
untitled painting
strolling through the museum
white grape sour on glass
in left hand, merlot
in right, pinot grigio
blending portmanteaus

Patchwork Prose and Verse

untitled painting
strolling through the museum
white grape sour on glass
in left hand, merlot
in right, pinot grigio
blending portmanteaus

don’t let a wolf
in the hen house
first, you’ll see
a feather, wayward
flitting in the breeze
stuck to the ground
next you’ll
come up short
on the evening
headcount
twelve will be ten
then eight as
two by two
they all disappear
consumed by the
always hungry wolf
doing what wolves do:
devouring the innocent

am I naive to
believe that purple foxgloves
bloom in forgiveness?
that what was destroyed
smiles Heaven’s understanding
and blesses again?
or am I just a
poet choosing to believe
signs hold messages?

I was mad since you
were late so I fed turtles
all your marshmallows
no roasting for you
our discussion was our campfire
spark, flame, sizzle, blaze
they smiled and thanked me
reminded me to tell you
to keep slowing down.

Give me your Tevas
Let me have your Birkenstocks
Toss me your On Clouds
Your Chacos, your Reefs
I have a shoe addiction
in my DNA
soles are soul-soothing
not changing size where clothes will
holding me steady
Give me your Nikes
Let me have your Adidas
Toss me your Hey Dudes,
Your Hokas, your Clarks
I have a shoe addiction
in my DNA
Glenda Funk of Idaho is our host for Day 28 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write Strike Through Poems. You can read her full prompt here. Strikethrough poetry is similar to found or blackout poetry, where a poem exists within an existing poem.

The Key
Don’t you wish we
could take the key
to the end of
the island like
we used to do
when I was little
and you could still
say Latin names
for each shell and bird and tree
your love for them pure
and passionate before
the day it all changed
for you?

Scott McCloskey is our host today for Day 26 of #VerseLove, inspiring us to write short billboard-type poems of wit and wisdom, the kind that stick with a reader and leave an impression. You can read his full prompt here, but I’m adding some notes below, too:
Scott explains:
This, of course, is not something new, this “poetry as billboard.” Poems have replaced advertising on some buses (and other forms of transit) in Washington thanks to the Poetry in Public program. https://www.4culture.org/poetry/ And over thirty years ago, The Poetry in Motion folks did a similar thing, placing poems in various transit systems in Los Angeles, New York City, Nashville, and San Francisco (among many, many others). https://poetrysociety.org/poetry-in-motion
Just looking at a small sampling of the poems from the New York Poetry in Motion selections https://poetrysociety.org/poetry-in-motion/category/new-york you’ll see some heavy hitters: Charles Simic, Audre Lorde, Tracy K. Smith, Maya Angelou, Seamus Heaney, Shakespeare, Sharon Olds, Billy Collins, Walt Whitman…look, I could just keep naming them, and you’d recognize all of them! You’d also notice that their topics (and size of selections) are as varied as the poets themselves.
Clinking Pens
on Aisle 12
I caught him
peering around
the corner
“I thought that was you,”
he smiled, approaching.
“Remember me?”
Of course I did.
“Chandler!”
We side hugged,
I asked him
about life.
“I want to
thank you,”
he said.
“You taught me
if I remembered
nothing else
to always keep
a pen on me.”
He reached
in his pocket,
pulled out
a black pen
with gold banding.
“I just bought
my first house
and signed with
it. I thought
of you.”
My breath caught
a tear welled
and my heart
burst with
that now-I-can
die-a-teacher-
who-mattered-joy
I reached in
my purse
pulled out
my signature
Pilot Varsity
fountain pen,
blue ink,
and we clinked
pens, smiling
there on
Aisle 12

Anna Roseboro of Michigan is our host for Day 23 of #VerseLove. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us to write April Showers Bring May Flowers poems about the idea that good things come from the not-so-good.
Her challenge: Think metaphorically, about a teary time or not so nice incident that preceded or evolved into a cheery time in your life, and then in sixteen lines or fewer, describe the time or incident that could be an affirmation that “Yes, April showers do bring May flowers” or the opposite.
What Makes them Rescues
their misfortune makes
them rescues ~
the kind
with serious baggage
where cell phone dings
and the
smell of heat
bring flattened-ear,
tucked-tail trembling,
the kind that
gaze into your
eyes, wishing
they could pour out
their story but
certain you
already know

Donnetta Norris of Texas is our host today for the 22nd day of #VerseLove. She inspires us to write Mother Earth poems. You can read her full prompt here. She encourages us to make a list of all the gifts we have received from Mother Earth and to write a poem in the form of our choice to say thank you. She also provides these links for inspiration:
Today, I chose a pantoum and rooted it in Ecclesiastes 1:9
Nothing New Pantoum
there is nothing new under the sun
mind-blowing truth of Ecclesiastes
since the dawn of time, nothing new
everything we see was here all along
mind-blowing truth of Ecclesiastes
God hid gifts in Mother Earth’s belly
everything we see was here all along
discovered, spun, re-mixed anew
God hid gifts in Mother Earth’s belly
riches to bestow, wonders to behold
discovered, spun, re-mixed anew
sacred scriptures ~ this is true
riches to bestow, wonders to behold
since the dawn of time, nothing new
sacred scripture ~ this is true
there is nothing new under the sun
Stacey Joy is our host today for the 21st day of #VerseLove. You can read her full prompt here. She inspires us to write Mama’s Kitchen Poems.
Kitchens are oftentimes the heartbeat of a home. They are gathering places and hold memories like no other room in a house. Stacey mentions a recent podcast episode featuring legendary author Judy Blume, finding herself mesmerized by Blume’s memories and stories of her mother’s kitchen. If you are interested in listening to that episode, here is the link.
Next, Stacey shares the process: Let’s share our memories from our mothers’ kitchens, our own kitchens, or any kitchen that holds memories for you.

A Lock of Hair
there, hidden in the cakes and pies section
of Mom’s Gold Medal recipe box
with all the family secrets
an unsealed blue envelope
holds tender gold tendrils
~ cherished childhood hair ~
ethereal
long blond strands
of me
steeped
in
love, one
remaining
wisp of a child
blended, kneaded, shaped,
her own recipe for
disaster ~ aproned kitchen
ancestors gather still to check
on this bun baked through all their ovens:
did she fall? did she rise? did she turn out?