They think that I have been left behind
to do this menial task, as if being
punished for being a women.
They think their comings and goings
make them more important than
a woman who stays at home
But they don’t know the power I posses,
and wonder why, at the end of the day,
their feet are sore and blistered

Inspired by A Month’s Darning (1876) painted by Enoch Wood Perry
In response to the prompt at

Almost There – and an Early-Bird Prompt

Spring Again

Spring Again

Next week it will be Spring
the crocus and daffodils that waited beside the
for the slanting sun rays to warm the earth
will bloom
and dull winter birds will put on their best feathers
for mates and building nests, never doubting miracles
like hope

waltmarie poetic form

Not Alone

Not Alone

I am never really alone
I hear the call of geese
overhead as they migrate North or South, or feel a
as it brushes the trees. They wave to me and
the secrets of the forest, of birds, of beasts,
of you

* Waltmarie Poetic Form-
10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately. Odd lines are longer with no specific syllable count.


d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Beyond Meaning or The Resolution of Opposites


within its branches
the ancient gnarled apple tree
harbors fresh new life

from Paul Dunbar’s The Paradox: I am the bud and the blossom, I am the late-falling leaf

A Windy Day

Poets and Storytellers United – Weekly Scribblings #58: Two Into One Will Go

A Windy Day

The wind blew through
It rattled windows and doors
enough to make me look outside
I love
to watch the bare tree branches waving at me
and laugh
at their gyrations, realizing that they are

Lost In Cyberspace Perhaps

d’Verse Poets Pub -Going…Going…Gone Poeming {Quadrille #122}

Lost In Cyberspace Perhaps

where have they all gone, those shots of
flowers and bugs, trips, happy children? I went
to look for them and they had disappeared, snuck
away, without telling me they were going. Have they,
perhaps, found other lost pictures to share my memories with?

I recently lost the photos stored on my computer. Luckily, most of them are
floating in some cloud. 😁

The Place Where Egrets Danced

The Place Where Egrets Danced

The lake is slowly going dry,
where herons fish and turtles swim.
No rain clouds in a clear blue sky
to give some shade, provide a scrim.

The shoreline has receded such
that killdeer strut the dry lakebed.
The egrets, searching, don’t find much,
must leave this place to fish instead

in other lakes, in other ponds
with water clear. There, food is found
among the reeds where fish are spawned.
How I will miss their croaking sounds,

their long-legged stride, some ancient dance
that I was privileged to view,
their patience and their stately stance.
The flash of white when off they flew.

The lake is starting to go dry
filled only with the tears they cried.

How Does the Moon Stay Warm

Weekly Scribblings #57: Let Us Write (together)

How Does the Moon Stay Warm?

Does the moon get cold hanging in the dark sky
with only distant star-filled constellations for company
at night
I could bring him blankets and a pot of tea – no
I shall
find another moon to sit beside him, hug him tightly
secrets from another world, jokes that make him burst into laughter, dance, sing out
love notes