Some recently published poems

I recently had a poem published. So, I’ve decided to post that, and some of the others published in the last few months. Lately, I’ve been fooling around with 5-7-5 poems – like Haikus – but not confined to nature subjects. That’s been a lot of fun – like writing 140-character poems shown below.


Last Chance
My last chance
for a hug
and the words,
I love you
died with him
as he walked down the hall,
into his dark room,
and forever out of my sight.

One Afternoon
We turned left on 24th Street, driving slowly
as the narrow road wound up and up.
There was a light rainfall,
just enough to sprinkle our windshield,
but not enough to put our wipers on.
The hills were bright green, like technicolor,
and flecked with dark green clumps of trees
and patches of mustard.
When the sun appeared,
they had an iridescence
like mounds of emerald chips.

Soon we were in wine country
outside of Paso Robles, with rows
and rows of budding vines surrounding us.
We parked at the winery furthest out
and were shocked by the chill wind –
a reminder that we were only half way
between winter’s cold and the warmth of spring.
Still, we sat on the patio, sipping deep red wine
and watching the blades of grass sway with the gusts
as birds like sentinels chirped their songs.
We found another not so twisty way back down.
By the time we arrived at our inn,
it had turned dark and cold.

Underarm Dingle-Dangle
Semi-inflated balloons
hang under my upper arms.
My friend June used to call this
flapping-in-the-wind phenomena
kimono arms, or, to get right to the point,
underarm dingle-dangle.
They resist every try
to firm them up. I can’t bear heavy weights,
and sissy little three-pounders do no good.
Yet I do my puny triceps and biceps moves
at least three times a week anyway.
I’ve exercised like a fiend
most of my life: playing tennis, running,
practicing Pilates and Yoga,
and now walking miles
along the ocean.
My obsession keeps me sane –
it saved my life and
out of the psych ward after my son died –
and trim enough to defy
those who called me fatso
when I was a little girl.
No, I can’t get rid of the dingle-dangle –
I won’t it cut off
as once suggested.
Nor will I expose it in public
wearing halter and tank tops
and strapless gowns.
But I can suck it into
a tight-fitting long-sleeved tee.

140 Character or Less Poems

Autumn Isolation
I like that as the trees rustle outside,
stripping in the sunlight,
I can’t hear their sway
I can’t hear their song.

Riding the Waves
Hummingbirds are skinny-dipping
in my garden pool,
bouncing off the fountain,
surfing the surrounding leaves.

Since He Left His Toothbrush
He recited Byron’s words
“yet we’ll go no more a roving
by the light of the moon”
as a final fare thee well,
but she knew he’d be back.

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