Prison Jar

Plucking flowers and leaves

Think I have everything I’d need

But I softly fade, like the clippings you drop in


Pixies dim when they are sad

But I have no telling light like that

I plead through the opaque glass, but don’t catch your eye


Do you know as you rest on your pillow

Placing my prison jar gently in arms reach

Do you know as your dreams soar through the ceiling

That I’m alone, though you are near, I’m incomplete


Morning comes, I feel the sunrays

I slowly rise: trembling, I pace

I’m losing air, and the boundary seems greater now


Sleepy eyes greet me through the shine

Smile turned frown, I’m borrowed time

Hurriedly you take the lid and cast it to the floor


Do you know that I will never hate you

Gentle thoughts, but far too much, you’ve hurt my tender form

Do you know I’m grateful you’ve released me

I’ll never tell, it might be well too late to “save me” more

A #NaPoWriMo piece inspired by the prompt: “Imagine you are a tiny person, who has been captured and put into a jar for display or science”



The Crown I’d Wear

#NaPoWriMo continues!

Today’s prompt: “Imagine you, but in a completely different life based on making a different decision that impacted everything else.”

I’m not generally one who looks back regretting.  I like to think that all roads, good and bad, have led me and are leading me in a specific direction. Plus: in the movies, changing things doesn’t generally turn out for the better.  I’ll keep my lot and work with what I’m given.  Ever forward!

I decided to live out a semi-dream of mine for the sake of the prompt, though on record – I wouldn’t go back and change anything.  Honestly, this dream was a passing thought that maybe could have gone somewhere. God only knows ~

*Here ends the explanation that is 10 times longer than the poem itself.*

The Crown I’d Wear

Beastly palace home

Forty hours I’d give my smiles

Memories they keep



I Had 3 Quarters

Oh how I longed for reprieve, no wait.

Yet, here I stand with mouth agape.

I blink, I blink, I cannot think.

Although I have money, I can’t purchase my drink.


I feel angry, especially annoyed.

This is no R2-D2 droid.

This is a broken contraption circa ’85.

A vending machine that is hardly alive.


I once had expectations high.

I believed, when the pocket change caught my eye.

Now the sign taunts me, tells me to seek fountain H20.

“Out of Order,” it laughs; I kick the machine and go.

A poem for National Poetry Writing Month (#NaPoWriMo).  The prompt?  “Write about your feelings when there is an out of order sign on a vending machine.”

Of Kitchens and Grandmothers

In celebration of NaProWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) 2020, I’ll be kicking things off here with a little writing piece brought into being through the prompt, “Focus on a single memory, or describe what you might imagine the typical grandmother’s kitchen to be like.”


Oh Simpler Times


Sunlight sneaks through windows

Wash hands as yonder see the field

Space is bigger to a youngling

Beg for sampling, she will yield


There’s always too much sugar for the lemon

There’s always extra chocolate for the milk

There’s never want for purse-found candies

There’s never enough of her genuine ilk


Hide from the left that made it over

Hold out hands for sugary sweets

Hugs so soft they warm the soul

The Grandest of Mas never fail to treat

Follow by Email