A swing in yellow A field behind Always reminds me of summers past And how the winter comes on so fast The warm summer sun replaced by Brisk autumn breezes Soon replaced by frozen winter rain  

The ghost is here Sitting on the sill Looking over at me As I clean the room   My housemates don’t see The ghost is here They do not believe As I get that room clean   I try to explain but, I look so…

Okay, it only took like forever, but I think I’ve hit my stride! How great is that? Alrighty, so hour 7 “my foolproof recipe for mending a broken heart” From the teal blue Burn after Reading prompt journal. Which is great because I was super…

I opted for a different take on the text prompt. The question has been raised: N or Mal? Well, mal is bad— but then Mal can be a pal (ask the Beatles) getting the word out and getting things done and without it a polar…

I learned about an Elfchen poem from Donnetta Norris this past week. Here is one about walking from the last hour’s prompt. Stride to find all the hopes promised in arriving ready Strong

We’re here, but you’re not listening. You, the self-appointed, peer-appointed pukes whose voluminous barf gets washed by white gloved bankers. The barf accumulated in the trade of the diminutive. Little people. Little. People. We scream. We cry. And I, like a good little gadfly, tell…

Season Of The Stupid 1/2 marathon poem #7 Did they fall from the skies Or grow from the ground Seeded in ignorance Is where they are found Did they fall from the trees And dig in their roots Nourished in bullshit With bitter fruits Harvested…

When her friends stopped visiting,     When her family stopped calling.    When he went inside another woman— and she was still breastfeeding his baby.      When a wild dog kept breaking into the yard, stiff and growling,                                                                but no one came to help.   When the…

Hour 7 prompt: Write a poem titled Season of the (fill in the blank). Write a poem that matches or interacts with the title.

Wicked muse, fair-weather friend, I can’t talk to you tonight; The sounds of raindrops descend Like soft breeze on a dim light. An everyday has mussed my face, Shall I get up to brush my teeth? You tempt me with an odd verse And not…