Post Office, for Open Link Night

Post Office

If only I could live
among the specks
of these tiles,
whirling in vinyl
of chips.

If only this rug were
a good place to rest,
its textured surface
prickling my cheek.

If only this blue neon
accent lighting were
the closest thing
I had to daylight.
I could atrophy,
watch my skin
lose its color.

If only a P.O. box
offered a space
to hold my heart.
Cool, corrugated
metal; I’d keep
the key.

If only I could wear
this webbed ribbon
that marks where
to stand. I would
pull it from its posts,
wrap it around myself
like the belt of Orion.


For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.


Guess what I found?



We went to a little amusement park (excuse me — aZoosment park) called Santa’s Village yesterday. While rummaging around in my purse for another quarter so we could put our stuff in a locker (never found it), I pulled out the Giant Pinkie Ring. Yes, that Giant Pinkie Ring. So, it had been riding around in there for several weeks. Please observe and appreciate its hugeness … I’m glad to have it back in time for the end of summer.

I have two time-sensitive things to tell you about, and I can’t pause to emote or explain, so I will just post the links for a chapbook contest I’m entering (from Palettes & Quills — deadline is Sept. 1) and a free online course I’m  taking in modern and contemporary American poetry, starting Sept. 10.

That is all. You may now quit staring at my ring and go back to whatever it was you were doing. If you can quit, that is … I believe it has hypnotic powers.


Someday, for Open Link Night


Shout in a barrel
to awaken the frog
who lives inside,
drinking your root beer
like it’s his job.

Someday, you’ll roll
that barrel down
a hill—bumps, jolts,
hillocks dislodging
that blasted frog,

the foam on his
silly frog lips;
his eyes will be
the size of pennies,
and you will know

you’ve startled him,
made him think
the barrel times are
over, no more
stolen root beer days.

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Please go visit some of the many other fine poet bloggers there!


Reader Appreciation Award


Many, many thanks to Mohana at insanebloom for the Reader Appreciation Award nomination. Mohana is a poet whose work I’ve really been enjoying over the past few weeks, so this means a lot. Here are the poets I’m nominating for that same award:

Please check them out! Also, be sure to visit dVerse Poets each Tuesday afternoon/evening/night for Open Link Night. I decided to choose my nominees by clicking on many, many of the links there and selecting a few that really struck a chord with me.

One of them even uses the same WordPress theme as mine … bonus points for that.


Let Memory Be a Paneled Room, for Open Link Night

Let Memory Be a Paneled Room

Let us now be gracious
and thank our humble homes.
From shag carpet we arose;
the ugly couch was always
more comfortable before
it was reupholstered,
made more acceptable
to our changing eyes. Let us
now love Linoleum, warm
underfoot, forgiving of stains,
those accidents of carelessness
and time. How the years passed.
Let memory be a paneled room
with heavy curtains. Let it keep
every word we ever spoke.



For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.


My Super Sweet Nomination


Mary Ann of mypenandme nominated me for a Super Sweet Blogging Award, and I could not be more thrilled! I am in great company with her other nominees, and I feel so honored to be recognized in this way. Please check out Mary Ann’s blog, after you’re done admiring these beautiful cupcakes.

The Super Sweet Blogging Award requires responses to a few questions, as follows:

1) Cookies or cake? Cake, and preferably a piece of real cake, not a cupcake.

2) Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate, but as I get older, I appreciate the subtleties of vanilla more than I used to. In a restaurant, I will almost never order the boring chocolate thing if there’s a more interesting nonchocolate option available.

3) What is your favorite sweet treat? Because it’s summer and there are Red Haven peaches at the farmer’s market, I am thinking of peach shortcakes. I use the recipe on the Bisquick box. I think I cut the amount of sugar I use on the fruit, and I add some orange or lemon juice so the peaches don’t turn quite so brown. I whip cream, which is always fun because there’s that moment where if you go a step too far, you’ve made butter instead.

4) When do you crave sweet things the most? At the end of the workday or after dinner.

5) If you had a sweet nickname, what would it be? My late mother used to call me Biddy, or Bid for short. It would be sweet to hear her call me that again.

And finally, I need to nominate some others whose blogs I enjoy:

That was hard … I enjoy so many, particularly on Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Please go visit all my nominees, and thanks again, Mary Ann from mypenandme!


Rip Tides

So, July came to an end, and I had fulfilled my self-imposed commitment to write three poems a day. (I skipped one day and then made myself write six to catch up. I’m a taskmaster.) And now it’s August, and I’m poking along aimlessly — or, more accurately, being pulled in a million directions at once.

Big event at work. Third anniversary of my mom’s death. Concert by my favorite band ever, ever. The slow, yet hurtling wind-down of summer. Impending start of school (after Labor Day — we go late around here) for both kids. Lots of loose threads; lots of things in transition. Also, I’ve discovered that watching a couple-three hours of TV every single night for multiple weeks is not conducive to writing great poetry (though maybe I’m storing away great moments of human drama to write about later?).

I’m tired. I’m getting tossed around a lot. I was not at all surprised to read that it’s rip tide season for our portion of my beloved Lake Michigan. That’s how August feels to me. It always does — and maybe that’s OK.

I’m going to ride it out and not make any huge commitments … and know that September will come. (Do you ever lose that back-to-school feeling?)

If you’re feeling like I am, here’s to a restful close to summer and renewed energy in the fall!


Cliff Dwelling, for Open Link Night

Cliff Dwelling

In a niche,
by wind,
only by
the bravest
of bees.

like brick.

Dirty glass.
There are

into nests
of softness,
park visits,
not to touch
wiped daily
for lead.
This is not

This is a

At night,
a soft crumble
of concrete
in the walls,
a whisper
now and then.

Some lights
some lights




For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets.