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Quiet back roads
Late day light
Me and my cameras
And a full tank of gas

Windows down as I drive
Locusts in the trees
Imagining their tiny wings
Creating sound with friction

Wooden sheds
Rusted trailers, wild chicory
Cars in their graves
Alone and abandoned

Flowers in a cowboy boot
Hung from an oversized mailbox
Tied with a paisley bow
Faded from the sun

Young does alert
But I pose no danger
Yes, I will shoot them
Using my Canon

Empty farmhouse, still
Ancient oaks hemmed in by hot wire
Fencing in ghosts
And a few head of cattle

Trestle bridges, planked flooring
Once mighty
But still grand
Loud in the crossing

Steepled churches, crumbling cemeteries
Barns, silos, limestone foundations
Unexpected treasures
I seek what I don’t know I’ll find

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Don’t snuff out your own bright lights
Bad enough that others will try to do that for you
Assemble your efforts to reach ever higher
Ascend those jagged rocks to pinnacled peaks
Find your own beauty and grandeur
Finesse your own sweet way in the world
Leave stifling to old reruns
Shame on anyone who would seek to undo
your sense of purpose, your sense of self.

Leave them, and go.

Daily Prompt: Stifle

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The rough edges of
how I appear to the world
require daily filings
if only the angle required
to get at it all
wasn’t so confounding.

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Your eyes grabbed hold of me
more than ten years ago.
I’ve been haunted by them
ever since.

Sitting on a bus
between classes
I noticed you
in the backseat of a car.
You were hugging the window.
How frail you looked:
lost, bewildered, afraid.

We exchanged glances
and I wondered then
(and yet still today)
if you were neglected.
Perhaps abused.
Did you feel unloved?
A ship at sea, unmoored,
tossed and battered and ungrounded:
that’s how you appeared to me.

I’ve thought of you many times
and wondered what became of you.
Has life treated you well?
Was joy a part of your days?
Have you been happy?

I hope Love called your name.

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Actinic keratosis
seems hubby was right
liquid nitrogen’s burn — and tingle
deftly applied to
persistent spots
on my face, my legs
parts of me forever exposed to the sun;
denial, years in the making.

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Memories
silky and refined
gossamer threads
neatly woven
embracing our every need
and desire
sometimes turning frayed
and becoming unraveled
always pulling
tugging
insisting
on forced intimacies
and enacted
whispers of light
evoked by the smallest
of transgressions
and promises,
regularly consumed
by hydrangea days
and gardenia nights
exasperating us all.

Daily Prompt: Evoke

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OK.

THIS part of me – my faults, my hang-ups, my frailties – they’re yours. You can have them.

You can sift through the rest to see if anything sparks your interest. Doubtful, though.

Doubtful.

This beating heart of mine, however, is spoken for.

Flipping and flopping, stopping and starting,
unsure at times whether I really have what it takes – that’s taken.

Ditto my sometimes unsavory soul, my intermittent hopes, my juicy passions. Likewise, my unrelenting dreams and unseemly quirks.

I don’t know what else to tell you. Perhaps you should just look elsewhere.

Daily Prompt: Carve

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Young children (and certain adults) resist leafy, green vegetables:
Kale. Spinach. Swiss Chard.

Paunchy, prematurely gray men nix the idea of an early morning run.

Millennials txt lk ths, punctuation be damned.

Hipster chicks on a frigid Friday night: warm coats left behind. Hardly enchanting when mummified against the cold.

Politicians and the truth: Need I say more?

Daily Prompt: Allergic