Monthly Archives: April 2012


There is no cramp in all these things

All these things and the stuff that

fills your eyes with comfort and

pleasure for the having of them.

Curios of life’s adventures and

thrift shop finds and antique malls

and garage sale treasures.

Family heirlooms with history

made to be seen for the stories they tell

Somethings fill that void of wanting

Even in the no feel of want or notice of void


Sippy the coffee…  Here’s where this is going….




It’s the great Show n’ Tell of a pirates quest

Dug up n’ scavenged from someone else’s chest

Pulled right out of their heart for the take

and the story that is now mine for the telling

And who doesn’t like a good story from the heart

told with a peg leg, a parrot, and blind eye?


This Pirate doesn’t live in sparse, or the let go,

or the relinquish of treasure beneath the sand

castle with the tide coming in on time

I see perfectly and only walk with a lilt.

I wear my hat at a rakish angle and

I let that parrot free long ago 

The ocean air is mine to breathe

And I sail my ship no matter 

the way of the wind


I like my bounty and I share it.

And like any good pirate with an

‘argh’ and straight shot of white lightnin’

I revel in the quest and the find

The ‘x’ marks the spot right there

The shown n’ tell of the sharing

Finding the heart of the matter

in the doubloon of your soul

cause my friend if you don’t want it

I just might or I find someone that does


I’m here for the story and the things 

pretty on the eyes, and the quest

of an old Pirate who finds pleasure

in other’s fading stories worth a

bounty full of treasure







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Howdy… pause… returning to coffee pot.  Back now… aaaahhh. you know what I’m doing… pause.. sippy…black gold rolling in.


Alrighty… today the NaPoWriMo prompt is to take a poem already in existence and write it in opposition to what it says.  What?  Yep… I kinda like this prompt and I’m going to take one of my own previously rambled poems and see how I can change it.  eek…   OK… I change my mind, I just took a gander at a few of my poems and it’s seems like too much work to go for one of those.  


So..I’m gonna go for W.B. Yeats… like that will be easier, Right?  I’m not even sure I get this poem.  


tho’ as I have now read it several times, I have to say I believe it is about Jesus being crucified and buried.  I really don’t know I just copied it and pasted it here spontaneously.  Here is his and below will be mine.. 


The Magi  
by W. B. Yeats
Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones

Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky

With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,

And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,

Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,

The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.


The realist… by Jeanne Adwani


I can’t remember the last time I looked beyond myself

Out there to the loosely, devil may care brilliance of them

Fully presence before me radiating nonchalance in the night

I forgot all that youthful glory, shimmering like a full moon

Self centered, fresh faces, know-it-alls, the world their oyster

Seeing it all for the first time, reveling in the wonder

Calvary’s loss, a distance reverberation to their grab of the world

That makes each moment a thrilling mystery of a Universe unfolding


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Sippy the brew… let it tumble on through.  Mornin’  Poetry prompt today… write a lullaby.  That means something sweet and tender, all soft and rhythmic.  I was slammin’ yesterday and today I’m gonna follow the prompt and go to my sweet place. I might have to forage around inside my heart for a minute, not to say that sweetness doesn’t rise up in me often, it’s just that I tend to polka dot it with humor and distraction.


Shh my sweet love close your tired eyes

Let me caress you soft beneath the night sky

Feel the silk of the pillow the warmth of my breath

Sink deep into slumber, give yourself rest


Dream the sweet dream of our love tender and true

Dream of our days lost in love me and you

For now my sweet love close your tired eyes

Sink deep into slumber, beneath the night sky


And when you awake with dew on your lips

My darling my sweet I will be here with a kiss

So, shhh my sweet love, my darling, my one

Sink deep into slumber till the rise of the sun







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I went to a poetry reading last night at SweetWater Cafe in Ann Arbor.  Open mic… I read two poems.  Wahoo. And enjoyed the poetry of 10 others.. And the guest poet is an incredibly gifted wordsmith named, Jamaal May.  Google him… I felt inspired and excited to be in the presence of his being and his words.   He can do the ‘slam’ thing like nobodies business.  yeowza.  I might.. and I repeat… I might give the memorizing thing a try cause performing poetry gives it so much juice and thrill.  Even a Geezer Girl might beable to pull it off.



