tell me the tale that doesn’t feature ballot boxes emphysema crippling debt balaclavas innocent death pavlova petrol red diesel tiger exhaustion and TB times, rickets bigots better days tarmac teeth peat and a drop of the black no tan the pull of homeland with each…

At The Circus   Baraboo, Wisconsin beams red, yellow, lime green with promise.   Rain pours so hard it drowns the circus, floods the streets, the tents,   the Rudolph noses and ghost- white diamonded faces. Water   swallows the swinging trapeze, the unnetted tightrope….

Yearning for the impossible a fourth dimensional life Where time’s a place you visit Day and night forever dance Back and forth around me Never enough of either Too few hours there are in a day Our time, too short Where are you? So much…

Playing the ukulele   for the first time leaves you with fingers numb as a child’s blue ones after playing in the blizzard, as Mom’s after scraping ice from the windshield, as bones grown raw.

Summer evening rain beats down on the hot pavement Frantic frogs protest loudly Leaping in and out of the rising steam A sinister game of hide and seek Dodging shrieking children, sporting muddy adventure raincoats Eyes filled with wonder, excitement and glee Mason jars with…

Author’s Note: Yet another time and the last time I will be ignoring a prompt in this 2017 Poetry Marathon. I will be concluding this marathon with a poem about a dream I had. Enjoy reading. I once was in a sacred cave that had…

    “Despite her [Marie Bracquemond] gifts, despite her striving, despite  her enthusiasm, the day came when with an obscure feeling of grief, she had to confess herself beaten.”     — Jean-Paul Bouillon, “Marie Bracquemond: The Lady with the Parasol” (Women Impressionists, p. 242).   Never…

The chase is on Smiles are wide Laughter echoes the countryside Dancing, thrills Here we are friends Sharing a spirit of joy without end And if you are curious come along, you’re invited In only mere moments you’ll be so delighted

Spotted silver snow leopard sky Stretching far and fractured Gathering distant stars Kissing the wide-eyed moon Whispering stolen secrets from the future sun

Before darkness in summer there is a hush that settles like dust motes. In the distance cars hum quietly, their cones of light leading the way. A lone lawnmower buzzes, as if to cut the light short. Children’s voices are muffled as they emerge from…