Sunday, April 28

Water Resistant

My heart is a sponge
it soaks up every emotion
your words are water
that pour love onto it
but when you squeeze
that sponge
your love squeezes out
leaving it bone dry
until you pour your words again
its soaks
then releases
it soaks
then releases
only a faint dampness remains
each time
my heart is growing weary
I fear it might break
so the day before yesterday
I went to the store
and on a shelf I saw a jar
in the jar there was a cream
the cream could make anything
water resistant
Baby, I bought that potion
poured it on my heart
and now your words
can't do any harm

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The Woodland Feast

Illustration by Helen Ward

The king was having a feast
So he invited the woodland beasts
To join him at his table
And so commences this fable

There was no reason for the party
The king was just feeling hearty
And his friends, as spirited as they be
Could not find reason to disagree

One by one, they filed all in
The gopher, the badger, all therein!
The mole, the woodchuck all counted present
All so joyful, none so hesitant

Even the toad, dared to appear
His heart merry, and face severe
For that was the nature of this friend
Something the king could never comprehend

Let us begin! The king declared
And brought out trays full of eclairs
And cakes and fruits all sweet as can be
Increasing his guests' overall glee

Until the king took his first joyful bite
For that is when began the fight
Between the badger, the toad, and mole
Over the the division of sweets that they wanted for whole

Give me the cake! The badger shouted
I want that tray! The toad pouted
The mole with fury, raised a stick
And threatened to pain inflict

The party was over, as you can believe
All due to these terrible animals' greed
And to this day the king did learn
Choose your guests wisely or suffer the burn!

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Saturday, April 27

Six Word Saturday

I didn't think, bringing work home.


My Breakfast

You traveled long ways across this world to find yourself here with me
You sit on my glass and iron table on an ivory plate
Will there be any last words before you vanish once and forever?

El Coqui

Little one with voice so shrill
Singing nightly lullabies
A voice distinct throughout all the world
And yet only your people know you
Sing to me, Coqui
Sing to me again
I hear you in my dreams of home
And then I am happy
Your voice is an island
Your voice is Borinquen
I bury the sound deep in my chest
as to protect it,
as if to guard it
from all the noise the city brings,
here away from you
Coqui, why didn't you tell me I would be lonely?
Why didn't you beg me to stay
each night when you sang to me
you only sang of promise and peace
Where are you Coqui?
I long to hear you sing
If I hear your voice again
then maybe
I will sing too

This poem is dedicated to the little coqui that lives exclusively in Puerto Rico. The frog makes the same noise as it's name. At night you can hear them saying, "Coqui! Coqui! Coqui!"

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Friday, April 26

Not Myself Today

Oh the agony!
Oh the pain!
To have to be up so early today!

How can I do it?
When I am creature of the night?
I should be hanging in a cave
not perusing through papers
and looking at screens

Definitely not looking!
Seeing is so strange!
I rather see with my ears
and hear with my eyes

and now I am hungry
and there is no blood to be had
in this office complex
without making my "boss" pretty mad

do I dare?
to take a nibble, just a bite
of juicy Mrs. Lucy
Just a drop from her hand!

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I was mesmerized 
I ate each and every word
Oh! Storyteller!

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Disgruntled Employee

Flat cheeks on the glass
I'm gonna xerox my ass
I'm ready to quit

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Sunday, April 21

Coffee and Sugar

Mama grew coffee
Papi- he grew sugar cane
Back in Puerto Rico

Sugar and coffee
That is my mama and pa
One white and one dark

Blended together
What a wonderful fragrance
Make that lovely pair 

Shared at Carpe Diem  

Remember the Children

Remember the children
Abused and left to die
Allover the world

Girl in Delhi
Innocent child of five years
Abducted then raped

Infant in Sacramento
Found dead in trash can
Abandoned by mother

Boy in Paisley
Neglected by drug addict mom
15 months old

Tears fall today
For all the little children
Tears fall today

This poem is dedicated to all child victims of abuse. May their souls find rest. You may read about the children in this poem by following the links below:

Girl in Delhi
Infant in Sacramento
Boy in Paisley

This poem is being shared at

Saturday, April 20

Six Word Saturday

Away from me a princess dances.

