My newest adventure is underway. It has lead me to take up residency in a new blog,
Like the Feathers of an Arrow (affectionately known as LFA).

...don't open...don't throw away... is not disappearing completely (not yet),
but postings here will be limited.

Friday, June 14, 2013

9 Un-Spun Crazy

Life's been crazy—
each breath a luxury of late.  
Life's been crazy—  
no time to write or be lazy.
I long to once again create—  
spin words in hopes I might abate  
all this crazy.

they're exploring rondelets over at dVerse today.  it's been awhile since I last tested the waters of this form...really I just threw this together in a stolen moment of craziness (so those wondering will know I'm still alive)...hopefully it makes sense.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Glistening Streams

I breathe tears to life
as though all of the oceans
depend solely on me.

I've been trying to find my way outside of myself.  The past week or two it's been rather hard.  Sleep calls to me like a lover whose arms wish never to let me go.  I long to escape into them, allow life to fade away around me, dissolve into a world of dreams where I can hold comfort in knowing nothing is real.  Still I hold on to life with a death odd statement for sure.  How much easier it would be to just let go?

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

9 Sevenling (To my angel) & Last Call (At the Sidewalk Cafe)

Sevenling (To my angel)

To my angel (you know who you are),
Silence is golden, liberating & lonely;  
the latter is the most haunting.  
To my angel (for whom silence seems a new word),  
I was (am) content, satisfied, & appreciative  
to hide in the rarity of reciprocal visits.  

My dear sweet angel, thank you for carrying my voice through the doors.

Last Call (At the Sidewalk Cafe)

anxiety spikes
(unusually so as of late)
each time Mr. Linky
steps up to introduce me.

he looks at the note card in hand
announcing the next performer
and knowingly looks stage left.

the last time these spells arose
I disappeared  left  went into hiding.
scarcely a word escaped
leaving only silence in my wake.

upon return I waited for last call 
closing time, when most had come & gone.
leaving only a few stragglers to see my frays.  

how brazen I got
as time passed and words flowed;
it's like a roller coaster though  ups & downs 
but those drops lift me out of my seat.

so here I sit now at the sidewalk cafe
listening to the voices spill out the doors & 
tip my hat as they leave for the night.

& I scribble away in my notebook
for no one else but me
and the occasional passerby
who sits down with a smile to share.

another silent contribution....

they'll be opening up the doors over at the dVerse Poets Pub at 3:00 pm (EST), so if you get a chance to stop in, check out some wonderful talents showcasing their voices today and tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

12 Dee - p - Rest

From out of the blue
I feel them --
tears perched on eyelids.

A quiet settles
within;  a
hush before the storm.

Each breath stratigi-
cally  placed
to lesson the wrath.

I long to crawl up
-- disappear --
escape from myself.

But the past has shown
like a sinking ship
I must ride it out.

the above is a series of Kelly Lunes, aside from the last stanza.

another silent contribution....

if you get a chance, there are some wonderful talents showcasing their voices today over at dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013


thirst for
intense need

putrid rotting flesh
shudders in pure delight
with the scent of fear soaked brains

"all consuming hunger attacks."

I went a little freaky with this clarity pyramid - Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>crave, putrid, shudder(s)] combo.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

14 Quieting the Silence

I'm grasping at straws
as words slip
unseen through fingers.

I cannot sit here
lined paper
just laughing at me.

I grab my pencil
the muse within me.

Words finally pour
drowning out
the blank page's taunts.

I thought it might be fun to toy a bit more with the lune -- more specifically the Kelly Lune.  The last (and first) time I worked with both the Kelly lune and Collum lune, creating a pairing on the same topic.  With this go around I thought I'd try a string of lunes that (might) alone stand as independent poems, but linked to tell a story of sorts.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Monday, April 1, 2013

6 Last Call: What Will Become of Our Words?

What Will Become of Our Words?

The waiting is over, but
what have we lost in the process?

where are our word?

when time meant something,
our words abounded
desperate to close the gap
of space and time.

(now) we converse in clips & phrases
whittled down to an alpha-numeric code
creating for the future an ancient dialect
only a few will be skilled to translate.

where are our words?
                our love?
                our passion?
                our essence?

when distance made the heart grow fonder
our words poured like rain
down from the heavens
nourishing and grounding our roots.

(now) we connect with little connection
our fingers caress sleek metallic bodies
spreading words across a shrinking world
as a chasm grows between us and those next to us.

where are our words?

(now) we catch glimpses of the past
in faded tissue-thin tear-stained letters
correspondences that lived and breathed
with precious words -- words unfolded,
read, caressed, smelled, smeared
time and time again.

someday our words will be unbound
by a double-click, as pristine and
untouched as the day they were sent;
no stories hidden in their creases
or the letters bled with tears,
just words -- clips & phrases.

where are our words?
                our beauty?
                our passion?
                our selves?

when touch could be invoked
with each physical-tangible
unfolding word, distance and
time meant nothing.

(now) we communicate in zeros & ones
relying on the single sense of sight
where words alone must invoke
more than they ever needed to before.

where are our words?

An Aside:  I can't recall exactly when, but sometime ago I read a poem by Brian Miller.  While commenting, I pondered the following, "what will become of the letters that bleed with tears?"  I tucked this little thought away in my notebook figuring eventually I would come back to it.  Eventually I did, though not as I had expected; I wrote a short poem, Faded Memories (Ribbon-Bound Letters).  It in no way shape or form held within it the original essence of my pondering.  While still not 100% where I thought it might lead, this piece here definitely does a better job at capturing what I first felt.

