Wednesday, August 31, 2011

OpenLinkNight: Chains

How far
can we take these words
before over-extending?
blending to gray?
bending to break?

When desire is to create
release is sweet
until criticism brings retreat.
Who then, in this scenario,
is truly weak?

Words were meant to be spoken
not boxed and bow-tied,
but tongues cut loose
quickly wrap that noose
too tight to wriggle free.

We all want to know
we are seen, heard.
How many turns around to learn;
stop trading in freedom
for chains again.

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Please click over to read some brilliant poetry, and feel free to add your own to the mix. All are welcome.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Poetics: Transactions

Visceral reactions
every whispered connection.
No suspension of reality is needed
when immutable discretion keeps 
one nomadic,
waxing inadequate
to break down walls built
by negative transactions.

No moment's irrelevant.

Entrenched we are in 
the plus and minus 
of day to day to day . . .
and wishing truth away 
won't make it all a lie,
won't hide the constancy of 
life's exchange economy.

Bit by bit we do affect change
(for better or worse rearrange),
but at your core,
you're more than give and take.
You make the choice to coordinate, 
tabulate the sum of your zeroes and ones, 
and you can be more than
stuck between stardust and misery.
You can re-write your test-i-mony
even if you tend to hang tight 
in the balcony.

is a 

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

OpenLinkNight: Time

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Come join in the fun. All are welcome!


Dreams are tricky beasts
Taunting, teasing, pleasing
one moment,
then confounding
making those surrounding

you doubt sanity.
And sanity comes and goes
when you dream big,
real big,
so big
your eyes squint

from bright lights, big city
and it seems to sustain
one moment,
madden the next,
this questing to

hold fast to dreams
in real time
so your life can shine
the way you know it was meant to.
So wait for me, Love.
I'm still coming,

still running
to catch my
hopes deferred.
I just need
a bit more

Tonight, I'm doing something I might later regret, but it's good for me. And, besides, I can always hit delete later if need be. Below you will find me attempting to cover Alexi Murdoch's, "Wait". It's for my Steven who has believed in me from the moment we met. Somehow he never tires of me, and I'm hoping he'll keep waiting for me as I attempt to live out my dreams. So far, he's the only other one that can see them as clearly as I can. And that, my friends, is a sweet, sweet gift.

Wait (cover 2) by storimusic

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Poetics: Worn

A million thoughts wrinkle weary head. Crinkle-y lines
crease with consternation. Dots of sweat threaten
then tumble down jagged contours of face
well-worn by life's storms. Un-shorn,
stubble alongside sorrow stationed
firm in blue eyes pooled in gloom,
bathed in misery. Primrose skin
sinks deep into bone. What's
left shows man, empty-
handed, heavy-
hearted, well-

Written for Poetics at d'Verse Poet's Pub. The theme was textures. Read about it here.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

OpenLinkNight: Burn

Words flow like dripping honey,
spinning like J to the B did 
once upon a time . . .
Can I keep my sweet-tart, naive heart from 
spewing truth, 
trickling, tumbling, stumbling over big heads?
Selfish bedfellows buzzing, hello, in sing-song voices, 
flipping scintillating syllables, 
wreaking havoc on more than a fantasy island.

 We need to tweak proud minds. 
Reality check, one, 
two twist our own titillating triads
over heads haughty. 

Shhhh . . . 

Still hushed  whispers swell to screams,
fatigued from being caught up in extremes, 
Bruised hearts, weak and wounded 
suffer while strong and supercilious,
pretentious politicians 
lord kingly over what they deem animals
beneath leading feet 
led to nowhere. 


Crazy mixed-up-side-down mess. 

Can we push a progression 
of the people,
by the people, 
for the people? 
Turn a tide of love?
Let rational minds rise to surface?
Reverse inevitable mass destruction
without apocalyptic melt down?
Or  should we let it all

**Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Click over to add your voice.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Ghazal: When Night Treads Strong

White weeks of tender trysts still labored days
Erase all wrongs expressed when night treads strong

Two hearts lock careful, listen now for grace
All fear reverts, recedes when night treads strong

Anger over reason never displayed
Sharp chords of chaos cease when night treads strong

All kindness stands up certain, does repay
Surrounds, sits sure, remains when night treads strong

Eterne never release the weary stray
The laurelled dare return when night treads strong

*Written for FormForAll - Ghazal. I will not try to explain this form, but you can read about it at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Hopefully, I didn't completely butcher this form. It was not an easy one, for sure. Oh, and I did fit my name in the last line. Lori/laurel means crowned. Thank you, Gay and John for quite the challenge!

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Imperfect Prose: $5.00

Our little black Hyundai slows down at the stoplight off exit 5. I see her standing to the left. They always set up shop there, holding signs, needing, depleted, faces weary. Today, I am weary, too, but I can see I am not as weary as she. I look in her eyes from across the lanes of traffic, know that I want to give, know that some discourage this type of giving, know that better ways probably exist to give to her.

