leave-ing the party

Chèvre hosts tan renga party at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai .  A tan renga is a haiku by one poet answered in 2 (7 syllable) lines by another poet.




now it reveals its hidden side
and now the other—thus it falls,
an autumn leaf                                 © Ryokan Taigu

do leaves ever feel dizzy—
twirling in their spiral dance?                lynn__

mediation necessary


learning war and peace

grandchildren fight over toy

everyone wants it

let’s all remember to share

isolate till passions cool



re-enactment of Waterloo from wikicommons 

Joining Elsie at Ramblings of a Writer for weekly tanka challenge, War & Peace.

audaciously catty

Playing with “anthropomorphism” at dVerse poetics with Lillian 🙂

fat cat in silky
top hat, walks
sleek this season
(has no reason
to run) saunters
too confidently,
(pompous louse)
directly to famed
doghouse- ritzy,
spacious place
(will absent dog
give chase?)
cat pauses for
grand entrance,
smiles smugly to
paparazzi & me.
then, full of pride,
he slinks inside
to curl up cool
in empty dish;
crinkles pug nose-
where’s my fish?
long afternoon nap
(could be a trap?)
it’s easy to be,
like i already said,
audaciously catty
after dog is dead.

stalked by Claude

Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets with Bjorn looking at impressionistic art


layers of light

flecks of colour

giant’s velvet

birthday cupcake

or thatched hut

is sunlit stack of

bovine manna

dried muffin-top

will-o-wisps in wind

dense center holds

heat of long day

gleaned stubble field

rests in cool shade

robust wet dabs

of painter’s palette

reflects sweat of

villagers’ harvest



haystack by Monet

bitter herbs & vinegar

American (death) sentences in 17 syllables…


People will do nearly anything to avoid sitting still to think.

Don’t expect excess love;  most live desperate, separate and alone.

Seems our differences are reasons to hate rather than celebrate.

Work seen as important, not words; what value prayer or poetry?

If i feel like a caged bird…when i die, will i be freed from this cage?

We are broken beyond our repairing;  who can save us from ourselves?


old brown vest


strong puritan oak

in modesty clings to garb

until spring leaves bud

sound of water


source: CDHK



kema-cho, japan

hear gently falling water

whispering to leaves


photo by lynn













kemah, galveston

seagulls on boardwalk

soft waves lapping pier

blurb on da burbs

middle-class resides
somewhere in middle
‘tween everywhere/now(here)

dead doors safely
living close(d) to neighbors
on block
empty chairs fill porches

choice of school (lots) pay
to play
public schoolers should not
(not) pray
buses take young snotty
tots away

hard(est)-working to
absent dad hopes mom
knows best
all seem blessed, why sooo

Check out dVerse Poetics, where Oloriel invites us to submit “suburban poems”

valentine mine

Artist: Sherry Evaschuk     Artwork Title: Hearts afire

two he(art)s ignite fire

heat waves of desire

old dreams be yearnin’

new memories burnin’

but just lust is lyre (liar)

trust stirs flames higher

real love colors bright

true blue lovers right

veins bleedin’ energy

he(art)s needin’ synergy

married love k(not) hot!

In the presence of angels


In the back bedroom of a hospitable home

on sprawling shaded lot in Magnolia, Texas,

lies an adult little girl; disabled but beloved,

dear daughter and sweet sister named Kim.


She’s a redhead, age 52, curled in bed, mute;

a child of God, reflecting his image; like Him,

her eyes always seeing (open even in sleep)

and her ears always hearing (primary sense).


What a privilege to meet Kim, touch her hand

as she rests in sanctuary of clean sheets and

sunny windows; surrounded by hum of vital

equipment, carried gently by sacrificial love.


Holy ministry happens here on a daily basis,

offered by her mother, who dedicates all her

nursing skills, the tenderest days of her life to

care for, love on, feed, turn, and talk to Kimmy.


Dedicated to Kim Feenstra, who lives with her precious family (and a condition called micro-encephalitis).

happy hour is over

Challenge at Poetics Pub to use drinking words (listed) for a non-drinking activity…

last call for dirty laundry as granny

loaded tumbler for one more round,

tipping a bodacious shot of bleach.

“c’mon, help tie one on the clothesline,”

she says, hanging three sheets to the wind.

then turns sour, seeing hair of the dog on

whites;  kamikaze-like, she yells straight-up

“choose your poison, we gotta rewash ’em!”

hope is eternal


quiet stones by pond

ornamental trees blossom

bird chirps inside bush

remember neighbor who’s gone

…resurrected to new life!


While on vacation (visiting a Japanese garden in Hermann Park, Houston), we learn of a neighbor, Loren Meyer’s, sudden passing…

Previous Older Entries