A Pond Poetry image prompt of hands tied together. It had to be the Kyrielle form.

We are Women

Although still bound, to some extent,
ropes have loosened for our daughters.
A growing force that won't relent,
we are testing deeper waters.

True we've yet to balance the scale,
but we see, at least, it totters.
In time parity will prevail.
We are testing deeper waters.

I wish Ms. Anthony could see -
the life we live now is not hers.
but close to one she dreamed could be.
We are testing deeper waters.

Although still bound, to some extent,
we are testing deeper waters. 


A Kyrielle - a 14 line poem with 8 syllables per line. The rhyme scheme is AbaB cbcB dbdB AB, which means the last line repeats and the first and last lines of the first stanza are the last two lines of the poem.

Another Writer's Cramp prompt - a 24-hour prompt-based contest - which was the title.

He was a Friend of Mine

Once upon a time,
that boy,
he was a friend of mine.
Our backyards, borderless.
His house was mine,
mine his,
as if we were brothers.

Once upon a time,
that boy,
he was a friend of mine.
Same classes, same sports, same teams.
He, a little better at baseball,
me, at soccer.
Neither of us showed any promise in football.
He struggled with school.
I did what I could to help him out.

Once upon a time,
that boy,
he was a friend of mine
until high school happened
and we no longer shared any classes.
Until my own studying, baseball and piano practices and participation on the math competition team left me little free time to help him out.
Until academic performance kept him off the baseball team.
Until the fence went up around our backyard and entrance into each other's house required knocking.
Until his dad left.

Once upon a time,
that boy,
he was a friend of mine,
but then he was put in the Alternate Program because he missed too many days of school and failed several classes,
so I heard.
But then he found new brothers and together they discovered ways to cope with the pressures of high school,
of life,
so I heard.

Yes,
once upon a time,
that boy, -
that boy who died of "unexpected causes,"
(so I read) -
he was a friend of mine. 

A response to a Writer's Cramp prompt relating to Christmas in August.

Bah Humbug!

There's something wrong
when early Fall
I travel to
a shopping mall
and in the stores
what first I see
are garland and
a Christmas tree!

You merchants think
with this, somehow,
I'll start to shop
for Christmas now
and never stop,
I do believe,
until the night
of Christmas Eve.

But I'm afraid,
for me I'd say,
although I love
the holiday,
I cannot shop;
I have to wait
'til turkey's done
to celebrate!

It's not about
your corporate worth;
it is about
a savior's birth,
but this event
on you is lost.
You're focused on
an object's cost.

Your profit line,
I understand,
but your supply 's
not my demand.
To take a stance,
I must be gone
to shop at home
from this day on.

To the Alt-Right

How hard the heart you've filled with hate. 
How troublesome your mental state. 
Your stance with mine, I can't equate. 
But I'd be glad to educate.

#charlottesville

Rhetorical Questions

What shallow minds consider birth
to be the measure of their worth?
If skin and looks are all you see, 
what narrow vision must there be?
How can we make this country great
when those within are filled with hate?

Long Live the Rhyme!

Once upon a recent time

in the land of making rhyme

people milled the streets all day

and spoke in rhyme along the way.

The best time of the year for all

was when the Poet King would call

his people to the palace moat

to hear what local authors wrote.

Each writer stood upon the pass

and read out to the eager mass.

Each clever word was well received.

Each story plot would be believed.

Though no one format would prevail

t’would often be the children’s tale

adored the most by young and old,

earned mad applause once it was told!

But oh the year when Darkness came!

It set each poet’s work aflame.

It cursed the tongues so not a word

of rhyming verse was ever heard!

The people willed their words to come

but all were struck completely dumb!

The Poet King called forth his men

to slay the force that stilled the pen.

They rode through valley, glen and plain,

the wicked source to ascertain.

No matter what the soldiers tried

it was no use! Their rhyme had died!

And just when Hope at last had stood,

about to leave the town for good

Akeem, a boy, declared to know

how they could make the evil go.

“We must profess our love of rhyme!

We use the language all the time,

but others think it’s silly rot.

We have to show them it is not!”

“Akeem has rhymed!” the people cheered.

“The Darkness too has disappeared!

Let’s listen to this clever boy
and spread the word of rhyming joy!”

Looking through some old pieces I wrote - some nonfiction, some fiction - and came across this one.

Uncharted Territory

When years ago

my ship set sail

rough waters ruled the way.

With frequent squalls

and thunderstorms,

my skies were colored grey.

But that was when

my helm was steered

by someone else's hands,

who never had

the kinds of skills

such seamanship demands.

Yet through those rough

and rugged seas

one vision kept me moored -

the dream to see

my words in print's

what kept my feet on board.

Then over time

when I took hold

and got my bearings straight,

I charted then

a different course,

one I could navigate.

I sailed along

life's ebb and flow,

rode steady with the tide,

kept out of way

of troubled waves,

held fast to leeward side.

Now decades past,

the waters calm

that dream's still in my sight -

to have the

opportunity

to share the words I write.

https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2130414-On-the-Job-Training

On the Job Training

They made me get a license
before I drove a car.
To practice as a lawyer
I had to pass the bar.
To teach somebody’s children
demanded school and testing.
For me to be a parent
took only sperm and nesting.

Despite my lack of training,
when Casey Barr was born,
Nurse Nancy brought her to me
that cold December morn.
With all her toes and fingers
accounted for she said,
“Your daughter wants to meet you,"
then laid her in my bed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing!”
is what I wished to say,
but after some instructions
she sent us on our way.

The real chance I would drop her
was then my biggest fear
and second was a failure
to read the cries I’d hear.
I longed for a decoder
to tell which cry meant what,
so I could be more certain
instead of trust my gut.

But somehow we got through it,
albeit sleep deprived.
We added two more daughters;
all three of them survived.
I know at times I blundered; 
my husband did as well.
No doubt the repercussions
a skillful shrink could tell.

And yet, without the training,
I think we did alright.
With college years behind them,
their futures all look bright:
a vet, a first lieutenant,
and film producer too.
But don't believe it's over;
a parent's never through.




Inspired by a Writer's Cramp prompt asking us to write about learning a new skill.