An (Aside) Aside:  I was originally going to make my pondering the title of this poem, but I don't didn't quite feel right in the end.

I'm ahead of schedule once again, but...this is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


write off

his terse retort, "lame,"
spoke volumes on how well
he'd cooperate with us

"lack of respect drives in a wedge."

This was an interesting write.  The middle came quite quickly using this week's Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>cooperate, lame, terse] prompt.  Normally it is a simultaneous struggle between the first and middle verse; they tend to go hand in hand.  I get a general idea for the initial word (though it is subject to change) while pulling the middle and end together with the given words.  For this one, the middle came so quickly I was at a complete loss for what the initial word and its followers should be.  The last line is basically impossible to write with out the initial word.  Maybe it is the way this poem unfolded that has me not quite content...ah...but then again, when am I ever content.

On a Side Note:  Recently I posted that I would be limiting my use of this blog.  I feel it has fulfilled its purpose and that it is time for me to move on.  Unfortunately, letting go is not all that easy...or maybe it is fortunate, because I will (at least for a time) be maintaining two things here: my weekly contributions to OpenLinkNight over at dVerse and my last Wednesday of the month "clarity pyramid meets 3WW" for Three Word Wednesday.    I have just recently taken up residency elsewhere in case you care to drop in.

Monday, March 25, 2013

4 Last Call: Tumor Vision

Tumor Vision

Busy casino carpets should be just that,
an array of visual designs intended to stir
the bustling atmosphere  NOT
a twisted version of Munch's "The Scream"
head burning in hellish flames.

I so long for the artist's hand
to sketch out what only my eyes seem to see.

Dark volcanic clouds should be just that,
billowing plums of smoke and ash
casting an ominous fear  NOT
a demon awakening from a long slumber
intent on destruction and death.

I so long for the artist's hand
to outline what only my eyes seem to see.

Bird poop on a car window should be just that,
a disgusting nuisance foretelling good luck
that should be wiped away  NOT
a mustached man wearing a bearskin hat
standing guard at the window.

I so long for the artist's hand;
I itch to unearth these visions  unseen,
to breathe life into them with a skillful hand,
in turn distilling the crazy notion
that (a)
I'm crazy and (b)
there's a tumor
pressing on my brain.

Oh, how I long for the artist's hand.

Is it just me....  Or can you see what I see?

For some reason most people I've asked see an owl.
(image by rmp, that's me)

photo taken by Martin Rietze

Mustached Man in Bearskin Hat
(image by rmp, that's me)

An Aside:  Photo #2 also inspired a poem called, Volcanic Eruptions (which can be found on my new blog). The post also includes a version of the image where I attempt to point out the demon in all of his glory.

I'm ahead of schedule this week, but...this is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

18 Last Call: (Poet) On a Microscopic Level

(Poet) On a Microscopic Level

I'm an open wound
stitched together – painstakingly so 
word by word;
each pull of the needle,
a cross-stitchers heaven,
delicately weaving a collage of colors,
textures, fibers, patterns
meant to hold me together.

From a distance, I'm seamless,
but if you could see inside my words...
there you'd find the key – the secret 
to unraveling me.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

2 Finished (Notebook)

This week a first has happened.  I honestly did not think it was possible, but alas I was wrong.  It has gotten me to thinkinga dangerous act, indeed.  Unfortunately when my brain kicks into gear like this it is often hard to follow its stream of thought.  

June 27, 2012 — I opened up a new notebook and broke my drought.
June 30, 2012 — I reset ...don't open...don't throw away... and invented my themes to revitalize things.
July 1, 2012  I posted my first Time Capsule and launched the first of three themes, which I've maintained up until today.
January 9, 2013  I celebrated three years and thanks to my revival, I managed to turn my dry spell around from 12 to 118 posts during ...dodta...'s third year.  That's right, 12 posts in the first prior to July 1st and 106 after.
January 9, 2013  I began to ponder whether ...dodta... had finally run it course.  It was the first time I had actually thought about it without being in a emotional rut.  But making such a decision is not something that can be made rashly.  I put a lot of blood, sweat and tears here, to let it go with serious contemplation would be wrong.
March 13, 2013  I wrote on the last page of my notebook.
March 15, 2013  I actively searched for an empty(ish) page in order to write a piece for this past Friday's theme of Can I Have This Dance?.  There are a handful of pages that have tidbits on them that never blossomed, but I'm thinking I'll add them to another notebook and look to them for inspiration when the juices seem to be running a bit dry.
March 17, 2013   I officially have made two decisions. notebook is being laid to rest and classified as full, finished, done, kaput....  Two...I am letting go of my themes and of ...don't open...don't throw away...

So that last little note is a doozy.  I am not leaving the blogging world, just moving on.  I'm not sure exactly where I will land, but I think it is time.  On the flip side, while technically I'm closing up shop, I've decided to keep the doors open for two things...

The first is what has been themed as Last Call, also known as my contributions to dVerse Poets Pubs OpenLinkNight.  Partly because this is the face (mask) they know and partly because...well, I need an excuse not to truly say goodbye to ...dodta....

The second occurs on the last Wednesday of every month when Three Word Wednesday meets the clarity pyramid.  Over the course of the three years, I have written 17 clarity pyramids.  All but the first one was in conjunction with 3WW.  All but the first two were written on the last Wednesday of the month.  So, I will also maintain that post here as well.  

Okay, maybe saying I'm letting go of ...don't open...don't throw away... was a tad misleading.  Still...(I guess I'm not really good at saying goodbye.)

