Just One More


Just One More

Is there room for one more

In a world of crowded words and broken hearts

Why tell another story of the fiery nighttime light

Am I right

Or am I wrong to write another

Poem about the moon
Many will not remain to hear

by his winsome wooing,
he carried me from the warmth that was my night

In the quiet of our home
in the quiet of my heart, I heard him speak in muted tones

Many married, many longer, many sit
hip to hip
by the night

And we
belie our age with our posture
Heads of every shade of grey
more akin to two
retiring into

Their final moonlit night

Of life


Seek nothing loftier
Than the
Fullness of our moon


And so if I fail
To write this poem, to which the world may not respond

One more word gift, packaged by a poet’s bow
that the world
may not want, nor read nor need

About the moon and me

And you

Then it is I who die a little as I live

Let fizzle out
the gift

That was your whispered words

Let them fall into a world, cold and dark

Burn out like every other love that lost its fire

Flame extinguished  by
cruel ignorance
of the simple needs of love


Just one more
maybe just for me

A poem about the moon and you

And how you spoke

Into our love
on one bliss-filled winter’s night

The poets cannot stay away

From subjects on the moon and love

But neither can the moon

Good company, I am in

When I am held so sweetly
by both the moon

and you


I may never know

If I was right or I was wrong

But I will know
that I was

Simply, loved by you
In the winter
Of our love

Once more

Table For Two

Welcome to Day Fourteen. Spoiler alert. Tomorrow’s post is scheduled for prose. The poems have asked for hump day off. Thank you for joining me.


Table For Two

You could cut the space between
them with a serrated bread knife
hard and crusty silence
like the Berlin wall
stone cold divider of love
if you could cut it at all

the art of eavesdropping,
which I have down to a science
tells me that the love has faded,
died on the vine
shriveled up and gone

for goodness sakes
go back and pick a memory, ya’ll
discuss it till you are
blue in the face
and then say
i love you
like you mean it

pick a good one
like the one when your lips first
“Said I do”
young and blushing
red hot with new love

then get the check
and go
back to speaking like you did
those first thirty years
before the love
became so damn stinkin’ quiet

Your well-done steak
With Heinz
Can wait
But your love

Before it takes a sledge hammer
Tear down that wall

And you are left
By the silence you once




Things That Never Were


Things That Never Were

If all the words that never were
written down
never were allowed to
the fingertips
and all the souls that were called
to come
never came and sat a bit
lingering on the warm sweet breathes
never hearing the sound
of every silent word
that never left
a heaving heavy laden chest
swollen, wrapped in anxiousness

never stopped to stay awhile
nor sit
and tell the stories of the simple things
in a wooden chair
creaking, slow
while rocking back and forth
side by side out on the wide and open

and all the joy that was due
a pregnant waiting
never giving birth
never delivering

you or you

and all the colors that were mixed and meant
stamp out dreary shades of
white and black
melancholy of a two-toned world
never were

and you had never come to me
never with a kiss upon your lips
nor flowers, mixed bouquet
picked from the garden
that was never planted on our land
and  I had never come to you
what a love-less nothing
life would be
untold stories of un-lived lives
that never were

left out of all the dreams
and even out of our imaginings


the never were’s

of you and me

amazing grace has written
stories too beautiful to tell
or so it nearly seems



joining Laura at The Wellspring for Playdates With God

Remaining In The Shallow Water


Remaining In The Shallow Water

We push off
With both feet
Hot like two fiery embers
Smokin’ hot
From the splintered dock
Equipped wtih
Everything we’d need
Vienna Sausages
Lance Crackers
And Diet Coke
Iced down in the Coleman
Beside the beer
Along with plenty of desire
And hope
That this would be the day
We’d fight
He’d flail
Then lose
And we’d prevail
Conquerors of salty brackish seas
My love
And me
Dreaming of elusive trophies in our nets

At the end of day
Fatigued and wearied travelers
Arrive home now
All canned potables gone
Under a canopy of every shade of
Pinks and oranges
We’ve nothing
But a panoramic view
Of summer’s 
Sluggish setting sun

But hope 
We realize
That the one that got away

Would have sunk us
Capsized our little ship
And we
With wild desires and dreams
Seem glutenous
As we Monday morning
A bit

Now that we arrive
Back home
Tie up and wobble weary
Down the sun-bleached dock
We discover
From surveying our
Wet and empty nets

We are happier 
Having bagged
No treasures
Nothing bleeds
From the bent end of
Rod or reel and rusty hook

No noticeable triumph
With scales or gills
No victory
From our time 
Away at sea

Simply, home now
Empty handed

The treasure was
The journey

In our small
Blue-green wooden
Out on the great big salty
My man and me
Settling for nothing
Conquerors, we won the battle

We bagged 



Joining my friends at Tweetspeak Poetry for their poetry prompt: The One That Got Away