Sundays Whirligig
Sundays Whirligig


Ten digits

They loll on the end

of my work-worn hands

Sometimes they seem to

prance in the air when

I’m excited

Pointed in wrathful fury

they intimidate no one

They remind me of

important to-dos with

sticky notes posted on

the fridge

They dig deep in the

black earth to provide

me with beans and beets

and squash and do battle

with slugs and beetles

They shade my eyes from

the shattering sunlight

Just for fun they deal cards-

seven each- in a hotly

contested game of UNO

And as the day turns to night

they curl up under my

pillow as I drift of to sleep


Ten poking digits

My fingers

Night People

Beats Beatrix by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Beata Beatrix
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Everything has a beginning

formed from misty nowhere

gathering silence into speech

Runic people who found their

place beyond the known world

and dispatch counsel of hope

and peace – without words,

without talk – in the

middle of the night

And in the first light of

morning they retreat again

lingering only in my head,

my heart


Sunday’s Whirligig word list – misty, world, talk, head, again, place, silence, beyond, people, nowhere, beginning, everything


Toads photo prompt

Ending It

it seemed a good idea – put it in writing

and now the letter was held gingerly

in her quivering hands

sitting across from the mailbox

trying to imagine being elsewhere

in a tea shop or trying on shoes

she could get up, walk away

tuck the missive in an old book or

inside the jacket of a vinyl record album

she could run to the nearest trash

can and drop it there –

or she could open the

mail slot

and end the



(word list – idea, sitting, book, hands, letter, mailbox, shop, records, way, walk, run, elsewhere)

Holding On

A woman loves customs –

traditions – the architecture

of her life

She holds the tremulous

rememberances tightly in

her tender heart

as she wanders through

a city of zombies who

have forgotten

Reach Out

We don’t touch



Whose fault is that

Do you feel the same ache

same pain that saps my

strength and leaves a

stain on my heart

Are there things in the spring

birdies singing

peepers peeping

days lengthening

that make you shake

quake with longing

Let’s wipe the salt from

our wounds and

reach out


My Shoes


You may walk a while in my shoes

Nifty white sneakers

Cherry red heels stud-

ded with carats

Tall boots gussied up with chains

Go ahead

Walk a while in my shoes and

you’ll always be late

You’ll walk outside, in the

rain, wind, boiling sun

You’ll follow the weedy path

But if you don my favorite

straw hat you will

not think my thoughts

Natural Method

bleached stones tumbled like

dominoes across a cool back

country stream

sunlight filtered through olive

green leaves making needle-

point patterns on gravel roads

bleating sounds of sheep on

a distant hillside and men fishing

downstream, laughing at not so

funny jokes like music humming

around in the breeze

fool-proof stress relief