The color wheel turns,
spilling yellow into blue–
and suddenly the world is
green, seeded, growing

The wheel of the seasons turns,
the green fades–
but the sun’s intensity lingers,
harvested into gold

The ferris wheel turns,
launching dreams
toward the indigo sky
before falling back to earth

The wheel of fortune turns
on the midway,
illuminating the night–
casting its hues into shadow

For the W3 prompt this week, Melissa gave us a choice of two Marc Chagall paintings, and asked us to respond to one of them and incorporate the colors in our poem. I chose “The Big Wheel”, above.

I did two paintings and cut one up to make a grid.

Also linking to dVerse, where OLN is hosted by Mish.


It took me awhile to get started with the Oracle this morning, but once I got the first couplet, the rest wrote itself.

I also consulted with the Oracle to answer Suzette’s W3 prompt for a haiku on the theme of a way to relax or unwind. The Oracle, as usual, has good advice.

who knows where now
has hidden its secrets?

the seeds root deep beneath
a wandering path of song

you must listen
to the rustle of stone

be forest whispered–
dream in sky music, soaring
on seawind moonships

slipping into the sunset

open spirit–
expand dance bloom–
the landscape enters singing

Collen provided another lovely photo from Terri Webster Schrandt for this week’s #Tanka Tuesday challenge. I’ve written an elevenie poem, which is the prompt from Sadje for this week’s W3.

Who Is

The days are pooled, caught narrowly
in pathways with windows
propped between temporarily
and suspended–limbo–
blurred, grey


can you tell when you have opened?
What do you use as your
Where has your reflection chosen
to reside?  inside stars?
or fear?

When David posted the W3 prompt this morning, where Destiny chose the memento form, which has 64 syllables in its two stanzas, for her prompt, I knew I had the answer for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday Birthday prompt–to construct a poem formed out of 65 syllables. I added one syllable between the two stanzas as a bridge, as in a puente–turning it into a memuente.

I’ve also used the dVerse prompt from Merril to include a window in my poem.

This also gave me a chance to show some photos of an accordion book I made for an online class that explored artist books. The instructor was not happy with my first idea, and this was not even close what I saw in my mind at all, but it has grown on me. I took many many photos of it, both open and closed–these are just a few. I do like the accordion format and I hope to explore it more.

Of course you know what my reflection chooses…

Off prompt again for NaPoWriMo.

My Muse Considers How to Poem Monet

veils of ephemeral light

how to paint a poem?—I ask you–
how to spell words into magic hue?

petals embossed under luminescent sun–
colors of their language far beyond my tongue–
lavender, saffron, pearl, mauve, cerulean–
phrases lack their vibrance, a pale impression

impossible to ink, to tattoo
linear reflections that sing true

veils of ephemeral light

Once again, combining a number of prompts. For Tanka Tuesday, Colleen provided the above photo of a lily from Terri Webster Schrandt. The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to “write a poem that addresses itself or some aspect of its self”. And The W3 Prompt, from Jane Aguiar, is to write a symetrelle poem that contains the word impossible.

Oh, and also Sarah at dVerse asked for a poem containing some form of yellow.

I’ve done lots of art inspired by Monet’s water lilies. I even did a book of grids and haiku inspired by them. But I’ve never even come close to the beauty of the paintings themselves in either art or words. If you ever get a chance to see one in person, grab it.

Of Eden, or: Paradise Lost

Once rampant with color, its fragrance long gone,
the paint has dried into textured lines–
afternoons of melodic stillness now mourned–
decorative traces lost inside frozen time.

The paint has dried into textured lines,
ringed by the noise of questions unasked–
decorative traces lost inside frozen time
bleeding destruction we haven’t yet grasped,

Ringed by the noise of questions unasked
life is tenuous, scattered, emotions removed–
bleeding destruction we haven’t yet grasped,
as over and over we bandage the wounds.

Life is tenuous, scattered, emotions removed,
following roads that only disappear–
over and over we bandage the wounds–
the darkness rises, overwhelming with fear.

Following roads that only disappear,
like the garden once bursting with growth—
the darkness rises, overwhelming with fear–
sky is silent, empty, brittle as bones

We lived in a garden bursting with growth,
afternoons of melodic stillness, now mourned–
sky is silent now, empty, brittle as bones–
once rampant with color, its fragrance long gone.

I love pantoums, but I usually don’t rhyme them, so this proved challenging to me. It still could use some revision, but I need to let it sit for awhile. Punam asked for a pantoum on the theme of abandonment for her W3 prompt this week. I had also been thinking about Sherry’s prompt at earthweal, asking us to write about all the species vanishing around us. And Colleen’s prompt for Tanka Tuesday, a painting by Monet (below), had me thinking about what we’ve lost since Monet painted all his overflowing gardens at Giverny. Will we one day only know such beauty as a digital image?

I also started out with a lot of words from this week’s Random Word Generator, but some of them dropped out during revisions.

night, owl, moon

observe the owl,
illuminated with shivering shadows
cast between branches
by the moon—

is it a sign,
an initiation?
or simply a reflection
of the enormous mystery
of a journey
whose path can never be

When I saw Jane’s Random Word Generator list this week, the first word that jumped out at me was owl, which of course reminded me of my moon and owl painting that seems to go so well with so many poems. I was thinking about it when David published the W3 prompt for this week, which invited us to respond to Denise DeVries’ poem “Generation Gap” using a computer aid, such as a Random Word Generator.

In Denise’s poem, she and her granddaughter look up in wonder at the night sky.

The words I used from Jane’s list were: observe, owl, illume (illuminated), shivering, cast, sign, initiate (initiation), reflect (reflection), enormous, foretell (foretold).

Denise wonders if using a Random Word Generator would be cheating. But words are just words, no matter the source–why would it be cheating to take any word from anywhere as inspiration for a poem? It’s the poet who must make them sing.

My Dream About Dogs

The dogs were here first.
You think you own them, but no–
they lead, you follow.

Other dogs, other
people, entangled within
a rocky landscape.

It’s always winter.
You must work hard, struggle
to get anywhere.

Where is it?  You no
longer even think you know–
the pull of the leash.

You’re cold and you need to feel–
breath shortens—leaves misty trail.

Ingrid at dVerse asked us to write a poem inspired by a dream, and Sarah’s W3 prompt asked for a poem of 14 lines or less about dreams.

I remembered these sketches I did of a dog–I think it was from a photo Nina sent me of one of her dogs, but I’m not totally certain–and found them in an old sketchbook from the early 1980s. The collage is from one of Jane’s prompts I did in 2016.

I often dream of dogs–I’ve lived with them, but never owned one. Clearly they have a secure place in my mind.


what I keep secret
is written on my body
underneath my skin–

what I choose to feel
shows up hidden, as tattoos
blood-inked inside veins

that hostage my heart,
a pounding prison of fear–
frozen, silent, still–

no magic portal
arrives to illuminate
who I am and why–

only the moon sees, the stars–
reflecting me back, alive

For W3 prompt #36, where Muri has asked for a 14 line poem on the subject of poverty.

December 8, 1980

the flames are warm–
we hold hands
against wrath

what is the context of
the naked soul?
is it pure love?

who invented hate?

Britta at W3 asked for a poem with a date for a title, responding to her poem “the theory of everything”. I composed a shovel poem from this line: warm hands, wrath of soul, love, hate,

My illustration is a Japanese Bunraku puppet representing a demon, but I was also inspired by another of Brendan’s Ekphrastic photos at earthweal, below.

Imagine if someone would just give us some truth…could we all shine on?

Forty-two years. Who do we think we are?

also linking to dVerse OLN hosted by Bjorn