As we remember, a Rispetto is an Italian form of poetry, (Italian: “respect,” – plural rispetti, a Tuscan folk verse form) and is a complete poem of two rhyme quatrains. The meter is usually iambic tetrameter with a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd. A Heroic Rispetto is written in Iambic pentameter,  featuring the same rhyme scheme.

A variation of the RISPETTO is a poem (or song) comprised of 8 hendecasyllabic (11-syllable) lines–usually in one stanza.




Could it be you did not see me;
out of sight and out of your mind?
It wasn’t easy to be me,
let alone be drawn to your kind.

But years later, you’ve found my words
and think not one of them absurd,
they soothe your mind and warm your heart.
I guess that was the place to start.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik


We’re easing into changes here at POETIC BLOOMINGS and that includes everyone who contributes or has a hand in poetic pursuits throughout the poetic world. (A whole lot of “poetics” going on here).

During my hiatus from this site a while back, we had considered ceasing operation here “in the garden”. But the main consideration (the only one, as far as I was concerned) was the stable of incredible poets who week-in and week-out contributed their muse and support and constructive suggestions to making POETIC BLOOMINGS the place they wanted to be. So we did not allow the “soil” to become fallow. Marie carried on valiantly, with the help of RJ CLarken and WIlliam Preston.

As originally offered, POETIC BLOOMINGS was a site for poets to claim as their own… a place they could consider a home for their work. That hasn’t changed. But in an effort to make this blog more about you and to give you a hand in its new direction, we will feature a “Guest Host” every week to offer your examples for the prompt and IN-FORM POET, to highlight your personal blog (a little self-promotion never hurts) and to select a BEAUTIFUL BLOOM for the week.

The IN-FORM POET will resume next week.

I am toying with the idea of audio clips of your poems where we can have you (or someone else, if you’re too shy) read your piece and have this be a regular feature. The details on that will be forthcoming.

Another idea is one that comes from my background. We are a creative lot; talented in many facets. Along with poetry, many of us write flash fiction. We write music. Some of us are artists where our medium (paints and charcoal and ink and pencil) is more traditional than the words we proffer weekly. There are those with discerning eyes who can capture the most incredible moments through a lenses of a camera. Did I say we were a creative lot?

Serious thought is being given to allowing these skills to find a place here. And thus, a name change is being considered. We will remain mainly a poetic blog and the focus will continue in that regard. But, I suggest we branch out to all forms of creative pursuits. My preference retains the aspect of the “garden” and the continued “blooming of our souls”. CREATIVE BLOOMINGS is an idea. I will post a poll with suggestions for you to consider. After all, it is really you who drive this vehicle. This will be an on-going process to inject new breath into what it is we do here. We have the chance to make a great site even better. With your help, we can accomplish this.

With much respect, Walt.


First, I’d like to take this time to thank William Preston for his exceptional work proving weekly prompts in my prolonged absence. His acumen and thoughtful and imaginative prompts brought the best out of our poets. This prompt concludes the prompts he had offered for consideration. William’s work is exception and his continued contributions to this site warranty the opportunity to earn BLOOMS and the recognition they offer. We will forego the IN-FORM POET prompt this week only as I will outline some changes in how POETIC BLOOMINGS will move forward. But for now, Prompt #137: WATER:

Among the things necessary for life as we understand it, is water. It makes up most of Earth, as we learn early in life, and seems to be the best-tasting drink there is when one is good and thirsty.  It can be majestic, as seen from the shore of an ocean or a great lake, and intimate, as seen in a rivulet in a meadow. It reflects everything, from a night sky to flashlight. It has tremendous power and exerts tremendous pressure, as anyone who has wet cellar walls can tell you. It is probably the most ubiquitous stuff there is, save for air and dark matter. Write a “water” poem.



confounds. Best to wait, or,
as my dad used to say, “hold your

© copyright 2014, William Preston



The happy dead are in its voice.
Majestic Poet! Might I be as full of song.
Melodies of seafarers past
haunt each true and measured step.
Lilting, ever-lifting; a gift
from the weary mariner to Neptune’s ear.
Accompanied in breath and beat,
symphonic sound of a lunar baton.
Maestro of the night, unwavering.
Building to crescendo, euphonious.
Tympani, cacophonous crash;
an introduction to the score
so written. And hidden within
languishes its familiar song,
lyrical expressions of heart and soul,
left to wash away traces of the moment.
Never ending refrain, sing again!

