Four chambers pump and dump





pulsing against at a chest that can barely contain them.


Will there ever be a time

when I don’t set upon a memory of you

and my eyes don’t well,

my arms don’t ache for you,

my stomach doesn’t drop in excited anticipation

of your kiss at the base of my chin?


Is there anything as bitter on the tongue as remorse?


Can life be so long and so cruel as to brainwash me

into believing there is a time for us,

a place for us somewhere over the rainbow

or beneath the magnolia trees;

or will you lure me there, once again,

with your sweet words and devil tongue

only to gaslight my daydreams?


Our puzzle is scattered, unfinished

I’m on my hands and knees seeking the pieces

that lay strewn about



I know our lips will meet

after all this time

We will meld,

our teeth may bump

as we rearrange ourselves

we may twist and turn,

attempt after each silly, giggling attempt,

until our four corners


take hold

and frame

the explosion of colors and shapes we left in the middle.




It’s been a long time since I wrote and even longer since I wrote for Studio30.

But the words given to us ; remorse, gaslight/brainwash seemed to want to play.

Thank you for stopping by, I’m glad you’re here. 

Double Jeopardy

I never asked for more than you promised over and over again in heated whispers with your hot lips pressed to mine.

And if I am complicit in any crime

perhaps it’s the one mired in betrayal (yours)

and ignorance (mine)

As you savor your rum; red and slick like that sticky mess left on your hands, the voices in your head satisfy your convictions.

It was for her own good.


So you killed one to keep another.


Swallow your vows,

bite your tongue,

and wait for counsel

counting the years until your confession means nothing.


Soon enough, dearie, soon enough you can convince your peers it never happened.


But if they ever come back for you

just tell them what you told me

as you plunged the knife and split my soul

It was never about the money….

I did it all for love.


murder wordle

-written (the first thing I’ve written in months) for The Reverie Journal prompt of “Murder She Wrote”. 

Precipice Volume 3 is Here!

Words and stories fuel me.

Stories in every form, from fiction to memoir, interest and entice me.

In the years since I have embraced the writer inside me I have been lifted, broken, intrigued and awed by the stories I have had the privilege to read. I have also been filled with joy by sharing my own stories and poems with you. There is nothing like a community of people who “get” you and help you find your words as you tell your stories.

Precipice Volume 3 is available today from the editors of Bannerwing Books.  Those women of Bannerwing are tireless in their goal to bring you beautiful, thoughtful, thought-changing stories.

This year the theme for this beautiful anthology was boundaries. The contributors brought their best work and you feel that between the pages as they explored the idea of barriers, confines, invisible lines and boundaries of every kind.

I have a poem in this book, one about stars and distance and hope.

I hope you get your copy.

I hope the stories by some of my favorite people, women who have shared the most beautiful stories of their lives, become your favorites.


You can get your copy here today, Monday November 17th.

Precipice cover_final


***I’d like to thank the team at Bannerwing Books for choosing Stargazing for this book. To Angela, Cameron and Mandy, thank you.


I am so honored to be among the pages of this beautiful anthology along with some dear friends; Kristen Vanderhay Shaw, Elaine Alguire  Jennifer Williams, Andrea Mowrey, Angie Kinghorn, Shelton Keys Dunning, Elizabeth Yon and many others.


my heart leapt out to meet yours

caution signs avoided

peril ignored






and blipped..just once

(ok, twice)

allowing you to riff then rip (it apart)


Red flags were blowin’

sun in my eyes, warmth stealing under my skin coating the inside of my thighs

between the spaces where ecstasy melts into aching  and back again

you passed into my chamber of secrets, if you will,

and sealed our fate forever



The shame, the secrets, the sanctimonious stares

would have been worth the sweet, sultry taste of sinning …

You’re sitting somewhere; on a carefully built pedestal in your leaning –ivory- tower-of – priggishness wishing the water would come in and take all those memories out to sea…

I’m sitting here just wishing I’d kissed you more.


The Reverie is  a new  poetry community I’ve found myself in and (whispering, hoping they let me stay…) I love it.

This week they prompted with a Burning Denial or a Regret:

Sometimes the things we deny ourselves tells us a lot about ourselves.

So tell us, what have you said no to, but you wish you could say yes?


The smallest lick ignites a spark,

the breezes blow

while kindling catches

and warms your skin


You lean in to feel,

to touch,

stroking the metal

poking the offerings

extending your hand

free of trepidation

And wait for the fire…


your insides



for the quiet flicker of flames

mistaking the devouring of your soul for a

lovely incandescence floating above the bonfire


his legerdemain drips bitter on your tongue


your heart’s become merely a fleshy mound on his spit


showing  no penitence

his rips at your tender skin.

with pointed and bared teeth


Don’t wish for water….

The beast must be fed.


Linking to three prompts with this one…

Mama’s Losin’ It
Write a post inspired by the word : bitter 
Velvet Verbosity Writing Prompt
This week’s word: Beast 
lightandshade logo
Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do

Good Girl

That girl

with her grown up job

and three inch heels

still feels like a child most days.

Even though she comes when she’s called mommy or honey

she yearns for someone to put their mouth against her skin

and call her baby instead,

summoning her dreams from their private places.