But, in this moment, I just want her to know I see her, want her to know I don't think she is less than, want her to know she matters. Her poverty matters. Her sadness matters. I turn to my husband who already has his wallet out. He pulls out the  only $5.00 bill he has and hands it to me. The unspoken words hover between us mid-air, no need to verbalize. My heart is thankful to have a husband who wants to give despite losing his job the day before. His first thought isn't to consider us, but to consider her. This, to me, is the complete measure of this man I love.

He knows each day has enough troubles of its own, that right now we have $5.00 to give, knows tomorrow we might not. I motion for her to come, and she does with head down. I speak to her so she will look up, know that she is not beneath me. Embarrassed gratitude is uttered, and she limps back to her place on the side of the road, the marked place, the forgotten place, the place of resignation.

Light turns green, and my heart hurts as I drive away from her, wondering where she will sleep tonight, what she will do tomorrow if drivers keep passing her by. I know that $5.00 won't change her world, but I also know that not giving $5.00 might change ours.

 *linking up with Imperfect Prose today. It is a lovely place to visit if you've never been.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

OpenLinkNight: Faith

Last Friday, my husband and I were faced with the news he no longer has a job. Even though it stings to know what we might face in the future, our news is trivial in light of the suffering of much of the world tonight. I've had a bit of a block with words the past few days. I didn't know if I could come up with anything tonight. I ended up going back to the form Gay Cannon taught us (Rhyme Royal). I needed some guidance to help me beat my words into submission. What I've written is not particularly unique, but it has brought a bit of comfort to my weary soul. Thanks for stopping by. 


If shadows tempt to shake, let peace remain
sustain through crashing waves, through slamming seas
Faith sees more than the billows of fierce pain
looks past where doubts exist, where strength recedes
Upholds the weary head, the heart that bleeds
Faith, prudent, knows how far to bend the soul
believes, surrounds when weak, and sanctions hope.

*Written for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. Feel free to stop by and take a look around.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Poetics: Tarry

Mark Kerstetter has given us an excellent prompt for inspiration today for Poetics at d'Verse Poet's Pub. We were challenged to write a poem inspired by Giorgio de Chirico - the man, his art or one of his works in particular. I chose The Anxious Journey, 1913.


Walls taunt
crepuscule haunts
vacancy mocks
windows stare
hearts beware
obvious evades
choices yet unmade
every door
heavy heads abhor
as distant whistle screams
crushing present dreams
world's unseen

*Please take time to visit d'Verse Poet's Pub. You'll be glad you did.

Friday, August 5, 2011


My poem for yesterday's Meeting the Bar has been mocking me all day. It seemed an even bigger suck-fest this morning, so I've had words ringing in my ears all day. This isn't as rose-colored as yesterday's poem, but when I write happy it often seems to fall flat. What can I say? I have to find a way to do happy poems. Until then...


no stranger,
wandering hearts 
into submission
without permission, 
crinkled butterfly wings, 
makes sappy songs 
ring with meaning, 
leaves grown men 
entrenched, convinced.
Fusion's urgency beckons, 
never lessens 
flames eternal 
'til . . .
melodies shift.
Lover's irksome 
quirks surface. 
Scales fall fast.
exposing crud, 
repressed confessions 
ink black blots
on white pages. 
Rage replaces 
Genie won't cram
back into bottle
once throttled.
What then?
Begin again?
Can wrong erase?

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Meeting the Bar: Stay

*If this is your first time visiting this poem, you can click here to see the re-write that I did the day after. I kept a few of the elements and started over.


Lovers leap
every day
make life, love 
work when trouble lurks
round corners
a, b, c, d

Love deep 
when life's melodies shift,
make sunshine
less than

When demands 
of dawn to dusk
crinkle butterfly wings,
too many cracks
to love's shaken ground

turn happy upside down
of right side 
loyal lovers 

even after fatigue sets in. 
Through good or bad,
happy or sad,
lovers can

*I borrowed a little from the great Al Green at the end. Thanks, Al.

** This is posted for Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft over at d'Verse Poet's Pub. I know this could be more than it is right now. I did trim some fat, but to be honest, I've looked at this one too many times. I kind of want to trash it. Perhaps there's something to be saved in it or perhaps not.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

OpenLinkNight: Perform

Can he deliver
as the clock
tocks . . .
or only peacock 
world's stage?
Maturity needs be
more than a seedling
when push comes to shove
or rubber meets road.
Does he know what it takes
to make
come true?
Does he strut,
muck up the call
to do?
Shut mouth,
when it matters?
When all-seeing eyes
are fixed upon him,
does he
have what it takes?

*Written under the wire for OpenLinkNight at d'Verse Poet's Pub. There are many poems waiting to be read. Come over and check them out.