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Awake in middle of night…time to play magnetic poetry online!



when restaurants close,
drive throughs open double lanes
to serve safely.

when schools close,
teachers open online rooms
to teach remotely.

when surgical centers close,
hospital personnel open doors
to care courageously.

when church buildings close,
God’s people open united hearts
to pray faithfully.


Linking to dVerse Poets quadrille prompt…44 words on “close”.

hindsight is 2020

Linking to Linda’s fearless paint chip poetry prompt…I used all the colors 🙂


perhaps, looking back, we
may possibly be tickled pink
to experience the good fortune
of living through the apocalypse—
not of destruction, but revelation,
which sharpens iron, unveiling
nuts and bolts of wiser choices
like bright sunburst in your eyes;
the sweet ’n sour of life’s losses
purges the palate (and palette)
even as it washes away our
fragile sand castle dreams.


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paint chip samples

Covid 19 OCD


flatten the coronavirus curve

do not touch your face

practice safe social distancing


free clip art

DO not touch your face

wash hands for twenty seconds

do NOT touch your face

wipe down all smooth surfaces

do not TOUCH your face

wear sterile gloves, N95 mask

do not touch YOUR face

what if eyeballs and teeth itch?

do not touch your FACE!




our best HOPE!

look up in pandemic



such times of great loss can open our eyes

to see truth more clearly and recognize lies

will you find any comfort in political ties?


a plague is upon us, mutant Covid-19

streets almost empty, few people are seen

how can we possibly wash our hands clean?


ashes to ashes, we chant mournful tune

whoever thought they would die so soon?

“barn’s burnt down, now i can see moon.”


in night’s deepest darkness, the Light brightly shines

to show us the path in these difficult times:

“Do not be afraid…because you are Mine!”


will we humble ourselves, even kneel down to pray

asking God to forgive our proud wandering ways?

may He grant us his mercy and restore us today.



Linking to dVerse Poets pub where Mish encourages us to write on this quote:  “Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon” – Mizuta Masahide. 

Photo by Fusion Medical Animation on Unsplash.








capricious cupid


Remembering crushes of puppy love and youthful dating experiences, I don’t know why I was surprised…every time love started or ended, the rest of the world faded into the background. Romantic tunnel vision of a new love found or an old love lost always claims intense focus.

The angst of the question answered by plucking daisy petals…he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me? Daydreams of mutual admiration, chance meetings, sweet conversations, drinking in their eyes, perhaps a soft kiss. Memorizing the beloved’s face while mesmerized by their smile.

The emotional wreckage of a relational break up and subsequent painful questions of why, why not, why not us? The second guessing and the blame game are all consuming. Disappointment, anger, and loneliness mingle in tears wiped on sleeves, pillows and friend’s shoulder.

Infatuation is fickle but a promise is forever.



Diamond brooch – Ruby Lane


At dVerse poets pub, Merril  challenges us to write prosery of 144 words including the line (bold) from Jane Hirshfield’s poem, “I Want to Be Surprised.”

grandma’s kitchen


so much depends upon

the stainless tea kettle


on bisque enamel stove

next to bunch of yellow

ripened bananas and a

 warm batch

of  ginger crackle cookies.


William Carlos Williams’ poem about the red wheelbarrow inspired this poem…

b is for boaz


baby boy
bouncy baby boy
beautiful bouncy baby boy
big beautiful bouncy baby boy

brother to four
older sister-mothers
who coo when you cry,
“you know that we love you!”

breast-fed and chubby
with soft rolls of charm
your smiling blue eyes
and adorable dimples

grandma’s ticklish touch
triggers wiggly giggles
you’re round and delightful,
sweet-cheeked apple of my eye!





Uncle Jim


we’re passing shadows
from dust to dust again;
Jim’s baptism~memorial
marked in same church.

his body now laid to rest
soul released into glory;
farmer planted in the soil
harvest is brought home.

casket bouquet features
corn, fishing pole, tractor;
children, grands & greats,
fruit of faithful marriage.

he outlived son & one lung,
now breathes heaven’s air;
entered the land of living…
those left behind will come




ash wednesday

fallen…in rebellion

we are but broken twigs

fuel for feeding the fire;

ephemoral ash and smoke

all black-tarred with sticky guilt

destined for eternal combustion

in hot flames of the Almighty’s

justifiable wrath;  pure holiness

cannot ignore injustice and

violence interminably nor can

Love itself tolerate ingrates’ hate.

his heart weeps as he sweeps

the good earth clean again in

a purifying inferno.




forgiven…lifted up

by Grace we learn to

see our true selves as

repentant and redeemed;

washed joyous clean again

in the blood of the Son’s one

done sacrifice;  destined for

eternal restored relationship

with our Creator/Father

who in open-armed mercy

accepts us in Agape love itself

which transforms our earthly

mirror images to reflect light

of perfecting peace.



-by Langston Hughes

Freedom will not come


Langston Hughes (Britannica)

Today, this year
Nor ever
Through compromise and fear.

I have as much right
As the other fellow has
To stand
On my two feet
And own the land.

I tire so of hearing people say,
Let things take their course.
Tomorrow is another day.
I do not need my freedom when I’m dead.
I cannot live on tomorrow’s bread.
Is a strong seed
In a great need.
I live here, too.
I want my freedom
Just as you.


freedom    (-by lynn)

freedom will not come
today, this year
nor ever
through socialism’s fear.

each individual has
intrinsic right to
to stand on two feet
and work the land.

i tire of hearing people say,
      capitalism is historically racist
      and the rich must now repay
it’s not freedom to be dead
with fascist bullet in your head.

must move us
to offer justice
to every shade
of children God made
renewal of faith and family
education, jobs, prosperity
less (not more) bureaucracy

ensures real freedom for you and me.




I acknowledge that often those of us with “privilege” have not reached out a hand to help others up.  We must commit to mutual respect and working to change unequal opportunities (not force outcomes).  I am linking to dVerse Poetics this week where HA is hosting…check out more poems inspired by Black History Month!

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