She doesn’t follow rules or

listen to the rhetoric of voices

she’s just doing the best she can

to drown out  the silken speech of temptation

while ignoring the yearnings you inspire.


She can stay good as long as you don’t ask her to be bad.


Because if you just reach for her,

eager to draw out the young girl playing dress up

and kiss her like she’s  somethin’

then all bets are off…

she’s gonna follow you anywhere.



I have  a lot of respect and awe for people that write beautiful/soulful/inspiring  poetry.

I just got acquainted with The Reverie and they have a prompt this week asking us to be inspired by a really cool KONGOS song:  Come With Me Now: and decided to write something.


A Fool for the Man



The choice should be simple

And yet…

It’s not.


head and heart

be fightin’

tooth and nail

like your siblings at the Thanksgiving dinner table

until your grandmother is tsk-tsking

and your mama is sighin’

and your daddy is yellin’

and pretty soon your very

soul is sobbin’…


Because the grass IS greener and the colors ARE brighter

and he was the one dream

you never counted on

coming true.


But you’ll try-

pickin’ up your fork to swallow down your

pride alongside the lumpy mashed that keeps getting stuck to the dry roof of your mouth


You’re damn sure gonna need more tears to wash that mess down girlie.


So keep on pickin’,

scraping those tongs across your plate

and keep forgettin’

if you know what’s good for ya.


Cause ya never know when the world will get weird

and you’ll be sidesteppin’ every memory

only to land smack-dab in the middle of long ago-and-far-away

reminiscing about how good it felt to kiss his mouth


You ain’t never gonna be prepared when

he’s standing, right there, in front of ya again…

and dear Jesus, all you’ll be thinkin’ is

Lord Almighty that man is fine

while all you’re hearin’ is


or Patti

or Barry  (whichever one gets those juices flowin’)

movin’ through your veins like a wink from the other side of the room.


Heart’s already gone…

while your head’s shaking its own, muttering

you foolish, foolish, girl”

….damn child,  here we go again.



For Studio30Plus

(are you #WritingWithUs yet? You should be!)

I missed last week and so I have used both prompts since one was from my piece Autumn Offering.

“The choice should be simple”

and this week’s

“here we go again/weird

from Nonamedufus and Tara’s offerings.



just working for ’em

if you tip your hat

I’m likely to

tip my hand


and let those words on the tip-

of my tongue-

slide right off and

tip you off



the scales

and leave me slipping all over the iceberg,

the tip of which only you can see.


Here’s a tip-

if you let my chin rest



on your fingertips


you can find a way to

tip my head

and kiss away all this pain


I’ll get the bill-

If you’d consider offering me more than 20 percent.


I adore people like Marian and Whismygizmo who can write such incredible poetry.

I’m not as talented as my incredible friends but I hope you enjoyed this all the same. 

It’s Strange You Never Knew

tie a string around your finger

set a timer

organize your calendar

or wait for the church bells to announce the hour

but please never forget


there are no sunsets

if that great yellow globe hasn’t been shining all day

or rainbows

if the sky hasn’t opened and cried its heart out


you never need to




(but if you do, please just ask)


because even when you’re not occupying space

close by

you are always spinning


looping through the rivers of my bloodstream

paying rent in the deep caverns of my mind


you may have forgotten

but I can’t…

or won’t…


I’ll simply linger

until the world has faded the picture

I refuse to set fire to.

Mazzy Star’s got nothin on me.

In response to the prompts for Light and Shade Challenge

lightandshade logo

Weekly Writing Prompt

and Velvet Verbosity’s word of the week:








Signature Scent


You told me,

once upon a time,

how you despised the scent of coconut.

(as if the small hard fruit itself had offended you)


I never asked for an explanation,

but eager to please


preconditioned to seek your approval

I banished my menagerie of pots and bottles

to the dark (deep) corners of my vanity.


Replacing them with the aromas of vanilla and honeysuckle  peach

on my inner thigh,

hopeful for your kiss.

When I was rewarded with a finger -traced peck I suppose I called it even

and forgot all

about the lotions-

potions- that defined me.



Life shifted, like sand on a July beach.

I shivered in the wicked cold of the winter I’d been thrust into

by your washed hands

with the bouquets of Spring doing nothing to warm me.

As a child of sun-drenched days, salty-sweet kisses and copper skin,

progeny of light dimpled waves and air pregnant with moisture and Coppertone,

my husk yearned for beaches and chlorine ridden pools of water.


They say smell conjures our memories more quickly than any other sensation.

What I  do remember is



making me … umm…


sunshine spreading itself along the lines of my body,

deep wheat(y) ales

your smile that warmed my extremities

but I can’t recall the aromas of our rendezvous.


Sights and touches;

what I felt, what you saw

what we said

all comes back so fiercely

I am sure my sniffer must be stuffed up.


Until I reach for the (coconut) cream I’d abandoned

pop the cap,

squeeze the exotic into my open palm and breathe in…


the sweetness sinks readily into my skin

soothing the everlasting burn of you…


it’s been bananas all along.





For Master Class I actually picked the word last week and never got around to writing for it (Sorry SAM!)

So this week I used both words: coppertone and preconditioned. 

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