The Tale of Bella Bocca

Blondine and the Tortoise by Virginia Frances Sterrett
Once upon a time
there was a fair blonde dame 
she was traveling through a forest
Bella Bocca was her name

She was lost in desperation
didn't know where she was stepping
the forest was enchanted
she found it all upsetting

darkness to the right of her
darkness to the left
darkness swallowed up her sky
of hope she was bereft

when she laid down to cry
she prepared herself for death
how could she escape this life?
she pondered with every breath

and that's when she heard it:

Bella Bocca, Bella Bocca, lift your head up high
Bella Bocca, Bella Bocca, I have heard your cry

The fair dame did lift her head
and looked all around
and though the darkness did engulf her
she soon spotted a mound

the voice had come from this knoll
queer as it did seem
did she dare approach it
and discover it was a dream?

before Bella Bocca could decide
the mound began to move
it rose upward from the ground
and slowly did assume

the shape and form of a tortoise
ample from its age
with a withered neck with shriveled skin
surely a wisest sage

Dear Bella, come and mount my back
I'll take you away from here
the tortoise spoke with words so slow
he pulled away all fear

The little dame, she did obey
and climbed the tortoise's shell
she clung on tight and rode all night
away from that forest hell

And in the morning dawn's bright light
it was time to bid adieu  
to her tortoise hero- a kiss of thanks
payment where it was due

But just when the lady turned her back
a power did her movement restrain
it seemed that the world became paralyzed
frozen still were even droplets of rain

And in this strange new moment
a transformation occurred
the figure of her gentle friend 
with force became obscured

and as the figure melded 
twisting terribly as if to fright
a new form began to emerge 
a man began to alight

onto the outskirts of the forest floor
a handsome prince appeared
and kissed the dame with fervor 
all sentiments sincere

And so is the tale of Bella Bocca
the princess who seemed so doomed
to wander a forest aimlessly 
until her soul was consumed

But fate had other thoughts in mind
and the girl, she did not fail
but was rescued by her true love
thus giving a bright ending to this tale

Friday, April 19

Melting Pot

The words poured out my mouth
like melted silver in a cup
flashing obvious
and piecing eyes
before I could slow them to a stop

I am the mothers dead with smallpox
kneeled before white gods
whom I also am
I am a laborer dark as night
toiling in a field

While you are an adventurer
dreaming of prosperity
you are a starving peasant 
yearning for opportunity
you are a convict sentenced to a land
a land of milk and honey

and now you are my neighbor
and now I am your neighbor
and now we are neighbors

shared at


grown in a garden
treated like a pesky weed
that is rosemary 

Thursday, April 18


Slap me in the face, you animal! It'd hurt a little less. You accuse me of stealing your time, your money, your love and everything else you hold dearly in this world and thus leave me in indignation. How dare you? How dare you accuse me of such things? I've done nonesuch things and do not deserve to be trampled on in this way. I do not deserve to be trampled on at all! I hate you! Accuse me of that and then I'll consent to your little dirty accusations. 

What Was Your Childhood Nickname?

Whispher, whispher, laugh!
Whisper, whispher, laugh again!
Secret words are said.

Shared at

This is the Haiku from which I draw inspiration:

tacos in our hands
we sit and chat for hours
in a Wendy's lot

This is the New Haiku:

midnight dates are gone
you study hard while I sleep
work drives us forward

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Wednesday, April 17

The shot that rang out through the night
contained the force to block the light
of the life that had made life in her
and now she stood, not all alone
but with a child still in her womb
but no father, no daddy to speak of
he was gone
and there his coffin stood as a symbol of the destruction
of not his life but of her trust
which was dashed upon the rocks
into a million and one shiny pieces
and she buried her hands into her palms
and moaned with the voice of a thousand pains
asking herself how could she endure this utmost misery
but then came the kick inside her womb
there came the movement deep within
which begged for a cry of a different tune
there came the promise of a new tomorrow
of life- a life reborn
of a life restored and so this mother
wiped her tears and stood her ground
for there was Hope, her wings still white
ready fly if she would only let her

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Sunday, April 14

Apologies in Spanish

Jonny Rotherham | Leana Head Bowed
Charcoal & Chalk on paper | 50 x 70 cm
Do you know how to say "I'm sorry" in Spanish? The words are "lo siento." It literally means "I feel it." I love that way of delivering an apology. I like that the apologetic is taking part of my pain in an effort to restore emotions. Lo siento. Like a heartbeat. I'll close my eyes and imagine you saying those words to me. And when you do, the pain you've caused will slowly drip away, because now you've felt it too.

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First Date

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin 

Her eyes saw beyond the Spring.
She dreamt of babies and many new things
His eyes saw beyond her clothes
He longed for loving and a night of joy

Saturday, April 13


Last weekend I walked away from a ticking time bomb. With care, I stuffed a bag with all my clothes, my flower-print dresses, worn out jeans, and t-shirts.