For those of you who have drop in from time-to-time or on a regular basis, thanks for tuning in...

Friday, March 15, 2013

5 CIHTD?: Traffic Light ("It's over!")

Title:  Red Light
Artist:  David Nail
Album:  I'm About to Come Alive
Genre:  Country

Notes:  I mentioned in my last post I wanted to write about traffic lights....  So I went out and found a song that had a traffic light in it to lend inspiration for this week's CIHTD?.

A Form Aside:  Over at dVerse Poets Pub they have introduced a short little number called the cinquain.  I thought I'd give it a whirl.  I'm not the only if you get a chance, check out some of the talents that chose to walk through the pub doors for this event.

Traffic Light ("It's Over")
stopped dead
blood drains with words
no liesno fightjust words
crashing down. light turns green; still I
can't move.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

1 Time Capsule: To Know Love

Title:  To Know Love
Date:  unknown (though if I dig a bit, I can probably come up with an estimate)
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free form

Notes:  Over the past years, starting back in 2002, I have written three poems for friends and/or family as they were on the verge of getting married.  I have posted the first two (A Wedding Song--a poem for two voices and In the Eyes of a Friend) already here.  This was the third poem, written for my best friend--the one in my last post that brighten my day with images and videos of her two little ones.  Anyway, without further ado...

Friday, March 8, 2013

3 CIHTD?: A little sunshine...

Title:  Oh, Mr. Sun
Artist:  unknown
Album:  unknown
Genre:  Children's

Notes:  It's been a trying couple of weeks; so much so that even my typical tricks of music and breathing.  When things get this bad, I have another little source of pleasure.  I texted my friend and told her I could really use a picture or video.  She sent me a picture of her little one with a cucumber for lips.  A few seconds later, I texted her again asking where the older one (my goddaughter).  As I was doing so, she was recording a video with my goddaughter singing Oh, Mr. Sun at the top of her lungs.  I watched it multiple times and slowly (for me) the sun did begin to shine.  I have a feeling that I'll be playing that video several more times before the end of this month.  Hopefully April showers will help to wash away some the craziness pressing down on me.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

9 Last Call: Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Seething & Breathing

Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions: Seething & Breathing

I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing;
I've been practicing slow intakes all week—
In----n---Out      In----n---Out     is of no help.
Still I search for that equilibrium
to still the emotions that are seething.

I am beginning to feel like a freak—
a statue shutting out the world around
as I've practiced slowly breathing all week,

but the world just pushes back pound by pound;
so each breath In----n---Out is of no help.
I find it impossible to rebound;

still I search for that equilibrium,
itching to stand once more on solid ground.
I long to wake from this delirium—

to still the emotions that are seething.
I'm beginning to feel like a freak
with each breath In----n---Out.  I just can't help
loosing myself to this delirium.
I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing.

My mind is racing with so many thoughts and amazingly they seem to all be focused on this piece—so maybe breathing wasn't the answer and writing was...

#1 — The first line of this poem is from a song.  From the moment I heard the song, I was addicted to this line far beyond the confines of the song.  It held its own meaning for me that had absolutely nothing to do with the lyrics themselves.  Still the song itself has also inspired two poems (Uneven and—without realizing I did this—Uneven) that have made their way here through my Friday's theme, Can I Have This Dance?.  [FYI:  The song is Breakeven (Falling to Pieces) by The Script.]

#2 — When I went in search of the title for this piece I got caught on the words seething and emotions.  This led me to think of a series I've developed here (which I recently rehashed on a Sunday for my theme Time Capsule).  Though the series is called Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions, I could hear word seething stealing the place of raging.  Even though the majority of the series has focused on music, it took little for me to decide it would be a good addition because the original poem also speaks toward breathing.  

#3 — This is my fourth exploration in expanding my original form of nota.  While I still like the original version, there is something about this "expanded" version that feels like a better entity.  

An Aside:  I am going to admit for those of you who choose to listen to this piece that I have a very bad habit of recording and not listening back to the recording.  (I don't particularly care much for the sound of my voice.)  So if there are any anomalies, you'll know why I posted it with them in it...

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

3 Time Capsule: untitled

Title:  untitled
Date:  unknown
Setting:  unknown
Form:  Found Poetry (made from magazine clippings)

Note:  For posting purposes, I modified the original.  The "E" in "awhile" was black on brown making it hard to see when transferred over digitally.  So I filled the "E" with white to make it visible.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

9 Last Call: PURGE

get rid of

a pale face flickers
as naughty pictures doused
blaze--a relationship ends

"burn away lingering evils."

It is the last Wednesday of the month and with that comes another union of Three Word Wednesday [3WW=>douse, naughty, pale] and the clarity pyramid.  I'm not too fond of homophones.  I had something in my mind until I realized that it was pale and not pail.  I had to do some rearranging; I'm not 100% happy with the results, but...

I've decided to double up this week and so ...

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

3 Time Capsule: Intoxication

Title:  Intoxication
Date:  07/29/01
Setting:  Life after college--summer between first and second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

As I opened the drawer
To put away my clothes
I found your shirt
folded neatly among my own
I paused
and sat back on my legs
I stretched out my hand
touching the fabric
suddenly I felt you near
I drew the shirt from its spot
held it up to my face
and I could feel your touch
gently brushing my cheek
breathing deeply in
I could taste
your soft sweet kiss
Clinging to your shirt tightly
I stood
Slowly with my eyes shut
so I might hold onto your image
I slipped out of my clothes
and into your shirt
I longed to feel you
against my bare skin
I spent the day cuddled
in your shirt
When night fell
I crawled into bed
still wrapped in your shirt
just so that I might
wake up next to you
And as I lay there
ready to drift off
I felt extraordinary
and amazing
And I knew
I was intoxicated
by you

Artifact I:  Original piece written in green pencil.

