Café Conversations

, , , , , ,

Café Conversations

Over lattes and sandwiches
whispers become a collective hum
animated hands sound out emotions in syllables.
Words of little weight lift from our lips
while the ones of matter lie
heavy on our tongues.
Ready for escape
waiting to expose our tenderness:
“I’m sorry, I was wrong.”
“I don’t what to be alone.”
“I love you.”
“About last night – can it happen again?”
The silent space when the mouth takes in rather than offers
followed by the awkward sound of metal chair legs dragging
across concrete. Though there is the promise of next week
a hunger remains unsatisfied as goodbyes are said.

Sidewalk scene outside local cafes on East Broadway Street in Granville, Ohio. Photo shot for the's 11th Hour Project - 2007.

Sidewalk scene outside local cafes on East Broadway Street in Granville, Ohio. Photo shot for the’s 11th Hour Project – 2007.

Liquid Routines

, , , , ,

Liquid Routines

It starts early
a splash of cold water
on sleep heavy eyes.

Threading a sleep conscious
body through doorways
until a hand lands
on the now illuminated kettle switch.

Waiting, icy water pours into a glass
because someone once said
H3O was better than H2O
and that chilling the water would change
the molecular construction.

Who comes up with stuff like this
or maybe who is the nut job
giving herself brain freeze
at 5 am that believes it’s for her better good?

The kettle pops, the steam carries
the dry, bitter, earthy scent of black tea
as it rises from the Brown Betty pot.
Awe. Good. Morning.

The dry rituals of exercise
and mediation complete
hot shower water falls
on the flesh like a gentle rain
if rain was hot.

A cup of coffee after breakfast
but only with honey and cream
to cut the bitter down.

Remember seven glasses of water
keeps the skin glowing and fresh.
Beside it’s easier to justify the next
two pots of tea.

Dinnertime warrants a change
from tea to wine. I like mine
a complex deep red in the winter
and jewel toned in the summer.
Awe. Good. Evening.

Gabriella is having us write about the beauty of everyday routines at the dVerse pub for Poetics. Come join us.

Change In the Wind


Change In the Wind

You will go wherever
the wind blows.
Wings stretch slightly bowed
pivoting North then East in limbo.
Some new view
seen in a new hue.
Without leaving the joint
you’re always on the turning point.


Spending St.Patty’s spinning out poetry about the wind at dVerse Pub for #Poetics. Grace is pulling pints and bloggers single-handedly.


, , , , , , , ,


Sunrise - Totomai Martinez

Sunrise – Totomai Martinez

In waves
the sun tiptoes
and sinks into footprints
left in soft sand.

In a gull’s cry
echoes carry.
Lovers come together
on the strand.

Yesterday leaves
with the tide
to bring the future —
glistening footholds.

Tonight at the dVerse Poetics Mary is serving up the inspiring photography of Totomai Martinez. Come and join the fun and art.

This poem can now be found in The Unique & Sundry, which happens to be available on Amazon.

Over Our Tables

, ,


Over Our Tables

Rarely the main attraction
yet often the first reached for
Arepas, baguettes, bagels, bammy,
naan, challah, chapati,
tortillas, himbasha,
lefse, focaccia, and scones.
Their crumbs fall
leaving our tables flaky
with grains leavened and not
even salty or sweet.
Loaves crisp from hot dry ovens
or rolls soft with gluten
stretched and allowed to rise
or beaten flat and charred
from raw flames.

Beyond the wars we pick,
the souls we harvest with hate,
the justified cruelty & atrocities
sworn in God’s name.
We fill our stomaches
and chase away heartaches
over our tables
of broken breads
of religion,
and humanity
baked in our hearths
before we pray for peace.


Written and shared for dVerse Poetics  Grace is tending the bar, come pull up a chair and break some bread with us. 😉

Repetition & Rhythm

, , , ,

Day 14 (Write a poem that uses at least two different forms of repetition.)

London Eye

Repetition & Rhythm

It’s rhythm that taps
taps those toes
To the dance floor you go
with nobody you know
the hips sway
and sway
while the mind drifts away.
It’s away your heart goes
to place only you know
eyes glaze
in love’s daze.
Low and sweet she serenades
of yesterday’s love
a love you know
held too tight
bled in the light
til you swore no more
but here you are
on the dance floor
with another, eyes doe and bright
you know your heart’s not ready
but the rhythm
is so right.


This poem is playing double duty. The prompt of “repetition” is part of the 31p 31d challenge and over at the dVerse pub Anthony Desmond is having us pay poetic tribute to music. “You spin me right, round, like a record baby round, round,” has already been done. So above is my contribution. Though I feel these are two prompts that need my further attention. 🙂

The Secret Life of Books

, , , , ,
Claudia Schoenfeld's The Secret Life of Books

Claudia Schoenfeld’s The Secret Life of Books

The Secret Life of Books

Where do the words go
when they pass our lips?

Do they rise skyward
like butterflies
awaiting a new tongue
to flutter on?

Do the words shake from covers
and fall —
one by one
to drench the mind
in fantasy
or memory?

Do the letters bleed
into Rorschach’s blots
to be more
than the eye imagines?

Words can be —
the twist of the key
that unlocks
the mysteries.


Playing with the dVerse Poets tonight. Mary has done a fantastic job tending the Poetics bar — featuring the sketches of dVerse’s own Claudia Schoenfeld. With the artist’s permission, we celebrate the art of water colors and poetry melding together.

This poem can now be found in The Unique & Sundry, which happens to be available on Amazon.