I left when no one was looking. When all where occupied with the television prattling on about Nikki Minaj and the lights were turned down low, I left out the back door of the house.

And now it's been one week from that tearful day-the day I left my "home." It hasn't been easy-sleeping on couches and explaining why I left them, explaining that they left me before I ever left them, but what can I do? What can I say? It'll all eventually fade away. After all, the show must go on, sympathy will wane and this young woman will have to carve a niche for herself in this stone cold world. I'll simply wash my face and go to school. Nobody will know the difference.

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Two Proven Ways to Kill a Monster

So I heard you want to kill a monster
Close your eyes-it'll disappear
Open your eyes-it'll disappear
It all depends on the nature of the beast
and the nature of the slayer

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and at

Filling in the Blanks

I don’t like to look at you when I am all upset
But if I'm mad when I wake up, 
I love to cook an angry breakfast
 and feed it to you by spoonful spoons
This-- always in the morning
If I could change one thing in my life

it would be these pangs of emotion
If I was better at temperance, I would 

stop standing erect on a swinging swing
and go walking instead

Shared at

Six Word Saturday

Chocolate cake and coffee for breakfast!

Wednesday, April 10

Tuesday, April 9

Safe in my Lord's arms

I'm safe in my Lord's arms
No matter what the storm
Safe in my Lord's arms

I'm safe in my Lord's arms
When sanity is stripped away
When the world seems in decay
Safe in my Lord's arms

I'm safe in my Lord's arms
No harm can find me now
Safe in my Lord's arms

I'm safe in my Lord's arms
He wipes each tear away
He hears the words I pray
Safe in my Lord's arms

I'm safe in my Lord's arms
And there I know I'll stay
Safe in my Lord's arms

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Sunday, April 7

She never thought
her first job
would leave her 

Image from

Chilly steps through autumn leaves
a man walks silently
in his hands he holds a head
devoid of skin or anything
from years of weather all that stands
is the concrete skull of misery
Our man places this relic of time
upon a small table made of wood
He backs away and ponders the sight
and tries his line once more:
"Alas, poor Yorick!"

Linked to:

Friday, April 5


Warm tropical winds sweep through the campus breezeway as I make my way to class. I round the corner and there, in the patio, I see a friend sitting at one of the tables enjoying her lunch.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Great! How are you?"

We begin to chat and and make up for lost time. Then I hear it, the clock tower is singing 12:30. 

"Listen, I've got to go now. My class starts in 5 minutes," I tell her.

"Oh, I guess I should get moving too. My class started at 12:00."

I give her a bewildered look. How could she have spent the last half hour taking to me when she was supposed to be in class? But then the answer came to me: culture. She was raised in a culture where time is just a number, not a domineering force that pushes and pulls us along. People and relationships are infinitely more important in her culture than attending a lecture. And for good reason too; the support of people will get you a lot farther in her culture than any degree or certificate. I shake my head as I continue my way to class. Such a difference to the way I was raised, where time is money and where tardy is a swear word. But I smile, nonetheless, because this afternoon I am grateful that she made the choice to sit and chat. It has made all the difference.

Written for 

Wednesday, April 3

One Day

Twenty-four eyes are open wide
they won't squint until you lick through
each tock goes easy
unhampered by you
losing one is like painful bleeding
messy and scary
but I won't argue
with these eyes
they hold knowledge sequestered

Written for

Tuesday, April 2


I'm not supposed to cry
I'm the teacher
Beacon of strength, energy, and power
I'm not supposed to care
about those insignificant things
that grate my heart
I am a leader
Maybe I'm too soft to be a teacher
Maybe I own too many emotions
Maybe I should put away my lesson plans once and for all
Never let them see your sorrow
Never let them see your pain
Children can sniff weakness out
Even if its hidden behind a well crafted mask of professionalism
But despite the sorrows
Despite the shame
Despite agony and the pain
I will teach on
For after all, tomorrow is another day

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Monday, April 1

Making My Home Sing

Oh, to enter a lovely home with lovely dishes and lovely wishes
A home where the hostess knows how to cook
The table filled with goodies!

Oh, to enter a happy house
With lots of love and little doves
Floating peacefully in the air

That home, that home, that lovely home 
That home is not my home

Welcome to my home of messes
of stacked of up dishes
and lots of kisses

Welcome to my little home
Where love is kept 
And comfort grown

My home, my home, my lovely home
Is not a mansion or a castle

Has no perfect people
Nor perfect lives
But my home is a lovely home