Friday, February 22, 2013

9 CIHTD?: Self-Loathing

Title:  n/a
Artist:  n/a
Album:  n/a
Genre:  n/a

An Aside:  So I'm going off script again with this week's CIHTD?.  I figured I could get away with it since I incorporated musical notes in this piece.  Plus, over at dVerse Poets Pub, they are talking about graffiti poetry.  So, I took a tweet(oetry) and graffiti-fied it.  Note, no walls were actually marred in the creation of this piece; I went the legal route and used the computer.


Sunday, February 17, 2013

2 Time Capsule: The Submission

Title:  The Submission -- the turmoil of critique
Date:  between 05/24/00 and 08/27/00
Setting:  Life after college--during first college job
Form:  Free verse

They were just pieces of paper with words
Yet letting them go was quite trying
The fear of allowing another to view the words
In a critical mindset was horrifying

Though just pieces of paper
Though just simple words
They materialized from the heart and soul
Each word
On each paper
Melded into verses of great meaning.

To some they may just be pieces of paper with words
But for one they invoke hardship
To many it may be a foolish fear, allowing another to view the words
But for one the fear is debilitating

Though just pieces of paper
Though just simple words
They embody the mind, heart and soul
Each word
On each paper
Completes one making everything worthwhile.

Artifact I: Original typed version of poem.

Friday, February 15, 2013

4 CIHTD?: G(r)in & Tonic

Artist:  Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Album:  Live
Genre:  Jazz

Notes:  It's been about 10 years since I was introduced to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy.  I had a student who had learned I liked big bang music and told me I should check them out.  He definitely wasn't wrong.  There is part of me that when I listen to this song am not 100% sure who the "you" is in this.  I can't decide if he's talking to someone or if the you is the drink in his hands.  Either way, it definitely is a catchy tune.

G(r)in & Tonic 
I drank away my sorrow
drown my dreams of tomorrow
focusing on you -- only you --
and what might be tonight  
Pour me another 
We click our glasses together
clear our minds of whether
there's more to us -- to this --
than what might be tonight 
Just leave us the bottle 
You steal away my troubles
stir an emotion that bubbles
around me -- surrounds me --
and what might be 
You're my last drink of the night

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

15 Last Call: Love's Allure

Love's Allure

Love is pain and sorrow wrapped in disguise;
I hear its sweet whispers calling to me.
"Come to me my dear.  Love is all you need."
And every time I fall into its trap,
it laughs at me with its seductive lies.

For far too long my heart has run carefree
unwilling to be tamed--that is until
I heard your sweet whispers calling to me.

With your enchanting words my world did still.
"Come my darling; my love is all you'll need."
Ensnared by this intoxicating thrill--

so easily--I fell into your trap.
I bared all of me and you drank your fill
then pulled back leaving my heartstrings to snap.

Love laughs at me with those seductive lies
knowing my heart has longed to be set free.
So softly, love calls, "I am all you need!"
then tugs waiting for my heartstrings to snap.
Love is pain and sorrow wrapped in disguise.

Inspiration for this piece comes from a pom seed written quite some time ago.  Due to syllable count, I had to modify it slightly (replacing intoxicating with seductive), but I did manage to get my original word back into the piece in another spot.

This is the second time I've toyed with the expanded nota.  I'm not really sold on this piece.  Not 100% sure what exactly bugs me.  I think part of it might be that the first and last stanza address love as a whole, while I chose to have the middle sections focus on a specific someone.  I'm not sure they blend so well.  I'll have to think on it, but for now it is what it is.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Friday, February 8, 2013

5 CIHTD?: Methods...

Title:  n/a
Artist:  n/a
Album:  n/a
Genre:  n/a

An Aside:  I've been sick...still sick technically...and my brain has been a bit too fuzzy to compose.  Every time the music plays I want to close my eyes and fall asleep.  So I am taking a different approach to this week's CIHTD?.

Notes:  I can remember coming in late on a debate between my brother and cousin about whether it is the lyrics or instrumentals of a song that were more powerful.  Each was on a different side of the fence.  I, myself, have always found myself in the middle.  

There is definitely something to the lyrics that touch the mind and heart.  They can stick with you and follow you around.  You can relate to them.  And sometimes having words that you can sing out (whether you actually know the words or not) as the music plays can be very cathartic.  

Now the instrumentals ..the instrumentals have a way of getting under your skin--syncing with or altering your internal rhythm.  I have always found this to be very therapeutic.  A couple of years ago I wrote (and posted here) the poem below.  Eventually this turned into a bit of series where each of the poems that followed incorporated music as an entity to soothe.  

So with out further ado...

Methods to Soothe Raging Emotions

gritted teeth
hold tears at bay
a flimsy dam of sticks
bombarded by raging emotions
longing to pour freely

rioting music
course throughout
a volatile tidal wave
melding with raging emotions
longing to find rhythm

breath moves
slowly in, slowly out
a soft gentle breeze
releases the raging emotions
longing to suffocate

Followed up by four additional poems with music playing in the background:

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

11 Last Call: Burning Flame

Burning Flame

candlelight flickers
casting me in shadows

my core projected
across the ground
mocks me.  its silent
full-body laugh
surrounded by golden hues
emulates my everyday existence--
shedding light on the truth.

