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I remember so well
eighteen minutes ago
(how can it be years?)
the calm, the storm, the push
and here we are and we are not
you counting eighteen
and breaking the ribbon
bursting into a whole new race
and my heart swells even
as I calculate the loss
of these last six birthdays apart,
your push more powerful by far
than mine could ever be


Day 12: Write a lament poem. (I mean, it’s rare when I don’t…) 


Please administer coffee

I know you want to talk
and you’ve spent a long night
full of dreams and ideas
and you think I’m good with words
because I am, I mean I can be
in the afternoons or evenings
but my dreams are muddled things
and often just thwarted attempts
to reconcile with lost loved ones
or make it to the end-of-year exams
(I can never find the classroom
and I haven’t studied at all and of course
I’m probably missing my shoes or worse)
and so love, it can sometimes take an hour
or more before I can hear your words
as actual words and your thoughts
as actual thoughts and darling I’m begging
you today and forever more,
because I will do my best
to say the right things nicely,
if you will please take care
to administer coffee to me first.


Day 11, write a warning poem.


Goes to show

“Don’t you let that deal go down” ~ Deal by Jerry Garcia/Robert Hunter

Jerry said losing sure comes with a price
and he was right, it made me think more than twice
about sitting back down at a table for two
but my love, I sat down again here with you
and it goes to show you don’t ever know
so darling let’s jump – hey y’all, look out below


Day 10 – two-fer, write a deal and/or no deal poem.


Battle stations

I wonder how long
it will take until
we can just talk,
just breathe and accept
one another and ourselves
without the armor
and the weapons,
without the shields
and the DEFCON scale


Day 9. For today’s prompt, take the phrase “Battle (blank);” replace the blank with a word or phrase; make the new phrase the title of your poem; and then, write your poem. 


al fresco

fresh air tingles
lending its
super powers
to our lips
and tongues


Day 7. “For today’s prompt, write a senses poem. That is, write a poem that uses one or more of your senses. Smell, taste, touch, sound, sight, or even a sixth sense. Focus in on one of them or try to incorporate them all.”


cutting onions

I think about you
when I’m cutting onions
arranging the larger segments
with calm precision
and making the cuts
clean dices or minces or chops
layers revealing themselves
with delicious potential
while unquestioned tears
gather like old friends
on my cheeks


Day 6 – prompt: pick a food, make it the title of your poem, and write your poem.



How can you say
I’m smarter than the fox
when I spend my time
on someone else’s thoughts,
driving through the rush
to hurry up and sit
so I can buy the house
I need to sleep in
so I can get back
and forth to work?

The fox, I’ve noticed,
moves at her own pace,
contemplating, basking
on the sun-spilled log,
blinking upwards as
the warmth spreads
and I know that shiver,
that glorious peace
from someplace
just out of reach.


Day 5: write an intelligence poem


case by case

“I see the big picture!” I’d cry
wide-eyed and certain
he would see the patterns
and the pathways,
so clear when you just
stepped back, like those
hidden picture posters,
the magic happening just
as focus dimmed,
but he would point instead
to each pixel, explaining to me
so I could see things his way
– the right way obviously –
that on a case by case basis
there was quite simply
nothing to see, nothing at all
and I really should look away
and relax my pretty little head,
because we both knew
how stress could sometimes
make me crazy.


Day 4 prompt: title your poem “case” blank, then write it.

Bonus fun poem:

Case in point

Don’t count your chickens, said the naysayers
but he counted, expecting seven layers
I imagine he didn’t think it was funny
when out popped the seventh chocolate bunny.


stop/don’t stop

Day three is a two-fer Tuesday, write a stop poem, or a don’t stop poem, or both, or neither…


Gonzo (who may think his name is Stop)
was supposed to stop growing at forty
but hit sixty and kept on going,
his first-year growth matching so well
his daily need for more and more and more,
like five trips outside in ten minutes
because squirrels exist and pinecones are delicious
but then there may be treats in the kitchen
or practice sessions with the steady sit, touch, spins
or a chance to dive-bomb the couch windows
if an unknowing pedestrian gets too close,
his dingo-dog shovel-nose streaking the glass
before heading back outside for more.



I need less
boxes of memories
evening news
traffic jams


slowing down

lines form and reform on my face
why did I come into this room?
my ears ring over the music
what’s the name of that thing?
I can’t hold my drink like I once did
what’s been the point of this all?
this slowing down is going fast

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