She plays with fire
the way I play in ink.
Her blood is iron
and she knows the
heat of the forge–
it rages in her bones.
She is a poem,
written on I-beams,
a dozen stories high–
a rare breed, wolf
and metal-witch–
and I struggle
to find the words,
to describe her
as she burns.



Listen to Boilermaker —


How Poetry Goes (What She Said) – a #NaPoMo #APRPAD Rondeau

Some days it’s how poetry goes.
“Hey, don’t sweat it!” That’s what she said.
Write six lines, then eat jam with bread.
Second guess the rhyme scheme you chose.

Count your syllables, like they’re crows —
put on your sweater. Make your bed.
Some days it’s how poetry goes.
“Go for a walk.” That’s what she said.

“Embrace your whims, and juxtapose.”
Swap out ink for pencil, instead.
Sip your coffee, then scratch your head.
It’s a dance, every poet knows —
Most days, it’s how poetry goes.


Poetic Asides #April Poem-A-Day Challenge – PAD #2:

For today’s prompt, write a what he said and/or what she said poem. Maybe he or she said a rumor; maybe he or she gave directions; or maybe he or she said something that made absolutely no sense at all. I don’t know what they said; rather, each poet is tasked with revealing that knowledge.


The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info:



Foolish – a Rondeau

(with a bit of nonce* in the style of Lewis Carroll)




You may find me mad and foolish —
my head in a sky full of stars,
hiding poems in socks and jars.
Do you think that’s gimb and trulish?

Of course I learned from monks prulish,
to tell tall-tales and steal memoirs.
That may well sound cruel and foolish,
make your head spin, your eyes see stars —

Are you feeling ill and mookish?
Yes, I stack books in damp bazaars,
and my methods won’t sell cigars —
so your judgment may be roufish.
Still, I like me odd and foolish!

*nonce (näns/) – adjective
  1. (of a word or expression) coined for or used on one occasion.

    “a nonce usage”




Poetic Asides #April Poem-A-Day Challenge – PAD #1:

For today’s prompt, write a foolish poem. It’s April Fool’s Day, after all. Let’s loosen up today with a poem in which we’re fools, others are fools, or there’s some kind of prank or tomfoolery happening. Fool around with it a while.




The poetic form focus for my PAD 2016 Challenge is the Rondeau — 13 lines in 3 stanzas; rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line. For info:





An Adventure in Tricube Poetry



Tricubes – are mathematical poems, based on the number three, and the form was introduced by Phillip Larrea. I found it on Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides blog at 
rules of tricubes:
  • Each line contains three syllables.
  • Each stanza contains three lines.
  • Each poem contains three stanzas.
Today, I offer you three, lighthearted tricube poems, just for fun:
I can see
you are not
what you seem
like a wolf
in clothing
made for sheep
you may seem
harmless but
I see teeth
in the ink
you may find
what you seek
whether truth
or escape
from this dream
all I know
is to spill
let it speak
it’s been said
I fly with
my own wings
there is strength
in the truth
this thought brings
still some days
I’m weighted
by small things




I believe in fairy tales,
in love,
and lust,
in the honey beneath a lover’s tongue,
in the full moon,
and a sky brimming with stars,
in a good cup of coffee,
that poetry is necessary to keep society from falling apart.
I believe we were truly meant to fly.
I believe in the right to love whomever I choose,
radically and extravagantly
and that every relationship is unique.
I believe there is pleasure in pain,
that vulnerability is a well of strength,
in trusting my heart, even if the world spins backward —
and I believe in the taste and sound of words —
in my mouth, my ears, and inked into the skin of a page.

A Promise (a sestina)


I think I’ve known you for eternity:
since I was young, hunger ever growing,
and when my eyes met yours, the deal was signed.
I fell headlong, my happy fate was sealed!
I’m in this life with you until I die.
I stand beside you stronger, filled with pride.
I’ve had a life that taught me of self-pride.
I’ve stretched and loved, eyes on eternity.
I hope that I am known, the day I die,
for a passionate love, always growing.
I made the choice to pour my heart, unsealed,
and take the risk for each connection signed.
The road has not been easy, or well signed.
I’ve been detoured by pain and my own pride.
I’m sure by fear often my lips were sealed.
Unspoken words can frame eternity —
but I’ve learned lessons, and done some growing.
I’ve suffered loss, and thought my heart would die.
Today I don’t fear risk, I roll the die.
I gamble and I pay the debts I’ve signed.
I’m still here, winning, losing and growing.
Beside me, I hope you can stand with pride.
I will give love — promise eternity.
I’ll write the words, and send the pledges sealed.
I’ll take my chances, see the bargain sealed,
to find such happiness before I die.
The love we share will light eternity,
and point the way down that road poorly signed.
There is a cause for joy, a simple pride
in finding in your eyes, a love growing.
I won’t lie, I see your love is growing.
It burns, within my sacred soul is sealed.
I’d stand, or sit or kneel by you with pride.
Believe in truth our love will never die!
This promise on your soul my heart has signed:
I’m bound to you beyond eternity —
granted our eternity, with growing
awe I have signed, and ecstasy has sealed,
this promise till I die, to love with pride.
Sestina: You pick 6 words, rotate them as the end words in 6 stanzas and then include 2 per of the words per line in your final stanza.
from Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides Blog:
Let’s pick 6 random words: bears, carving, dynamite, hunters, mothers, blessing.

Here’s how the end words would go:

Stanza 1
Line 1-bears (A)
Line 2-carving (B)
Line 3-dynamite (C)
Line 4-hunters (D)
Line 5-mothers (E)
Line 6-blessing (F)

Stanza 2
Line 7-blessing (F)
Line 8-bears (A)
Line 9-mothers (E)
Line 10-carving (B)
Line 11-hunters (D)
Line 12-dynamite (C)

Stanza 3
Line 13-dynamite (C)
Line 14-blessing (F)
Line 15-hunters (D)
Line 16-bears (A)
Line 17-carving (B)
Line 18-mothers (E)

Stanza 4
Line 19-mothers (E)
Line 20-dynamite (C)
Line 21-carving (B)
Line 22-blessing (F)
Line 23-bears (A)
Line 24-hunters (D)

Stanza 5
Line 25-hunters (D)
Line 26-mothers (E)
Line 27-bears (A)
Line 28-dynamite (C)
Line 29-blessing (F)
Line 30-carving (B)

Stanza 6
Line 31-carving (B)
Line 32-hunters (D)
Line 33-blessing (F)
Line 34-mothers (E)
Line 35-dynamite (C)
Line 36-bears (A)

Stanza 7
Line 37-bears (A), carving (B)
Line 38-dynamite (C), hunters (D)
Line 39-mothers (E), blessing (F)

I am the Hollow


My flesh is a bowl
— words dripping
from the brim.

I am the place
where words breathe,
beat as a pumping heart.

I am a cavern —
empty, and full of
echoes and bodies,

spilling out words.
They cry in pain,
dance in celebration.

I am where words go
— to mingle, and to flirt
— to kiss, and to fuck.

I am the hollow,
and I am the spoon,
dipping out language.

I am white linen —
a bed dampened
by the sweat of ink.

I am the cup —
words — the elixir,
the heat and the cool,

from which a soul sips
reason or rhyme–
sometimes both.

I am the sanctuary
where verses pray,
incantations rising.

I watch them slip through
cracked, stained glass
— a poem taking wing.



Ink – a love poem


You are blood-ink that spills across my paper,
stains these trembling-too-much fingers,
bruises my swollen lips and tastes like
summer wind, in all those 4:00 a.m. trees.

You first came, book in hand, sipping coffee.
Stories dripped steadily from your chin.
I watched hungrily, as your mouth bled,
gulped the words, like a river bed long-dry.

You’ve been here, spilling stories–
for one-hundred-and-fifty-six days.
I’ll sit beside you fifteen thousand more,
my heart wide — a blackbird’s throat.

I can’t quench my thirst for your words.
They cry in my chest — a winged cacophony.
Ink rages in my veins, and I’ll bleed out fast
— a murmuration, whirling from my pen.



True Red — After Flyleaf, All Around Me (a golden shovel poem)

I have the writer’s luxury of words (my 
body is a thesaurus) and my tongue 
drips with vocabulary like a child dances 
— with complete abandon. No hiding behind 
the expectations in my imagination. My 
poet’s fingers paint love upon these lips 
before I speak. I promise will ever search for 
the perfect shade, and always be kissing you.


golden shovel – Take a line (or lines) from a poem you like. Use each word as an end word in your poem. Keep the end words in order. Credit the original poet, ie. “-after (poet)”.




For today’s prompt, write a luxury poem.