When will I let the love in?

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

3 Time Capsule: Pining

Title:  Pining
Date:  01/12/06
Setting:  Life after college--during second post-college job
Form:  Free verse

Notes:  I spoke about my Poetry List emails before.  I had originally started them in college.  Years later, as part of a New Year's Resolution, I thought to reinstate my poetry list emails.  This poem was the first one sent out when I finally brought it back up.  I admit the new Poetry-List emails did not last very long (only to Volume 1 Number 7 -- which was a total of ten poems).  I believe I tried blogging a couple of years later; that didn't go to well, but I eventually found my way back to it and started this here blog.  So least for now.

Artifact I:  Front of original.

Artifact II:  Back of original

Artifact III:  Blurb from the bottom of Poetry List: Resurrection email.

Friday, February 1, 2013

15 CIHTD?: Tune (Stuck Inside My Head)

Title:  Day that I Die
Artist:  Zac Brown Band (feat. Amos Lee)
Album:  Uncaged
Genre:  Country

Notes:  There is something about the way he sings "a guitar in my hands."  I don't really know why but I do. I had thought I might use that as my 'radif' (see information on form below), but I found myself instead utilizing a phrase from the line "I just kept chasing that melody."  I even initially used 'that', but 'our' just felt a better fit by the time I uncovered the first stanza.  Yes, in the scheme of things, I wrote four stanzas prior to coming back to the one that used the 'radif' in both lines.  A couple of other lines from the song played into the poem, but for the most part the topic is not aligned with the song.

A Form Aside:  This is a ghazal--more specifically it is intended to be a ghazal sonnet.  This was not my first attempt at a ghazal.  I tried one (back in August 2011).  Normally I try to give a form several goes before I make a decision on it, which is why when it popped up at dVerse Poets Pub for their FormForAll, I thought I'd give it another go.  Still not really sold on it, but...

Tune (Stuck Inside My Head)
I never shall erase our melody
nor could I dare replace our melody.
You are the only tune I care to know,
though I might have to chase our melody.
My fingers long to graze your skin
allowing me to trace our melody.
How long, I wonder, must I wait for you
to finally embrace our melody.
I know how fear can still the beat,
but please do not deface our melody.
Until the very end I'll sing of us
and strum across my bass our melody.
Guitar in hand with roses at our feet
together we'll retrace our melody.

my humble offerings for dVerse Poets Pub FormForAll.  If you get a chance, check out what some amazing talents are doing with the ghazal form.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

2 Batch #9

Bursting with Pom Seeds
(image by rmp, that's me)
It's been approximately six months since my last Pom Seed update.  I admit that as with the last post I have not been very active in using my twitter persona to hold some of the little ideas and thoughts that pop into my head with the potential to become something much more than they are.

In accordance with my last batch, I will only be posting new pom seeds and ramblings along with any leftover pom seed/old rambling that managed to burst into some juicy little treat.  I have also decided that there really is not much difference between pom seeds and ramblings, so as of today I'll be merging them all under the pom seed listing.  I will allow all previously labeled ramblings to keep their title on the Pom Seeds page.  Still, I have also decided to assess some of the old ramblings that had tweetoetry potential and add them into the tweetoetry collection that usually follows pom seeds.

So...without further ado...

Pom Seeds Batch #9
(bold have already burst to life)
  • I feel like I’m trapped in a left-brain’s body ~ creativity screaming to be unleashed
  • on day I will accept the truth ~ even if it's with my last breath
  • is it possible to know love when you've never known heartache?  is it possible to know heartache when you've never known love? (The First That Wan't)
  • the sun blazes brightly ~ and yet the sky cries softly
  • I see them in shadows; standing shoulder to shoulder; as they did on that fateful night (High Noon)
  • this social anxiety is not bound by the physical world...

  • my heart quakes; earth-shattering tremors; only I can feel; course through me; I search for safety; the open embrace; of... (Fabricated Love)
  • how long will I wait for someone to show me my worth before I except the truth (Worth)

~Fluttering Laughter

her laugh
is like butterfly wings
tickling every one of
my senses

#107 (tanka)
~Floating Laughter

she twirls—skirts flaring
opening like a flower
casting love my way
her laughter floats through the air
like dandelion wishes

#108 (tanka-ish)

howling winds stir--cut
harsh paths--left in their wake
whispering remnants
speak of hearts torn from homes
as destruction lay at feet

~haunting slumber~

sleep lives outside my peripheral vision
taunting me with flashes of eyelids
beckoning me to give chase

~beneath the covers~

your warmth encases me
pulls me into your spell
of dreams ready to be fulfilled


moonlight dances
along the ripples of your surface
I long to dive in
alter the tempo--the rhythm
to match the beat of my internal fire

~sweet words~

spun sugar is
a web of white lies
you don't want to get stuck in

#113 (tanka)

you're like no one else
how I long to make you melt
my love--my snowflake
I open my arms to you
tilt my head towards your sweet kiss


I put a pulse
to my hate
and it beat
for me

#115 (haiku-ish)
~Moonlit Dreams

beneath evening's gaze
moon kissed eyelids awaken
dreams of pure delight

~ Wishy-Washy

fickle tears  
  they pour when sad 
  they pour when happy 
  they thunder when hurt 
you'd think 
  they'd pick an emotion 
and stick with it


I wish I had the words 
to heal this wound 
but they seem to elude 

still I try 
pouring out word after word 
hoping I'll find the perfect mix


pathetic really 
the way anxiety grips my heart 
as I step outside myself 

reaching out 
to those on the inside of the circle 
I skirt

~Involuntary Verbal Spews

anxiety's peace 
tastes like profanity 
on virgin lips

~Delicate Balance
he walks backwards 
along a fine line with ease 
not batting an eye 
through his omission

~Awaken Dreams

sleep evades my tired body 
dancing before my eyelids 
taunting my restless mind 
I so long to just...

