letting down

she’s finally left
the home she knows

circle dance
holding hands

with smiling

and the man
she loves

the sun
is a circle

it is about that
they dance

yet not really

is the subject

even to herself

and all
about her

she is home
yet doesn’t know

/ / /

I knew immediately which dance/movie/character I wanted to write about when I saw the video at Poem Tryouts: Will You Dance? at Wordgathering. Thanks, Margo.

I won’t tell you which movie it’s from. But it is featured in the video. In one of those cases of synchronicity that cannot be ignored, I had watched this movie the day before with my wife and younger son. I had remembered a scene from the movie that moved me the first time I saw it; but it was this scene on a second viewing that had me tearing up.

hold ’em

she dealt the cards
and soon called my bluff

i didn’t want to call it quits
so i went all in

it was a chance
worth taking

and it paid off
adding to my chips

we all took turns
being the dealer

framing that round
of the game

framing their chances
and our chances too

calling the shots
back and forth

our egos billowing
as our stacks grew

the fiery talk
cooled by craft brews

or stoked by them
i’m not sure

then more beers
and singing

off key
repairing our friendships

egos forgotten
for a time

getting all



holding our cards
holding our alcohol

holding our yoga poses
holding our chances

of success
in our hands

crafting a winning hand
from what we hold

and what’s
on the table

calling a spade
a spade

rose is a rose
is a rose

she giggled
calling in question

the rose’s

we called a halt
to the game

calling it quits
for the evening

not even bothering
with last call

wanting to call in
sick the next day

then she
called me

a cab
and I giggled

and sang
call me

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 205 at The Sunday Whirl.

shaping the clay

we think of the end

a coffee mug
that warms our tongues

clay that has been fired
in a kiln, transformed

or do we take it
for granted

a comic book we read
at night before sleep

for dreams of powers
and wild adventures

to recover that
which has been stolen

to put out the fires
that burn the world

when it is the origin story
we truly seek

our beginnings
not the end product

or is that wrong too
is it

not the past
not the future

not was
not will be

through the now
i am


This poem was written in response to Wordle 204 at The Sunday Whirl.

th ough t s

they’re rustling again
dry leaves tumbling by

don’t grab them
it’s no blasphemy

to let them go
you don’t need to keep them

or even hold them
open your hands

and let the plague
drift away

back to the monkeys
and their busy minds

smell the sweet air
feel the shifting deck

beneath your feet
rising and falling

earthen waves
in geologic time

here before you were
born whole

and here long after you
no tears

no effort
no will

no thoughts
no you

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 203 at The Sunday Whirl.