My lament for the dying art of rhyming verse. Yesterday, I read through loads of literary journals, and only 2 poems that were published had any…

Eulogy for Rhyme


You who have exiled Rhyme to unsung antiquity!

Whose hearts jump and skitter not at melody and harmony!

No apology will I offer to cool your virgin skin

And stroke your tone-deaf soul as it damns

My lover buried underneath these fertile grounds of dismissal

Hear me now!  

I say to you, to All!

To all who proclaimed His wretched fall

From Poetic Grace with parched lips wrinkled

With distaste:


I AM the Necromancer, excavating and resurrecting ghosts

Dancing in moonlight , spinning tales to fill the starving sails

Of a sinking ship bound for Eternity

Committing the ultimate treason

Seducing verse with rhyme and reason

Betraying the frigid, enlightened Elite

For a wicked,


                                kiss on the mouth,

and a scarlet,


                      whisper in the ear

A little humor to start my day. This is about as poetic as I can get today.  Dedicated to frustrated parents of “tweens.” You know who you are.  To the tune of “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore” by Barbra Streisand and Neil Diamond. (Well, it drifts away but oh well. This isn’t meant to be iconic.) Yes I’m getting old.  Ahem….

Tween Sizes


You don’t fit in Children’s

You’re too young for Junior’s…

Can fit no more through this dressing room door

I even ripped clothes off of every display


I remember when….

You used to love your Carter’s

Osh Kosh B’Gosh would thrill you…

Now you want skirts half-way up your backside…..

“Mom you just have no style…

You still say “outta sight!”

“Honey, I’m not that old– and my taste doesn’t “bite”….

Why must you make clothes shopping such a chore?”


Now I know what friends meant–

They said my day was coming….

Now every shopping trip ends in a fight

“Mom I just have to have these!”

“Child those jeans are too tight!”

“No they fit fine, I swear it…I’m just bloated tonight!”

“Honey I don’t think you’ll lose 15 pounds in one night—

So hang them on the “NO” hook, on the door.”


Can’t wait to get the hell out

Of this store…

And I won’t bring you shopping….


Please-don’t go-you’re safe-I promise

and I have nowhere to be

All I want is just to sit with you

beneath this willow tree


Whispering leaves will be our choir

and our breath will be our prayer

Dappled Sun will lend Her halo

glistening softly on your hair


We can still obey tradition

if it helps to ease your mind

It’s just five steps to Baptism

And six steps to the Divine


Come, let’s find a kinder Eden

where Past Lives won’t force our leave

For the gates of Heaven never close

beneath this willow tree

Oh Mind, Heart and Hands do strange bedfellows make

For when two would give, one would selfishly take

No evidence found of the Mind who’d submit

to the will of the Heart, if Hands wouldn’t commit.