~Release the Mask

I'm tired 
              tired of smiling 
it takes too much energy 
      wears on me 
eroding me from the inside out

~A Taste of the Future

I taste a little 
bit of sunshine 
on your lips 

a whole 
lot of tomorrows 
in your kiss

~Not I

random thoughts float about in my head 
longing to spill out 
but who would wish to listen 
to such randomness

~ Upside-down Frown

i need a happy thought 
my lips 
to feel the contours 
of a smile

Wednesday, January 30, 2013



tendrils creep intent
on breaching still chambers
reviving a lost drab core

"pulsating love quickens its beat."

It's that time again!  The last Wednesday of the Month brings forth a marvelous combination Three Word Wednesday [3WW=drab, pulsate(s), tendril(s)] and the clarity pyramid.  I always find this day to be a treat and a half.  

Sunday, January 27, 2013

2 Time Capsule: I saw your picture on a carton of milk

Title:  I saw your picture on a carton of milk
Date:  03/28/01
Setting:  Life after college--during first post-college job
Form:  Free verse
Your eyes tell a story
of a small girl with little worries
who swings peacefully along the playground
with her mother close at hand. 
The playground swing, now stands empty
as a mother’s gaze turns away
what joy and happiness once belonged here
has been taken without a trace. 
Your smile tells a tale
of a small girl’s love and passion
who dressed up in princess clothes
to parade before the king, her father. 
The clothes lay now, tucked away in drawers
as a father’s brow turns inward
what laughter and love once belonged here
has been torn from its proper place. 
Your picture tells a story
of a small girl who once belonged
about the playground and in princess clothes
a small girl taken from her home.

Notes:  The line, "I saw your picture on a carton of milk," was written after watching a lifetime movie about a girl who had seen her own image staring back at her on a carton of milk.  Over the years, even now, I have found the most trying part of writing a poem is unearthing the title. I would say that 90% of my poems found there title after completion and 9% have found it somewhere in the midst of writing it.  Very few of my poems have started off with an intended title.  This poem was the first time I had ever written a title prior to the poem.  In fact, the line was written two days prior to the poem.  Since then I have probably written a poem or two with the title already in my head.

Artifact I:  The page were I first wrote down the line that would become the title of this poem.

Artifact II:  The original write of this poem which shows the order the stanzas were written in and the numbers that reassign them.

Friday, January 25, 2013

3 CIHTD?: Tied Together with a Smile

Artist:  Taylor Swift
Album:  Taylor Swift
Genre:  Country

Notes:  I can't tell you how long I have had this album, but honestly until recently it seems this song has never 'shuffled' across my path.  The title drew me right from the get go and then came the words.  The first verse into the course really struck a chord for me.  It use to be much easier for me to maintain / sustain a smile no matter what was going on behind the scenes.  Nowadays I find it much harder to do so and the idea of finally just letting it go...

Tied Together with a Smile
The thread just hangs there
teasing and taunting
a needle could help sew things back up--
maintain appearances 
a pair of scissors could keep things in limbo--
bordering on becoming undone
and a tug
               a tug could unravel it all--
setting me free
I'm tired of holding it all together--
putting on a pretty face
This smile is all I've had to keep
me from falling apart at the seams
But each day it gets harder and harder
to stitch up this facade
The thread just hangs there
at the corner of my mouth
daring me to release the smile

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

13 Last Call: Laughter Times Three

Breathless Laughter
a small laugh at first
erupts into so much more
tears spill from laughter
as the world twists out of shape
it’s so hard to catch my breath

Paint a Laugh
what does a laugh look like
as it floats on air
planting a seed in one’s heart
i imagine a white puff
like dandelion seeds
floating on the breeze
planting a seed in one’s heart

All It Takes
her fluttering laugh
that bursts from her lips
like a magical stream of bubbles
her floating dance
that flows from within
moving to a rhythm only she hears
her twinkling smile
that brightens her face
lighting up the world around her
her willful independence
that sparkles in her eyes
brings a smile to my lips everytime
her laugh, her dance, her smile
that’s all it takes
from this precious little girl
to inspire joy within me

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

2 Time Capsule: Compliments

Title: Compliments
Date: 03/19/02
Setting: Life after college--during second post-college job
Form: Free verse
Do they see my discomfort?
Do I appear shy
or maybe embarrassed?
Do I act gracious
or maybe uninterested?
Do they see my cringing?
Do my actions speak truth?
For I smile and nod
I thank them and nod
And I know they have not a clue
because they continue
and I nod
Nod past the cringing
the embarrassment
the discomfort
praying they’ll stop
For though sweet their words are
For though gracious I am of their kindness
My heart aches when they speak so. 

: Christmas 2001, my brother gave me a beautiful journal, red leather with a beautiful design of roses adorning the front. In reality, the journal inside was quite ordinary black canvas, but it slipped into the outer leather shell allowing for the journal to be changed once full. As is often the case with my writing, I hit a nice stride and then things taper off. This journal was no exception. I did well enough (while still writing outside of the journal), I made it five-sevenths of the way through from 2002 until 2005, with 3.5 poems in 2003, 10.5 poems in 2004 and six poems in 2005. Since then, I added three poems, one in each of the following years: 2008, 2010, and 2011. Now this of course doesn't mean I wasn't writing at all in the in-between time; I just wasn't writing in my journal. Most of, if not all, were composed late at night as I lay in bed. The journal has been, since I received it, a permanent fixture on my night stand. Maybe it’s time I made it through the last two-sevenths of the journal.

