Twenty Five or Six to Four

written for Poems of Garden Gnomes PROJECT: POEM #1 – CONNECTION


Waiting for the break of day
bleary eyed, deadened brain,
my thoughts too jumbled to be read
I’m striving, struggling, stressing,
Searching for something to say

Dancing lights against the sky
I try to follow the red, green, white
stars or airplane I can’t focus
Giving up I close my eyes
Sitting cross-legged on the floor.
I’m guessing the time is
Twenty five or six to four

Wondering how much I can take
out, delete, refine, compress
afraid that later I’ll find I
Should have tried to do some more
but it’s late or early, probably
Twenty five or six to four

Feeling like I ought to sleep
knowing if I do the words won’t keep
Spinning room is sinking deep
just like my whirlpool thoughts

Searching for something to say
is this the way Dylan, Bukowski
wrote Waiting for the break of day?

Twenty five or six to four
Twenty five or six to four
magic hours of the morn
still it pricks like a thorn
Sitting cross-legged on the floor


ROBERT LAMM wrote this song I love best performed by Chicago.

Fear, Mayhem, Stir, Repeat

“North Korean Nuclear Test Draws U.S. Warning of ‘Massive Military Response’”

It used to be the red threat, cold war,
be suspicious of your neighbor,
duck and cover. Ha. Like arms crossed
over head, head in knees could protect
radiation fallout.

Thanks world for the phobic childhood.

Tear Down This Wall! Safety. At last.
Mash was just a TV sitcom
and it cuts like a knife
my grandkids and Kim Jong-un.

Thanks world for the phobic childhood.

The Ash Borer

dverse Open Link Night # 202 Posted by Bodhirose
Insidiously, silently, they worked in darkness
Burrowing, eating, until there was no hope
Still it took a long time until the damage
revealed itself in bare limbs and stripped bark
twigs and branches scattered on the ground
at the whim of every passing breath of wind.

And so, the tree was felled, cut into logs,
loaded into the back of a pick-up, then stored
for fire wood this winter.
In the dying it fed and in death warmed.

Life goes on. And should I curse the ash-borer
for doing what comes naturally? I pretend that
before the first bite a prayer was offered asking
the gods’ forgiveness for partaking of the tree’s life.
And I thanked the tree for its sacrifice of warmth
a provision of God’s forethought.

Is this maybe just to curb the queasiness
at our survival at another’s expense? And yet
it seems right in the end to be aware that
life is life and never take it for granted.
There is a hole, a void where the ash tree stood
and generations of birds, squirrels, will never
know the safety of its arms. I’ll never feel again
the comfort of its shade or the pleasure of
watching its swaying leaves in the breeze.

And its roots remain embedded in the soil
and the stump rises like a headstone. Here
stood a living thing. Be thankful.

Peak of the Perseids


imaginarygarden Meme Imagined By Rommy
“grab a nearby book and flip to a specific page to find a quote that represents your love life. You have the choice of going to either page 13 and picking the 7th sentence or page 7 and picking out the 13th sentence to use as your inspiration for your poem.”

Maybe it should have been
a sign, an omen,
that it was too beautiful,
too spectacular, too unearthly,
to last.  Or maybe that it was
too predictable, not a once
in a life time event,
not a heart stopping moment
never to be experienced again
just like when we kissed.
Of course we would kiss.
Who could resist
the stars like arrows
from Cupid’s bow…
even though they missed
I’m glad we kissed.


“During the peak of the Perseids, around August 12th, hundreds of ‘shooting’ or ‘falling’ stars streak the sky every hour.” The Bonesetter’s Daughter, Amy Tan



Eclipsed By Peace

I didn’t watch the eclipse
rather I sat on the patio
and watched the twilight
sneak across the yard.
Strange shadows grew
the temperature dropped
crickets sang, the birds
were silent and still.
It was timeless for a time
tranquil, a little unreal
and a beau ideal of eternity.


Written for gardengnomes with Walt Wojtanik and shared with
realtoads The Tuesday Platform Imagined By Marian

Still Alive

dverse Neruda and the free verse sonnet Posted by Björn Rudberg (brudberg)


Too soon the snow will descend
a thing of cold, stately beauty
that covers. That hides. That divides. That softens
the hard body of truth beneath

But now are the days of the dog
rising, striding across the sky
and there is still heat enough and more
to stave off that breath of shiver

and I will arise from my drowsy slumber
wherein I have too long languished
in fear and dread

Come, take my hand. Let’s face the music of trees
and bees and drink the golden ambrosia of the sun
and dare the winter to cool these flames of life.



Alone in the Watery World

imaginarygarden  “Weekend Mini-Challenge: Out of Your Own Words”
Imagined By Magaly Guerrero

I am alone in a watery world
of people with heads bent
peering through mist and drips
avoiding puddles, car splashes,
hurrying to get inside dry places.

I have a song running in my head
a vision of Gene Kelly dancing
and my feet itch to jump in a puddle
kick water high into the air, twirl,
whirl and swing my umbrella wide.

So I do. Sing with abandon, dance
and splash tap as joy bubbles up.
Oh, “sweet the anonymity walking
in the rain “neath an umbrella”
alone in the watery world

“Sweet the anonymity walking in the rain ‘neath an umbrella.”

My seventeen from: imaginarygarden Micro Poetry ~ Streetlight Rain
Imagined By Kerry O’Connor


All that Fol-de-rol


mindlovemisery  Haiku With Chèvrefeuille, 75 words haibun


It’s a little clichéd – wine, roses, sweets and a crackling fire. The ambiance is romantic, yes; you’re trying to seduce me. You’re too smooth by half, like Cary Grant, but I have to hold back a laugh. It’s so amusing. It’s evident you’ve done this before. I put on my coat and head for the door. You’re already reaching for the phone. No use wasting this mood.

love me
with words
aphrodisiac of truth

*Fol-de-rol: Excessive efforts expended on a something trivial; much ado about nothing.


“I remember when Halloween was the scariest night of the year. Now, it’s Election night.”

“When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I’m beginning to believe it.”   Clarence Darrow

imaginarygardens What Fresh Hell is This? – November Word List Imagined By

Wouldn’t it be novel
If you couldn’t get rich
or be on Letterman
or have at your command
Air Force one and limousines
if it didn’t set you up for life
in a higher tax bracket money
you could manipulate
and get around the IRS
why, then,
maybe then,
we’d get a leader to lead.
The presidency is beginning
to look a lot like a CEO –
perks and big salaries
and toss integrity overboard.