i used to write poems that had more than seventeen (syllables, i mean) yet i've been haikued trapped in my own life choices that i can't rewrite and people speak truth but only a partial truth too easily fixed but what if we don't? fix ourselves, i mean? what then? can we count to five? (syllables, i mean) breathe in, breathe out, release air till we all calm down? if only we could trap ourselves in syllables and make our lives count.
poetry
Dream Lake
the mountains have called
and windswept lakes make us glow
all these years later
Quilt and All
the new bedroom waits
for the prodigal daughter
our Thanksgiving thanks
Love Frames
so many words lost
(Saturday night bed making)
scenes from a marriage
Hallow Hollow
Halloween wrap-up:
somewhat successful party
following these treats
even if "Peter"
couldn't stay beyond this pic
the costume still works!
Choose Wisely
there are two options:
well or we'll. hopeless. hopeful.
and what shall i choose?
Jack-O-Art
art in many forms
in this case, pumpkin pieces
lighting up the night
Traded
sometimes all it takes
is the Saturday gay bar
to win people’s love
A Turn of Luck
our black cat smiles
for her Halloween spirit
to seep through the leaves
We’re All Ears
so like her black cat
always calling for her needs
hoping we’ll listen
Step Write Up 