In all that rambling, I never once made note of the above poem. In case you didn't pick up on it, I don’t do compliments well—never really have. There are bits and pieces of this poem and another from the red journal (called You Look Beautiful) that found their way into a (crappy) song I wrote ages ago which is posted here on …don’t open…don’t throw away…. The ‘song’, also entitled You Look Beautiful, appears in two spots, one containing the words in their entirety and one (a voki) with a snippet of me singing the song in another post.

Artifact I:  The red leather rose journal.

Artifact II:  The original handwritten poem.

Friday, January 18, 2013

9 CIHTD?: It Brings Me To My Knees

Title:  Over and Over
Artist:  O.A.R.  (of a revolution)
Album:  King
Genre:  Rock

Notes:  It is the following lines that captured my attention, though really the whole song spoke to me:

     Why do I draw these line 
     They keep me out of reach 
     It's not what I wanted, no 
     but it brings me to my knees

I've talked about building walls in the past (in a poem or two); the idea of drawing lines--boarders so to speak--seemed to hit the same chord for me.

It Brings Me To My Knees
Stuck--as one tire spins in the mud
the other does nothing--that's me
stepping on the gas and going no where;
I'm baked and caked in this crud
with no way of escaping this cell.
I itch to break free
scribble outside the lines
drawn by my own hand;
this is no way to be
stuck out of reach.
Lost--that pesky rabbit's turned the signs
this way and that--my sense of direction
no longer pointing due north leaving me
no where; I'm sitting on the sidelines
of my own life watching it pass me by.
My destination
eludes my grasp
so turned around
in frustration--
lost to my own self.
Falling--like Alice Through the Looking Glass
plunges down the hole--I seek
to find hold of something - anything -
the smallest bit of hope to blast
away the lines, to clear the path ahead
The sky is bleak
but somewhere
up ahead I know
the sun will peak
lighting my way.
At least that's what I tell myself, for I dare
not allow myself to live in utter despair
when I can fall to my knees in prayer.

An Aside:  The final stanza was suppose to be a couplet.  At first the last line was "not allow myself to fall to my knees in prayer."  But then I wasn't so sure about going there (with praying).  So I changed it to the current second line of the stanza.  It wasn't until I went back to write the note above that I thought the line "but it brings me too my knees" kind of fit the idea of prayer.  So I debated between the two for a bit before deciding (for now at least) to let them both stand.

An Form Aside:  With the exception of the final stanza, the above was an attempt at a Weave.  This form was introduced by its creator over at dVerse Poets Pub along with another form called Karousel.  To read more about either form and to check out some Karousels and Weaves from the talent dVerse pub-goers, stop on in for a pint or two of delicious verse.

A Final Aside:  My Cousin Vinny (stuck), Bugs Bunny (lost), and Alice in Wonderland (falling).  Quite honestly in my current frame of mind I can't even guarantee that the above poem makes sense, let alone explain how these three references made there way into this piece.  I don't really think this is where I had expected to end up when this song first struck a chord--I may even end up revisiting the song again once my head clears--but I've learned never to question inspiration.

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

6 Last Call: In a Heartbeat

In a Heartbeat

You fall in love
You breathe in
In the blink of an eye
In a matter of seconds
Seconds fly by
Seconds seem to last forever
Forever isn't long enough
Forever scares you to death
Death is evaded
Death becomes a reality
Reality bites
Reality dissolve into fears
Fears are breathed away
Fears take you by surprise
Surprise tares through your soul
Surprise awakens the real you
You see yourself in some else
You collapse in a fit of tears
Tears of sorrow
Tears of joy
Joy walks out the door
Joy brightens your days
Days last forever
Days fade into memories
Memories are made
Memories are lost
Lost to the world
Lost moments
Moments capture your heart
Moments give you pause
Pause the tv and listen
Pause your life
Life is meant to be lived
Life waits for no one
One is a lonely number
One with "I do"
Do take chances
Do not wait
Wait on me
Wait your turn
Turn around
Turn to me in time of need
Need me
Need overpowers wants
Wants toy with emotions
Wants quicken heartbeats
Heartbeats still
Heartbeats sync together

An Aside:  The above is a blitz poem that I actually started about a year and a half ago.  The problem was that I wrote the title before the poem--the title is derived from specific lines in the poem.  So I ended up stopping 3rd and Goal with 5 lines to go.  Somehow (I could explain it but I'm sure you'd prefer not),  I found my way back to it and managed to run the last few yards.

