Aye, Ambic, the Five-Footed Cat!


A brindled mouser scampered up the drive

In search of mousies to keep her alive

O when a mouser is out and about

the mousies stay a-hiding without doubt


* * *


Okay, it’s not my forte!  Frank at dVerse is just plain mean-spirited, asking us to do Iambic Pentameter (cue the Vincent Price background organ music)!  But I think I did it.  It’s not pretty, but there it is.




The Truly Horrible Tale of Yuck


Peter Sellers as Dr. FuManchu as Elvis


Who among you

recall the legend of Yuck Fu?

His real name,

Slavisla (Bud) Crescu,

he was a Norwegian Hindu.

A trickster, true –

sported Fu Manchu,

mustaches, a braid or two,

charmed, bilked a hapless few.

caught by Syn Dee Lu

undercover detective – true!


* * *

Okay, De is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub, and she gave us the poetically-charged prompt, “Yuck.”  How could I not go lyrical with a prompt like that?


Should the image offend — remember he was a British actor in a British movie.  If my remark about Yuck being a Norwegian — I am a quarter Norwegian, and am allowed to laugh at my own people (in fact, I think it’s mandatory in Scandinavian countries… or at least it is in Minnesota and North Dakota.  I’ll have to research the statutes in Florida.)  My remarks about mustaches and braided ponytails stand as written.  Any resemblance between the drummer and this blogger are purely coincidental — although Paul may be contacted for possible identification of the bugger.



My Autumn Self



I am an autumn leaf in freefall.

My swing is suspended
from a nexus





as I descend.

by winds that gust,


before the rush.

from the now – riding
a madcap playground.

Will you pick me
up from where I land;
treasure what I’ve become….

or crush me
underfoot on your way
to tomorrow?

One Among


When the church purchased the building that shared the back wall of the education wing, I had visions of it becoming either a youth activity center or the new home of our food pantry.  The day the keys were handed over to me, I went into this obviously limited but amazingly cool space. Long and narrow – barely twenty feet wide and ninety feet of open floor with a cast iron spiral staircase in the very back – it drew me in.

What held me was the wall of exposed brick, a hundred years or older, with slap-dab mortar slopping out between the rough red masonry.  The bricks all were stamped with an eight-pointed star, a logo, and the name of the defunct and forgotten company. Every brick of a piece; uniform red, uniform shape.  But for the one with the fatal flaw.

One brick among the many had obviously been handled roughly.  A corner of the brick, about a quarter of its length, was broken away.  The mason had simply tapped the brick into place, slapped on extra mortar and kept moving.

I considered that one brick for a long time.  I don’t know how long.

In it I found my own failure.


a rock covered beach
ocean waves lift and drop them
every stone a voice


* * *


Haibuning at dVerse Poets Pub with guest artist… host, qbit (Randall).  The prompt is One Self, En Masse.  Come along and see what all that entails!

Newly Hatched


photo by Charley


Newly hatched
plot.  Freed,
from the surface of living
day to day, we (dragon)fly
our joy, each circling
the other.  Cherish
each loop,

for now.  A lifespan of mindful bliss.


* * *

Next to irony — enjambment!



Quadrille: No Safe Harbor




Five thirty-six.
March twenty-seven
(on Good Friday)
nineteen sixty-four.

Unloading Spring’s first ships –
children, men, dogs watching.

Plug pulled.
Nine-point-two quake.
Valdez Harbor emptied.

Tsunami flood
to tune of sixty-seven meters.
One hundred thirty-nine perished.

Ring of Fire.

Tectonics, y’all!

Shift happens.


* * *

It’s Quadrille Night at dVerse Poets Pub.  The magic word is “Harbor.”  …I dunno.  It was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt.









Quadrille: But Who’s Counting?





Forty-four.  Just forty-four!

Hyphenated words count as one;

I looked it up.  (Forty-four!)

Forty-four; got to keep that in my head.

Forty-four… although word count helps.

I used to spell it “Fourty-four”

when I was a kid.  Forty-four.

Count them up quick… er, quickly!



* * *


It’s another Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets Pub!  What’s a quadrille?  A poem of only… um, lessee… I used to know this.  Anyway, c’mon over and help tally ’em up!