Tiny House ~ American Sentence

A tiny house is only as small as the minds that are within it.

Our travels continue and will take us through Labor Day. Ten days ago, we were in Philadelphia and had the pleasure of spending an afternoon at the historic Valley Green Inn with Claudia McGill and Merril Smith. The tiny house that is pictured is a wonderful gift that I received from Claudia.

This American sentence is shared with Open Link Night #322 – Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

The American Sentence was created by Allen Ginsberg
~ loose American form of haiku, with 17 syllables
~ represented as a sentence
~ reference to a season is not required
~ similar to senryū
~ read more here & here

haunted by my past ~ gogyohka

in looming darkness
thoughts once abandoned
plague this worried soul
nothing is as it seems
haunted by my past

This gogyohka is my response to  Colleen’s Weekly #Tanka Tuesday #Poetry
Challenge No. 244 #Ekphrastic #PhotoPrompt,
with the art provided by Merril D. Smith.

Image source: Free Library of PhiladelphiaVisitor to Germantown by Benton Spruance
(click image for larger view in new tab)

Taken Wing

Taken Wing

Do memories, and the events that live
within them, exist on another plane?
When we consider them, sort them,
try to surmise the truth they hold,
do we change or diminish them in any way?
Are they like crows, amused at our attempts
to affect something that is beyond our reach?

Memories change. Details fade
with each telling. I wait for a sign,
watch the sky for their return,
but they have taken wing, are gone.

Within the comments I left on Backstories, by Merril Smith, I realized I had the germ of a poem. Thank you, Merril, for the inspiration.

How ironic, that I found this in the “Unfinished” folder on my laptop (from 13 months ago), wondering why I never posted it. Of course, with my Swiss cheese memory, maybe I have.

Shared with Open Link Night LIVE #298 at dVerse~ Poets Pub

Image source: pixels.com

Magic of the Oracle ~ magnetic poetry

Magic of the Oracle

The light in a breeze.
The perfume of the stars.
With her many voices,
breathing her soft laugh,
she dazzles as she celebrates.
Always, if we listen.

With help from The Oracle at Magnetic Poetry, this poem
is inspired by Merril Smith’s All the Questions.

If you want to try magnetic poetry, you can do it online, here.

Background image: Wikimedia Commons
Consulting the Oracle, by John William Waterhouse

Decompressing ~ haibun



I started scuba diving in my late twenties, reaching NAUI (National Association of Underwater Instructors) Advanced certification in my second year. I went on to gain certification in Wreck, Rescue, and Ice diving, while diving at every opportunity. I’ve only been “resort” diving twice (early on), to Cozumel, Mexico and Bonaire (formerly part of the Netherlands Antilles). The majority of my diving was in the Niagara River, but I’ve also dived off the shores of Massachusetts and Rhode Island, and I’ve done more than 50 wreck dives in the Great Lakes.

I collected a few finds over the years, from 19th century glass and clay bottles and jugs to boat anchors and an actual 300 pound ship’s anchor. I met some great people along the way, but the one thing I enjoyed the most was the solitary aspect of it – being alone with my thoughts with no sound except the air bubbles from my regulator, while still being able to enjoy my experience in the environment.

In 1990, after nine years of diving, I had an inner ear infection (non-diving related) that left me in bed with vertigo for a week. I was left with a continuous ringing in my left ear and brief lapses of minor vertigo when inverting my head or lying down too quickly. That vertigo became an increasing factor in my dives when sudden direction changes occurred, such as inverting briefly to get around an obstacle or while wreck diving. When I broke my ankle at work in 1998, I took it as a sign to end my diving, and never looked back.

air bubbles rising
to break the water’s surface
gone with the seasons

As guest host at dVerse, with Haibun Monday: TransitionsHaibun Monday: Transitions, Merril asks us to write about a transitional change in our lives. I think I’ve achieved that with my closing. Thank you, Merril.

Image: clay bottles – “Lemon Beer” bottle, (12″ tall) spring water bottle & jug –
plus glob-top beer bottle, boat anchor, and ship’s deadeye
(all Niagara River finds)


Last Waltz

Last Waltz

The Longest Sigh

In the winter of my life,
when stars have danced
and taken light
that would be mine
if only I had dared to dance,
then, skyward,
would I dare to glance
for answers and another
chance, to find it was
too late? For what are stars
that they should wait and not
perform another dance?

Not a pantoum, but inspired by Merril’s pantoum in response to the optional prompt for Day Twenty-two of National/Global Poetry Writing Month – to write a poem in which the impossible thing happens, from a choice of given statements, and this one was:
                    “The stars cannot rearrange themselves in the sky.”

Image source: Astronomy Picture of the Day
(NGC 3344, from ESA/Hubble and NASA)

NaPoWriMo 2018