“X” Marks The Spot

Since I decided to center my A-Z entries around my life, Here is Chapter  “X” of the April A-Z Challenge.

“X” Marks The Spot

I remember that time of losing my dog, Black Jack. I was still living in New Orleans. – still married to my ex and we had to have our dog put down. And Mike (my ex) holding our precious Black Jack so close while the vet put her down. And he was sobbing. We’d raised this dog from birth almost. The off spring of Mike’s childhood dog. And we buried her under our cypress tree – the one we’d planted when life was young and we were unaware of so much.

Years after our divorce, he told me that the only tree left standing, after Hurricane Katrina, was that cypress tree we’d planted.

This song reminds me of Black Jack and that time in my life – and it’s just worth listening to if you’ve lost a dog you’ve loved.


He Wore A Purple Dress – (A Sonnet) A-Z April Challenge

Here is Chapter  “P” of the April A-Z Challenge.

Since I decided to center my A-Z entries around my life, and since I’m a poet, I thought I’d briefly discuss what inspires me…presently and in remembrance…when I’m writing.

Quite honestly, I’m not sure how it all comes together.  For instance, the sonnet I’ve put here (once again cuz it has a P word in it) was born while my husband and I were putting tiny blinky lights onto our Christmas tree  and I remembered a costume party my parents had hosted 4o+ years before.  When have I felt like this before?  How is this moment connected to another?  What do I  see differently now?  What is the same?

What I have discovered, writing this entry, is that getting from point A to point B doesn’t always make sense.

new-orleansHe Wore A Purple Dress

You took me to a party Sunday night.
I found the people there a rare delight!
But none is clearer in my memory
than one who wore a purple feathered tree
on top his head. Its twinkling lights were strung
just like a Christmas tree. So gay! So young!
And by an outlet he was forced to stand,
plugged-in, so everyone could see the grand
appearance of the tiny lilac lights
as they winked on and off. Such flashy sights!
This player might feel slighted, I confess,
without the mention of his mini-dress.
Such manly calves! I never will forget
how straight his seams ran up behind the net.


image via pixabay

The Internet & All That Jazz – April A-Z (I)


The Internet & All That Jazz

😦  i’m sorry i can’t be here so much right now.  my broken arm is really upsetting so many levels of our life.   over supper and champagne, we recall the importance of the letter ‘I’ in our lives.  Our faces ache from smiling.

My arm doesn’t hurt.   I’ve come to record this…

We’ve been married 15 years now.  You 10 years after a 17 yr marriage and me a few years after a 25-year marriage …others we’d met and dated since we were ‘suddenly single’, but…  what drew us to each other was our refusal to give up on love.

i was almost 50.  i was living in the new orleans french quarter.  louisiana.  i’d lived there, or near there since the day i was born.  you were 60.  you lived in palo alto, ca, and grew up in los angeles, ca.

sometimes, the world is so much smaller than one could ever imagine.  sometimes the heart’s hopeful whisper aches for attention.

our introductory internet text conversation:

me:  (after discovering what was proper to ask) so what do you do?

you:  i’m a nuclear physicist.

me:  (oh brother, yeah…right)  you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to have a conversation with me.

you:  (just as though you hadn’t noticed my slight)  what do you do?

me:  (this probably won’t go over so well but here goes) i’m a poet and a  secretary.

and here we are…15 years later.  married.  who we said we were…seeking the softer ground of acceptance – just like any other married couple…i think, anywayz.


image via pixabay

Baton Twirling – A-Z Challenge

This is from ‘An Autobiography Of  A Poet’ and was composed for the 2016 A to-Z April Challenge. I thought I’d make my April A-Z challenge some sort of autobiography.

Here is Chapter B:

 Baton Twirling

Where do those days go…and so quickly, too?

Baton twirling – perfect baton twirling – seemed to be the key to a life of success. The goal was to eventually be the head majorette of the high school marching band. Or Miss America. Anything seemed possible at the age of seven.

I wasn’t consistent in following that goal. I’ll blame becoming a poet for that. I can still feel the baton in my hand – always cold and not as forgiving as a No.2 pencil.


photo via yahoo images