"Touch me / Remind me who I am. 
~ Stanley Kunitz, Touch Me, 1995

                  I'm lost in the mist, seeking your touch.
                  Are you there? Take my hand and lead me.
                  I can’t find my way with nothing to remind
                  me that you’re close, walking beside me.
                  I hear voices in the fog, but don’t know who
                  they are. Is one of them you, my love? I
                  need to know so I’ll know where I am.


Written for dVerse Poet's Pub. Today's prompt calls for a poem in a form called "The Golden Shovel."

According to Writer's Digest, these are the rules for the Golden Shovel:

- Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
- Use each word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem.
- Keep the end words in order.
- Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
- The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.



Arroyo Serenade

Our hostess’ little ranch house is surrounded by cactus and the occasional Palo Verde tree. It sits in a fold of parched earth at the edge of an arroyo several miles north of Phoenix. During the monsoon season each June, the arroyo churns with racing waters. But this time of year, it’s dry, serving as a convenient highway for the critters who call the desert home. As we sit around the table on the lantern-lit covered patio at the rear of the house, the desert beyond crashes the party like a noisy dinner guest.
The first tentative note comes from a distance down the arroyo, but is soon answered by another, much closer. Our hostess has just told us that we might be visited by the local javelinas, a wild pig-like animal that frequents the area. Though nearly blind, she says with a laugh, javelinas can smell a grilling sirloin a mile away. But this is no javelina. With each passing minute, another voice is added to the chorus, surrounding us with song. Like a traveling minstrel show, the troop passes through, their music echoing over the desert. I am enchanted.

                       coyote crooners
                       their howls a song of longing
                       filling the darkness


Written for dVerse Poet's Pub.




                                      He waits, wooing,
                                      Whispering words of
                                      Love and longing.
                                      Paint me, paint me
                                      Purple with passion.
                                      Caress me with
                                      Strokes of seduction.
                                      Make love to me
                                      Again and again, and
                                      I will be yours.

“It’s my private mountain. It belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it.” ~ Georgia O’Keefe


Written for dVerse Poet's Pub. The prompt today is "Sentiments of the Southwest." One of my favorite places in the southwest is Ghost Ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico. I am in good company. Georgia O'Keefe fell in love with it too, and settled in Abiquiu after her husband Alfred Stieglitz died. While there, she painted Pedernal over and over until she made it hers. Her ashes are scattered at its base.



Lady Lucretia's Lapse

Lady Lucretia was a model of decorum.

But that summer’s eve the minstrel arrived,
Her dignity skipped merrily away,
With prudence and pride at its side.

With petticoats aflounce and feet aflight,
Showing more pantaloon than propriety,
Her ladyship was no lady that night.


Written for dVerse Poet's Pub, where Toni serves up "skip" as the prompt for Quadrille Monday. In case you are like me and don't know what a quadrille poem is, it has exactly 44 words.



(Graphic Source: Open Clipart)


Created for dVerse Poet's Pub, where Victoria asks us to think about how we bring balance to our busy lives. While thinking about the ways I've tried to do that, I kept coming back to wondering if it was worth it. Might it not be better to just let some things go? Do we really have to do it all?


The Stand-In

(Artist: Rafael Barradas; Source: WikiMedia Commons)

50 years. You’d think I’d be over it. You’d be wrong.

Oh, sure, I know it’s not my fault. I blame myself nonetheless. Silly? Self-indulgent even? Yes. And yes. But there it is.

We argued. Ironically, I don’t remember why. I do remember screaming, “I hate you,” and slamming into my bedroom.

Those were the last words I ever spoke to her.

How could a 33-year-old woman drop dead of a massive coronary? Daddy said, “Her heart was just broken, honey.” But I knew that. I broke it.

 I’ve been living her life ever since. It’s my job, after all.


Thanks to Tara of Thin Spiral Notebook for hosting the 100 Word Challenge.




(Artist: Mauricio GarcĂ­a Vega; Source: WikiMedia Commons)

Noisy images, 
                                     life script
                                             onto the page...

Scenes of cities never visited,
        memories of days more real than those lived,
                 screeching, blaring, thumping street songs
                          filling the mind, spilling words by the hundreds,
                                   day after day, never pausing,
                                            until, one day, they do.

The end?


Abhra at dVerse Poet's Pub asks us to 'fess up to being a secret admirer of a poet who inspires us.