says:
    Back later to read …. ROBERT -BRILLIANT TODAY,

    1. PKP says:
      One Vein
      One night as dawn neared
      At the keyboard a single vein
      Popped in stark relief.
      I feared
      What was this? what could it be?
      Silent shouting I rushed to the lavatory
      Held that hand above my head
      Heart pounding with catastrophic dread
      Watched the blood drain
      From that pounding prominent vein
      Sighed in relief that I might just
      Be late-night writing insane
      Returned to keyboard, calm, to type again
      And watched the vein pop hit with chagrin
      No dread curable disease was with I struck
      Just fallen into aging symptomatic muck
    2. PKP says:

      Rising from the rank
      fetid muck n mire
      blinking innocent stands
      rising from the sea
      flung upon the sandy shore
      separate sentient
      from the sparkling
      myriad mass of creatures swimming
      one stands on the shore
      mhmmm you get the idea
      the words are not quite there
      and I am out of here
      back later to read
      enjoy the day