Reflection in the Lake

see Moon in pieces
like a shattered glass window —
it will not hurt you

A senryu for MVB: Window. Thanks to Lorraine for the “moon in pieces” image. It got stuck in my brain, and this poem was born. I wish I could have found a good image or, even better, taken a picture at the particular lake that I’m thinking of.

Ice Cream and Fish

For FOWC: Expose and the prompt “Ice Cream” at My Vivid Blog, and shared with today’s Writers’ Pantry. Happy Sunday!


Ice cream exposed to the sun
Will melt — some environments
Are more keenly felt, as well
They should be, not surprising.

A fish taken out of the sea
Cannot swim — and made to live
In the wrong water, it dies,
More quickly than some might realize.

People with varying temperaments:
A fulfilling life for one,
To another does not make sense.

Like Water in the Desert

A 40-word free-verse poem for the Weekend Writing Prompt and for MLMM’s Saturday Mix: Opposing Forces. I’m really liking the Weekend Writing Prompts, especially when they are short. 🙂 My poems tend to be relatively short.


Too much time in the desert,
The drought-dry place starved of rain,
Always wondering, waiting, praying for an oasis —
Found when an act of love
Triumphs over unkind rays of hate:
It’s not a mirage, although
It may be brief.

wk 220 oasis

The Mind-Stream

I am finally participating in DVerse’s prompts again! Today it is Quadrille Monday, and our word is “stream.” I also wrote this for FOWC: Lonely.


Welcome to the stream of consciousness:
No idea where we are going today,
Whether the water will be placid
Or choppy (how quickly I become lonely)
Whether we will swim blithely.
Will you join the current with me?
Hoping it’s a pleasant place to be.

Ghazal: Life and Freedom

I’m a bit obsessed with ghazals right now, so here is another one, which I worked on yesterday and today, and which was partially written for FOWC: Repose and this prompt about immersion.


You know better than I what’s died in me.
My God who’s living still, abide in me.

One dream not dead has been this poetry,
Ideas are a spring ne’er dried in me.

A verse which starts despairingly finds hope:
See, these two sides have always vied in me.

In words’ expression there is some repose,
Despite immersion in emotions –strong tide in me.

A life not merely written nor read, but lived:
Sparrow-song calls, may freedom be satisfied in me.