 I wanna slam it.  I wanna slam it like

a door needs closing on the ass of a

lover gone rogue, or the stench of septic

yesterdays, or slam it on the goodbyes

that need sayin’ again in the one more

time I mean it sorta way.

 or maybe

slam the book on it to give dramatic

emphasis.  Slam bam thank you mame

Thank you for letting me vent on that door

That barrier, that separator between spaces

So I can call back my privacy for a time

Or maybe

Sometime in the quiet way like the tender

close of a door to not wake the baby or the

whisper soft kiss of good morning

needs a quiet exit cause love needs more

dream time.  Dream time to savor all 

that sweetness behind the bedroom door


I wanna slam it like words that need sayin’

Out-loud and proud to be said.  No barriers

in the way or doors to get closed hard and fast

to keep life away when life needs to be said

Live it loud and soft in the however the slams

gets delivered to you unexpectedly

and maybe

Once in awhile cause the need is great

I’ll slam the door on you cause I’m lost 

for words and need some time to gather myself

BTW… PLEASE visit my tarot and numerology blog..  thanks

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Mornin’  Today’s prompt is to write about a picture.  I have some beautiful water colours I took pictures of by Jackie Landry.  I choose one of hers as I told her so long ago that I wanted to give poetic voice to her lovely art.  so… To you Jackie I dedicate this.


I hear the horizon call

Through the grey cast of gloom

A slit of golden a rising flame

It heats my want.  A slow tease

of restless sends a shiver in

the brew of the storm licks

my face, tosses my hair.


There is caress in the danger

I feel it stroke at my edges

like the lap of waves at my scow

that glides out to the deep sea

Sails set to be grabbed by

winds assault to feel the spray

of salt sting my flesh


I am open like the sea

Held to the tides of being

Wrapped in the wrath of storm

Settled by the setting sun

Diving into myself to find myself

And just out there is a slice of gold

That is the end of my rainbow 







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Yesterdays prompt from NaPoWriMo came out  later in the day, too late for my writing ritual.  And… I kinda wanna give it a go today.  A sonnet.  I tried one a long time ago and can’t say I felt successful.  Might not this a.m either but what the heck right?



There was no missing yesterday

Fully dressed and accounted for

Now past, it is gone,  into today

Yesterday is now part of my lore


It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy the day

with the snips and style and chat

An eve of music with friends we played

Sipping a cocktail remembering this and that


It’s soft to linger in the goodness past

With yesterday’s weave full of living

I challenge the stones that have been cast

Making my own future of my own giving


With yesterday gone and right here is where I be

I will let this day be what it is and I will just be me


This is what the Prompt was…


And now the prompt. Today, because it’s the 14th, I challenge you to write a sonnet. Sonnets have been around for hundreds of years, and there are plenty of variations in the form. Generally, they have 14 lines. But a Shakespearean sonnet is in iambic pentameter, with a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g. A Petrarchan sonnet has a rhyme scheme of a-b-b-a, a-b-b-a, and then either c-d-e-c-d-e or c-d-c-c-d-c. Spenserian sonnets have a scheme of a-b-a-b, b-c-b-c, c-d-c-d, e-e, and don’t tend to follow the Petrarchan sonnet’s philosophical bent. There are blank verse sonnets (14 lines, iambic pentameter, no rhyme) and contemporary poetry brings us sonnets that neither rhyme nor observe any particular meter. For example, Ted Berrigan’s Sonnet 34:

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Mornin’… It’s very still outside this morning.  No wind is capturing the trees against the pale grey sky.  It’s chilly and the air smells fresh with Spring.  Birds are filling the air with their song, so much that I wonder why that alone isn’t making the branches move and the grass wave.  Noisy in a beautiful way.  So full of anticipation making their little nests in my bushes and in the corner of my house.  I like noticing, smelling, the freshness, listening to aliveness, while I sippy my coffee.