**Derived from “On Seeing A Train Start For the Seaside” by English poet, Norman Rowland Gale

© copyright 2014, Walter J Wojtanik

An additional poem by William Preston:

William had one more “prompt” slated for use, but it fell within the guideline of Form and was basically the IN-FORM FREE-FOR-ALL from last Wednesday. But the example he provided is worth posting here. All I can say is “Good form, William. Good form!”


Ofttimes, whilst eating beans and wieners
I’m apt to write obtuse fourteeners;

when gazing at milady’s bonnet
I’m sometimes moved to pen a sonnet;

whilst watching swallows swoop the dell
I might compose a villanelle;

and at the close of winter days
I’m moved to scribble triolets.

I make my points by writing tines
of Crapsey’s quintessential lines

and prone I am to tossing salads
by mixing rondelets and ballads;

when circular reasoning crimps my brain
I write pantoums to ease the pain,

and when my rhymes die in the tank
I settle for a verse that’s blank

unless, of course, I’m up a tree
and must resort to verses free.

© copyright 2013, William Preston


We’ve dealt with “Noise” this week. And I was drawn to two poems in this regard. One is rambunctious and very expressive in a loud sort of way. The other dismisses noise as an intrusion and the silence becomes deafening in this sense. And so, I offer two BLOOMS for the prompt. I give a BLOOM to RJ Clarken for “Noise” and one to Vivienne Blake for “Noises Off”

by RJ Clarken

Fwwwap fwwwap fwwwap went my lips
as I sp-sp-spit out some pips

and then gave some thought to Onomatopoeia.

I can grrrrowwwl
or meooooowwww
but just how
does a cow
make a mmmooooo
while she’d chew
on her cud?
This is ud-
derly, sud-
denly noise.
Poem ploys
are just scripts
to eclipse

the more serious kinds of POW! erful stuff that just whifffffffs

(pen or lips.)
Damn those pips!

Scritch scratch scratch
rhyme and kvetch
‘til a wretch-
ed verse is penned……
Here’s my zzzzt frnerk wibblesnok quiridingdingding poem, my friend.

by Vivienne Blake

Whoosh and crash outside
as wind and jet-stream coincide.
A clatter from the kitchen
as someone does the dishes.
Wailing violins from the radio –
I could do without the audio
Silence in the ocean
in the world of fishes.
I think I’ll go there.


This poem is, for me, a superb bit of storytelling, even though it deals with a short incident. I was present with the narrator, breathing too, hee hee hoo, hee hee hoo, even though, as a male, I have no idea and can’t imagine what the experience is like. Yet, though Nancy’s skillful handling of sounds and picture-writing (pillows, blankets and goody bag), I was there. More than anything else, however, what struck me about this poem was how the young couple and the older (I presume) narrator were joined in sharing a common experience, as told in the last stanza. I thought this was wonderful work. Hence my proffered bloom.

by Nancy Posey

They’d call in the middle of the night—
I said they could—to ask if they should go.
Pains were coming on schedule,
feeling like I’d said they would,
radiating from the back to front.

They knew. I knew they knew.
They called for reassurance,
unnecessary permission,
a layman’s advice before they risked
calling the doctor after hours
or driving to the hospital, pillows,
blankets and goody bag in tow,
fearful it was just a false alarm. 

Somehow I could tell, when
in the middle of a sentence,
she’d stop. I could hear it
in the silence over the phone.

Get your focal point, I’d tell her,
take a cleaning breath, then breathe:
slowly, in through your nose
and out through your mouth.

I’d hear her shift to the hee hee hoo
hee hee hoo, a panting to handle
more than the early twinges
of a body ready to unload its cargo
after nine months. Go, I’d say.
Call if you need me. You’ll be fine.

Before falling back to sleep again,
I’d find myself breathing hee hee hoo,
hee hee hoo before slowing returning
to breathing–in through my nose–
and out through my mouth. 


As expected, forms that were used exemplify the poets that chose them. It was easy to see where their expression takes root. One poem came center stage a bit more than the rest. The thoughts expressed came cascading in imagery. It was only fitting that the form used was the Cascade. Barbara Young this BLOOM is for you!

by Barbara Young
Where would I stand
If the world passed in parade today?
On the basket-woven ancient cobble,
Or the flat plates of beehive pave?

If this were the end,
If I were obliged to fit my actions
To my words and judge my fellow man,
Where would I stand?

It’s so damn easy to condemn
The floats of war, the martial brass bands.
Could I sweep all uniforms off the streets
If the world passed in parade today?

Should I slaughter the poachers
And return the elephants to their homes,
Uncage the giant cats to find their prey
On the basket-woven ancient cobble?