This is my offerings for this week's dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight. If you get a chance, check out all of the talented poets who have stepped up into the spotlight.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

1 Time Capsule: What Mama Said

Title:  What Mama Said
Date:  between 08/01/94 and 05/31/98
Setting:  Some time during college
Form:  Prose

My mother always to’d me, like I’m showr mos’ mothers do, “Joshua Henry Patrick, if you don’t have somethin’ nice to say, donsay nothin’ at all!”  Yep, tha’s wha’ she always said.  An’ like a good mama’s boy, I listened.
It wasn’ always a bad thing; tha’ sayin’ got me out ov a lot a troubled spots.  Granted everyone called me a wuss and wha’ not, but I never listened to ‘em.  See, I know, ‘cause mama to’d me, she’d say, “Joshua Henry Patrick, youra good boy.  Yes, sir, you are.  You remember that.  Never listen ta anyone tha’ says otherwise, alrigh’?”
Boy, di’ my mama raise me righ’.  She tried raisin’ the perfect little boy.  She tried ta instawl values and morals in me.  I don’t suppose anyone could ov asked for a more lovin’ and kin’ women an’ mother.
Yes, I loved my mother, I truly did.  I’m just sorry it had to come to this.  Mama always taught me, she’d say, “Joshua Henry Patrick, violence is bad.  I don’ ever wanna catch ya doin’ tha’!  Ya understan’ me boy?”  Hmm, the funnay thing was, once when she did, catch me that is, she whooped my ass real good.  I could never understan’ that.  Yet, some how, she instawlled tha’ upon me too.  And I’m truly sorry tha’ she did.  Otherwise, this would ov never have happened, never.
She was a good women, yet now I ques’ion how good ov a mother she was.  If it wasn’ for her, my boy wouldn’t be dead.  Mama always told me, “Joshua Henry Patrick, two wrongs don’ make a righ’, they make ya even.”  I guess tha’ was sorta how she explained why I gotta whoopin’s every now an’ again, when violence was bad an’ all.  I guess she never thought that tha’ would bring her life to an end.
Hmm…  I know I’ma justa ramblin’ on.  And I know, tha’ you hava no idea as to wha’ happened, so I’ll explain.  I jus’ like ya ta keep in min’ all the things my mama always said; they hava lot a bearin’ on whata went on.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

It was Friday day.  Josh, tha’s my son, had jus’ returned from his school.  Mama was over.  Me, her and Marybeth, tha’s my wife, we were havin’ tea an’ cake.  That was our normal Friday day.  Mama, Marybeth and me, we always had tea an’ cake on Fridays.  Mama’d bring the cake an’ Marybeth would make the tea.  Me, I’d get the table readay. I always got the table readay
Anyway, there me and mama and Marybeth were.  Just sitting havin’ tea an’ cake an’ Josh, tha’s my son, walked in.  He smiled, gave his mother and grandma a kiss an’ a nod ta me.  Then he wen’ an’ grabbed a piece a cake from the plate.
Marybeth slapped his han’, she said, “Joshua Henry,”­ she left off the Patrick so as not ta get the two ov us confused.  She said, “Joshua Henry, you know bedder than tha’.  If you’ra goanna have a piece, pick up a plate, sit down an’ use a napkin.”
Josh was always stubborn, but he nodded an’ took a plate an’ sat.  I know he didn’ like bein’ at the table with the three of us ol’ foggies as he put it, but he joined us just the same.  We started talkin’.  ‘Bout nothin’ inparticular, jus’ stuff.  We were a talkin’ fur quite a while.  Josh would even pitch in now an’ then.
Soon, one thing led to another, an’ we were a talkin’ abou’ love at first sight.  Marybeth was so cute; God how I love her.  She wasa talkin’ so pretty like.  She was talkin’ abou’ how sweet love at first sight was, how roman’ic it was. Josh just laughed.  He said, “Mama you’ra fool, plain an’ simple.  You’ra fool.”
I could understan’ wha’ he was talkin’ abou’, all tha’ sappy stuff an’ all.  We men, we ain’t suppose ta think tha’ way, but it was sweet wa’chin’ Marybeth talk like that.
Anyway, my mama, well, she took one look at Josh an’ she said, “Boy, hasn’t your father taught you nothin’?!?  Don’t you know if ya ain’t got somethin’ nice ta say, ya don’t say nothin’ at all?!?  Now opallogize ta your mama.”
Josh looked at his gran’mother an’ said no way, “I ain’t apallogizin’, she’s a fool for believin’ in all tha’ sappy stuff!”  Then, Josh got up an’ walked outa the room.  Mama, she followed.
“Boy, I said opallogize to your mother!”  I could see through the doorway; Josh shook his head.  “No ma’am, gram.”
Oh, how the adrenaline musta been pumpin’ in her.  She slapped Josh.  He flew half way across the room.  He landed on the floor, hittin’ his head on the fireplace.  I ran in as quickly as I could, but blood was a gushin’ everywhere. Josh was dead.
I know a grown man ain’t suppose to cry, but I cou’da feel the tears swellin’ up inside.  I stood up an’ turned an’ looked at my mama.  She musta saw the anger in my eyes.  Ails she could say was, “Joshua Henry Patrick, remember wha’ I said, two wrongs don’t make a righ’, they make it even.  An’ tha’ righ’ there was wrong number two!”
Yeah, well I could do math as well.  I said, “Mama, we may be even, but now we’ra at odds!”  I drew back my hand, without even thinkin’.  I punched Mama righ’ in the nose. ‘Parently, her nose bone went up, righ’ into her brain.  Mama was dead.  Josh was dead.  Marybeth was justa kneelin’ there at her son’s side, cryin’.

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *         

Tha’ was how it happened.  I’m sorry i’ did, truly I am. I loved my mama.  I loved my son.  Now they’ra both gone.  Ov course now, I still have Marybeth.  Together we’ra workin’ on gettin’ over wha’ happened.  Tha’ an’ forgettin’ wha Mama always said!

Notes:  I thought I'd switch things up a bit.  There was a stint (during college) where I toyed around with prose.  I wrote a handful of rather twisted and unusual pieces.  This one was a bit fun to write because I chose to incorporate the dialect not only into the dialogue, but also the narrative as well.  I do quite enjoy reading it with the appropriate accent.