Day 14 and no… no.. NaPoWriMo prompt from their site.  WAT?  must have been the advent of Friday the 13th messin’ with them.  Not that I need a prompt to prompt me.  I just have to notice what’s going on around and within me for that.  Hey… anyone have a prompt for me?  REally.. send me a prompt and I will promptly, have a go at it.  I love a prompt, it’s a challenge.


I got my hair cut yesterday

It’s more than just OK

I’m feelin’ sassy cute


Nice to feel for an old broad

Kinda cool and sorta mod

I got my hair cut yesterday


I’m feelin’ sassy cute

I’m afraid I still give a hoot

Vanity does that to an old girl


It’s more than just OK

Makes me feel quite fey

Love the magic of a new do


Nice to feel for an old broad

Living without being a freud

I got my hair cut yesterday


Makes me feel quite fey

Better than bad hair days

I’m still kinda cool for an old broad


I got my hair cut yesterday




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Morning.. thanks to all of you that read and shared my yesterday.    Stuff rolls around and in and out and through… we don’t git outta here alive, is one of those whispered phrases that lines life’s inner edges as the geezerin’ takes hold, and your people start leaving the earth plane.  I like seeing the sun rise today.

Todays prompt from those NaPoWriMo peeps is to write a ‘ghazel’.  I know… whatz that?  It’s an old Persian form that I’m not going to try and explain cause I’m just gonna try and write one right now and see if you get it.  And then maybe I’ll get it.



I couldn’t be happier to fill my body up with breathin’

Staring at the Sun rise inspires my breathin’


It’s said there’s no gittin’ outta here alive

Time will come when there will be no breathin’


I cherish those deep inhales that keep me livin’

Can’t be worried about when there is no more breathin’


Only mortality slaps the life right outta ya

When loved ones meet the fate of no more breathin’


The rush of what might be if sickness fills ya

The immanent knowing that there will be no breathin’


Death is a stalker for life in the taking

Sooner or later it will take your breathin’


Live it up real good while you have it

Fill up on some goodness while your still breathin’


Now is all you ever have in your breathin’

Live the life you cherish with each breathe 


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in memory of my brother…Jere Norbert Beauchamp


You gave your last breath

Now has no momentum here

Time has no suspense


Time has no suspense

your body empty  at rest

Loved ones feel relief


Loved ones feel relief

In the grief of your last breath

Living hurts awhile


Living hurts awhile

In a flood of years gone by

Loss grips the heart beat


Loss grips the heart beat

Lonely is a steady creep

History rises up


History rises up

Wakens all the yesterdays

Memory takes us


Memory takes us

All roads  bring us home at last

Star light stars so bright


Start light stars so bright

May death give your light free flight

You took your last breath


My brother, Jere, transitioned this morning at 6:43am.  Namaste’



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Honor the bitter brew… & sippy the coffee

Sippy the coffee… I wave my hand to the heavens in gratitude for this dark bitter brew.  Today’s NaPoWriMo, prompt suggests to dive into the senses.  Smell it, taste it, feel it, see it, hear it… A multi-sensorial experience.

So… in honor of the bitter brew.




Beans dark like fertile earth

Hard roasted till the seep of oil

Declares there readiness

And their crisp shell mets the blade


They tap together in the pour

a chant to morning awakening

Whirs the first explosion of crunch

And the waft of bitter dirt expands


A fragrant want slides in my brain

My tongue remembers all my mornings

A slight thrill shivers through me

As I lay the dark grind in the filter


Exactitude is no measure for me

Spooning as much as seems right

Watching the water level rise 

Pushing the button that incites the brew


There is no room in the house that

eludes the gurgle and bubble 

Longing for the first sip

I pull the pot with the last spit of it


Snaps hot at my impatience 

Lays one quick sear on my hand

I pour the black bitter brew 

Let the haze of steam rise up


It clouds my vision for one moment

While I bring it to my lips

Feel the burn of it on my tongue

Let the dark earth of it fill me up


With the morning race of my heart beat

down to my toes and finger tips

I am grounded in the morning

Rising to the alert of the day





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