Who comes behind
To judge my judgments? And who follows him?
Who would dare be on the reviewing stand
Or the flat plates of beehive pave?


CONGRATULATIONS to RJ Clarken, Vivienne Blake, Nancy Posey and Barbara Young on your selections for the BEAUTIFUL BLOOM.


In the revamping of POETIC BLOOMINGS site, the one constant has been the propagation of poetry. Our poets strive to put their best work forward and it shows week after week. Amidst all the changes and possibilities, we have continued to honor poems that stand out in some way. They may not be the “best of the best”, but sparked a thought or memory or struck a nerve that made their selection for accolades a reality. The three poets awarded this week certainly have come forward to make their points clearly and concisely. So with out anymore delay, the BEAUTIFUL BLOOMS:


To me, one of the greatest books there could be, is the book that hasn’t been completely written yet… the book of our lives. Each “page” and “chapter” tell the tale of us as people and writers/poets. It speaks to our heart and commitment. It reveals our emotion and compassion. And the story is to be continued as long as we are alive. This aspect is beautifully expressed in Susan Schoeffield’s poem, “To Be Continued”. A life well lived, is experienced to the fullest. My BEAUTIFUL BLOOM is presented to Susan for this work.

TO BE CONTINUED bySusan Schoeffield

My life is a book
of stories and verse,
a place where I look,
for better or worse,
to cherish and scorn
these tales I’ve amassed
on pages well-worn
from trips to the past.
The stories untold
hide on a blank page
with secrets they hold
not yet to engage,
but waiting until
the chapter is born
and the keyboard quill
sees a rose or thorn.
With life as the seed
that blossoms to text,
I can’t wait to read
where this book goes next.

© Susan Schoeffield


The prompt this yielded a plethora of excellence. Picking one “bloom” was sheer torture, and I almost reverted to my exercise of a week ago, when I selected two poems for blooms because of Christmastime. The problem with that idea was, two wouldn’t’ve been nearly enough. But Sara’s poem has one feature that I think none of the others had, and that’s the sense of immersion in a book. She speaks of lingering in the worlds created by authors, then trying them on to see if they fit. For me, that comes as close as anything I’ve ever read to describing what it’s like to be totally absorbed in the world proffered by the pages. I presume Sara was speaking of novels, but I’ve had the same feeling in several non-fiction works too, including, of all things, an introductory book on astronomy. I was indeed “lingering” in the world(s) the author wrote about, just as Sara says. Hence this bloom.


Take me out of my reality.
Set me down in another’s.
I will ache with their pains,
empathize with their fears,
and foibles, smile with
their happiness. My viewpoint
of their story will be the only
one that matters. Upon re-reading,
perhaps I will discover snippets missed
the first time around. If I choose,
I can linger in their world, trying
it on, seeing if it fits.

© Sara McNulty


I felt it was appropriate to reprise the very first form we had highlighted at POETIC BLOOMINGS. If you had the opportunity to glance back to the original posting, you will have seen that there were a total of 14 comments on the form. Obviously, that pales in comparison to the respondents we have now. So we re-introduced the Alouette to our growing list of contributors. With the new year and the changes that are taking place on the blog, I chose the poem by Debi Swim celebrating that fact. “Out With the Old, In With the New – Deja Vu” earns the Beautiful Bloom for the IN-FORM POET Prompt.

Out With the Old, In With the New- Deja vu by Debi Swim

With a backward glance
I surveyed askance
the limping, retreating year.
Then with hope and trust
and my eyes up-thrust
I quelled my quavering fear.

I think you’ll agree
for certain there’ll be
laughter and tears in the mix.
There’ll be hills to climb
then coasting times
for life’s a mixed bag of tricks.

© Debi Swim

Congratulations to Susan, Sara and Debi on your selections!


H A P P Y   N E W   Y E A R ! ! !

Back in May 2011 Marie Elena and I embarked on establishing a venue for our poetic friends  to fill the gap between Poetic Asides April PAD and the November Chapbook challenge. Little did we know, our garden would grow  exponentially. Today closing in on our third year anniversary, we are finding everything old is new again. As of this posting I will be returning to POETIC BLOOMINGS full-time. I thank William Preston and  Randi “RJ” Clarken for their devotion and help during my convalescence. The site will undergo a few major changes as we progress into the new year.

