Käthe Kollwitz
The Parents (Die Eltern) (plate 3) from War (Krieg)
(1921-22, published 1923)

August Sander: Lumpenball Em dekke Tommes, 1929. Private Collection, Gerd Sander. The Tate

They prayed and wept together
over their prodigal daughter
grief like a burn that never heals
she laughed at their silly mores
and lived her every pleasure.
Get up off your knees old people
I’ll get respectable soon enough
then what will keep you together?


The Eyes Have It

imaginary garden Fireblossom Friday : “The Distorted Lens”
So, your task is to write from the point of view of someone who is seeing reality through a distorted lens.


Pink Girl and Blue Boy
(Mom’s ceramic phase)
sat on the dresser
ignored for the most part
I didn’t like them
but … well, Mom made them.

I picked them up, dusting beneath
then placed them back carelessly,
started to walk away. I felt eyes on
my back, chills on my flesh,
evil in the room and looked behind.

They were glaring at me. I felt their
hate, their spite. I told them it wasn’t
me who had imprisoned them there.
They just glared, nostrils flared,
I was scared to death. Death was in

their minds. I walked back and with
a swipe of my hand swept them to
the tiled floor. Swept up the mess
as my husband ran up the stairs.
You okay, he asked. I told him what

had happened. I didn’t understand
the strange look in his eyes. It began
to be perfectly clear though. Disembodied
spirits like to choose their own hosts.
I’m going to watch him really close.




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.