Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story

of poets in April, of twists and turns.

Driven to and fro by words and noise,

haunted, solid, cursed, concealed.  

Many things they saw:  unpeeled oracles,

flying seducers, flights of sparrows, 

long months dressed in black or gold. 

Thrumming weathers pulsed through their bones.

Even so they saved each other from disaster,

no gods or sirens seduced them.

their own wild recklessness kept them all–

children and fools, they ate the moon,

their muses leapt into their arms

and wept and laughed, and explained their lives.  



Wrote this one in 2013.


PAGE 56, 2017

With thanks to contributors. You know who you are:


PAGE 56, 2017


The temperature was dropping

and a light snow was falling.

Even the sky above the City

had a green tint,

and the rays of the sun were green.

It had, however, but a bare

and uninteresting church,

built in the latest and worst

period of Perpendicular,

with a slate spire and no bells to speak of.


The Manichee, therefore, was entirely

embedded in the visible world.

To the new generations of country

and village boys now pouring into

the university in such large numbers,

she had become, in a curious way,

an instructor in manners,–what is called

an ‘influence.’ A lady doctor dressed

in silks was an oddity, and Oscar

Maroney’s curiosity, once engaged,

had to be satisfied.


They asked her where she was

making for, and she answered: “You are come

to the very edge of the Wild, as some

of you may know. ….Because it is not ‘engaged’,

the Faith becomes vacuous. In the strict sense,

however, the term historical

criticism refers to the ways in which

a historian might use the New Testament

to learn about history.”


Italics signify the couple of little tweaks I made.

April prompt #34

April prompt #34


Kari’s #6

I do not like beets or old goat cheese

on a winter day, in a summer breeze.


I do not wear a pirate hat

or dress my grandson like a cat.


I like to stand out in the rain.

I want to sing about a train.


I think I am a silly goose

for trying to write like Dr. Seuss.

April prompt #33

Your zip-drive has started talking to you. What is it saying?

Ray’s #3


Why keep things, archive your intimacies?  . .

Losing things can sometimes gain you a space in which to live.

~Edmund DeWaal, in The Hare with Amber Eyes


What, precisely,

is the point

of saving

it all?

April prompt #32

April prompt #32


Ray’s #5


I know what is going on below the surface:

white violets make seeds underground. No

matter what I do, come spring, they will emerge.

Dandelions send down roots in every crack.

Nettles knot their webs beneath the mulch, creeping

Jenny creeps around the stones. Gray dogwood

ducks under the fence. Temper, temper! I

have seen so many springs. Weeds know how to

live better than anything I desire.

Is it possible that anything will change?

April 30 prompt


Mary’s #6

When I was a child, I could fly.

Then I was ten.

A screen door slammed,

my wings fell off

and I learned to ground.


When I was young, I could stop time.

Then I was forty.

The curve of space slid behind me,

the clock spun through

and I learned to stand still.


When I was fifty, I could hold the sky.

My breath was wind.

Stars prickled my heart.

The I was old, and older.

Now I can smell the coming snow.