Just Another Don Juan

It was my first Christmas in California. I had met him just a few months prior to that night. He seemed so sweet, and so quirky at the same time. And seeing someone else, of course. That’s always the way it is in my life….

86 the Bird

It really has become a chore. The shopping, the cooking, the baking, awkward moments, and obligatory snarky comments. Wouldn’t it just be nicer to avoid everyone and go away for Thanksgiving? YES! Imagine the ocean, a sparkling cerulean blue, crashing waves, salty air and a…

Free Verse – Holiday At Home

Prompt 18, Hour 18 Write a narrative poem set during a holiday. It could be a poem based on your own lived experience or it could be an imagined event. A narrative poem is a poem that tells a story, but the story does not…

Christmas with Men

Christmas sucks. I loved Christmas as a kid. I was conditioned to hate it.   Angry men. Possessive men.   Tantrums with blown out candles and spit on my car. Joy only with permission. I don’t want to remember the past.   Not at this…

2:00 am – Black Friday (Hour 18)

After the food is in the fridge And the football games played We lay early to bed to engage in the shopping games With list in our hands We drive to the store Waiting in the lines for the opening of the doors The magic…

Just Jump! (prompt 22, Hour 18)

Dear one with the silver hair, Your baby days are past, and all your children gone. But you are not a shriveled husk, some dried nut whose life is done. You wear white hair like a badge of glory. Bravo! Only those who burned in…

Dear Me (2:00 AM) – edit done (Hour 18)

~ D², @d2poetry Pulling down the mask so I can breathe making better plans taking care of me growing from my errors admitting wrongs humbly commit to my goals move without wavering honor my word serve with integrity do everything in love so through it,…

Jaguar

The soft padding of paws  slip through the jungle growth,  pushing aside dinner-plate leaves  and pressing Crayola flower  in the sponge below them.   The mirror glow above a scenting nose  is all the warning given  as the crouch becomes a leap  and a heartbeat…

All Alone

I sit at the type writer. Words come from my finger tips. Short quips and poor rhymes. Beautiful love poetry and sad lines. Odes of my life and sonnets for Rachel. The same songs with a new tune. I am sitting here. Pretending I am…