Canine Companions

For NaPoWriMo day 21 (it is day 21, right?), I have written in response to DVerse’s prompt about animal companions. As my family has no pets, I was unsure what to write about, until inspiration walked right past my window. 😊

With no cute animal to cuddle here,

What joy it is, to look outside and see

Through open windows, sunlight welcome, clear:

Several owners of dogs, walking daily,

Brief but cute glimpses are a light to me.

Masked owners with their canines walk the street —

It’s too bad that we’ll likely never meet.


Décima: Thankfulness

Many thanks to Ronovan for the introduction to this poetry form and the accompanying challenge! I am also sharing this with the Writers’ Pantry. For NaPoWriMo day 19.

To thankfulness we dedicate,
Reminders needed quite often,
Remember goodness even when
Glad feelings prove hard to create.

We find in small things what is great :
We might have practice in the fall,
Yet it’s a skill needed for all
Days, weeks, and seasons in the year —
Especially when one’s prone to tears,
Though difficult — we heed the call.


A second poem for today: a response to paint-chip poetry #16.

No wishing well will make the future less foggy —
Harbor no fear, however, for power and mercy
Fall like Niagara, into the Grand-Canyon-esque
Depths of sin and pain and misery.

This moment is a dew-drop on the flower
Of your parched, yet living, new beginning.
This moment has the aura of a sacred journey:
An antique rose becomes fragrant with divine charity.

Out of Practice

NaPoWriMo day 18. This was inspired by Linda G. Hill’s Stream-of-Consciousness Saturday and Fandango’s one-word challenge.

Practicing social distancing,
Practicing these guidelines.
Maybe I could practice
Piano again; even in this
Quarantine the music
Has not played from my fingers.
I have seen virtual
Orchestras and choirs
Zooming into living rooms
Bringing joy, sounding glorious:
To play piano music
Could sing much joy,
And connect myself to the
Past, ripped from under us.


For NaPoWriMo day 17, my poem is actually on-prompt, about forgotten technology.

In my youth, the typewriter

Was a treasured companion, despite

Its obsolescence : I typed

Stories using its keys — and remember

The difficulty of too many erasures.


Around age 10, I remember

Playing Oregon Trail on my own

Computer, a big boxy behemoth

Running Windows 98.

I died so many times.

But once I remember embellishing,

Rewriting the trail journal,

So that I had survived.


So easily erased now,

These technologies, and memories,

If we do not write them down.


book on a white wooden table
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on

Lilies are not only white

This haibun is written in response to Frank J. Tassone’s prompt about Easter lilies. Easter is celebrated for 8 days on the Catholic liturgical calendar, and the Easter season lasts for several more weeks. I am grateful for each of my friends, especially for those who have stayed in contact with me during this crisis, but I still am having such a hard time not being able to see anyone in person!

I would give white Easter lilies to my friends, to say, “Pleased to have made your acquaintance.” Then I may bestow, on a certain someone, lilies of yellow, to urge us to “live for the moment.”

though love is patient
fights against separation
from the Beloved


white flower
Photo by Evie Shaffer on

The Lines // Can Be Broken

For DVerse, we are writing about order and our relationship to it. NaPoWriMo day 15.

Rhyme and rhythm keep a steady beat,
Yet I will write wherever the muse goes:
Sometimes a break in rhyme is needed.

And the lines
can be broken

To piece together ideas unspoken.
In many forms is found my poetry,
In writing, finding new pieces of me.




NaPoWriMo day 14. This poem was inspired by this week’s Sunday Whirl, wordle #451. The official prompt of the day is to write about what inspires you to write poems, so I suppose my poem today is tangentially related.Update: I am also sharing this with DVerse open-link.

With the world changing with such speed,
(Yet with the monotony of a hamster wheel),
Memories of yesterday begin to fade.

The seams of yesterday are ripping,
Mental-health crises as serious as
Bleeding out — What a treat it was
To have no need to retreat into houses.

And what is next? And what is left?
Bereft, we must nevertheless say yes
To tomorrow, watching panic happening,
Hoping for roots planted deep, sustaining.