Fireblossom at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads challenges us to write a new poem “looking through a distorted lens”…I think Alice in Wonderland stuff of dreams or Salvador Dali surrealism.  


moon is a balloon

i swallow her whole;

now rise from ground,

suffocating in choked

screams at dream demon

until i, balloon-shaped,

reach sharp tree twig–

spring a leak, go hissing

hysterically thru galaxies,

finally flop limp to earth,

flattened and deflated.

searching for helium

… settle for valium.



no fear in love

There is no fear in love.  But perfect love drives out fear… I John 4:18


I’m not afraid of people who live with a mental illness. I feel empathy and compassion for them in their struggle. Most are not dangerous but very gentle, if overly sensitive souls. Instead of lashing out, they often desperately turn inward. They need to be listened to and comforted. Fears, both real and irrational, plague them. I know friends and relatives who’ve suffered mental illness. My father experienced a psychotic break at age 74 when his life circumstances produced the perfect storm. His disturbed mind, suddenly snapped into suicidal mode, which scared us all. A police officer saved him, family rallied around him, and he responded to treatment for bi-polar disorder. Thanks be to God, he is doing well in recovery with medication and a balanced lifestyle. No, I’m not afraid of a person with a mental illness…but I do fear suffering a serious mental illness myself.


secret storm swells dread

losing control of mind’s eye

uninvited guests


Participating in dVerse Poets haibun Monday on topic of fear…

trimeric crisis intervention

It’s not really about guns
maybe a lack of funds or
whether our society chose
the wrong kind of heroes

maybe a lack of funds
for helping mentally ill
who need treatment still

whether our society chose
to glorify ugly violence
media pumps nonsense

the wrong kind of heroes
who can bully baddest?
criminal suicide saddest

Mary is serving trimeric (poetic form) at the dVerse Poets pub

The bi-polar brain is…

a three-ring circus on caffeine;

incredibly entertaining as long as

you can keep the wild tigers in their cage.

In the first ring, imagination’s clowns

and their colorfully-costumed dogs

perform fantastically frisky tricks.

Random elephant thoughts

plod tails-in-trunks in the center ring;

going round and round under hot spotlights.

In the last ring, fast ideas on noisy

motorcycles race recklessly within the

locked, metal-meshed sphere of the mind.

Rising upward, visions of long-legged,

feathered women twirl dizzily from tethers

until the human cannonball is shot high into the air.

Unexpectedly, the glaring mania of lights

dim to reveal the surreal threats of a

thousand glowing souvenir light sabers.

The mood suddenly trips over an

empty cotton candy cone and tumbles

head-over-high-heels down the steep steps;

Rolling from the upper nose-bleed section,

plunging past shocked spectators to crash

into depression on saw-dusted floor of arena.

Ladeez and genteel-men, may I have your

attention pleez:  be sure to take your medications

or risk falling from the sky with no safety net below.