The biggest announcement is most regrettable but unavoidable. Marie Elena is leaving POETIC BLOOMINGS. In her words:

Dear awesome poetic souls,

There is no easy way for me to say this, so I will just blurt it out:  I have made the decision to step away from POETIC BLOOMINGS, and from online poetry in general.  There is far too much calling to me from the “real world” to allow my time and focus to be centered on “me” and my passion.  I love writing, and I don’t plan to completely give it up.  However, I do need to rein it in. The reading, commenting, researching, writing … it has all come close to swallowing me whole.  Well, I wouldn’t go THAT far, but you get the picture. 😉

This has been an amazing experience for me.  The idea that talented folks from literally around the globe have made this spot a regular place to showcase their own gifts and encourage and uplift others is humbling, to say the least.

Thank you.  ALL of you.   Just … thank you.

Marie Elena


Marie’s announcement caught me a bit off guard as it did you. But I can imagine now how she felt when I needed to step away. She had given literally her heart and soul to poetry and her writing, and to this site we have established for all of you to set roots and grow in every poetic sense.  She owes no one a thing. We  all (and I in particularl) owe her a great deal. Marie had kept my heart afloat and kept my head focused on what mattered. Now it is her turn to focus on what matters.

The next announcement concerns the IN-FORM POET feature. Due to her hectic schedule and extensive studies, RJ has determined that the time she had devoted to POETIC BLOOMINGS was a time she could no longer justify. We congratulate Randi on her success and thank her again for her help.

The third shoe to drop. The other soldier who had stepped in admirably as I was away, William Preston, will be leaving that post when the prompts he had scheduled, run their course. As I understand he will continue to contribute his wonderful work at the site as a contributing poet, and I’m happy he will continue in that regard.

So, the changes that will take place over the course of the next month will reflect all this and hopefully we can streamline the POETIC BLOOMINGS site.


It is January 1st, a new year upon us. And logic says if “old is new” then “new is old”. Since I am returning and taking POETIC BLOOMINGS “old school”, the form for today’s IN-FORM POET will be the very first form we had presented, the ALOUETTE.

The Alouette was created by Jan Turner.

It consists of two or more stanzas of 6 lines each, with the following set rules:

Meter: 5, 5, 7, 5, 5, 7
Rhyme Scheme: a, a, b, c, c, b

“Alouette” is a French word, which means ‘skylark’, and this form is reminiscent of the lark’s song-like expression as presented here. The word ‘alouette’ can also mean “a children’s song” (usually sung in a group). This poetry form is not necessarily for children’s poetry (although can be applied that way), as it works through that style with short lines.

For the original prompt and examples from 2011, click here ALOUETTE .



Time to stop and think,
standing on the brink;
a crossroad I have come to.
Life, a gift given
expressed by livin’
to the fullest, this is true.

Death comes unannounced,
live with every ounce
of your heart. You’ll be seeing
fruits of your toil.
Stay above soil,
your sole purpose for being.

(C) 2014 – Walter J Wojtanik


It’s a big surprise waking this Saturday to find Marie missing in action and me taking her place. She had taken ill and we hope she’s feeling much better by this posting. But the reason we are here is to celebrate poetry and the poets who propose it. It’s been a while since I had this task and the one thing that came back to flood my memories was just how hard a task this is. All of our poets are so talented and expressive; we appreciate your efforts in making Poetic Bloomings the loving garden it is. Speaking of being “In The Garden”…


In reading this week’s poems, I get the sense of exactly what this place means to you all as well. We plant the seeds of this poetic process and your care and nurturing put into words as your poems are all beautifully grown here. The poem that struck me heartily is actually a two-part poem. Taken from the children’s rhyme, our poem givens two sides of the loving process our Creator presents us. “Roses are Red; Violets are Blue, Sal Buttaci, I love your poem” It earns you my Beautiful Bloom:

1. ROSES ARE RED by Salvatore Buttaci

their petals soaked in flower blood
because when they first bloomed
in the first garden that first week
they stood in stemmed rows
asking God the Gardener to give them
beating hearts as He had given
the beasts of land and sea
beating hearts so they would know
life’s painful sacrifice enough
to shed blood when these hearts
would sometimes break
just as He had kindly given them
the dew of tears to shed each morning
as sadly they would long for
the brightness of the dawn
beating hearts to pump blood
that could be shed
this is what these roses asked
and God the Gardener was moved
by their flower prayer
but He wanted that at least
they be spared what pain would come
when Eden was no more
so He compromised and soaked
their white petals in the blood
of His own Son that would be shed
somewhere in time

2. VIOLETS ARE BLUE by Salvatore Buttaci

as if their petals were open hands
gathering into themselves the secret
of the sky and sea
as if strong-stemmed they stood
despite the wind to say their peace
how much their petals yearned for blue
to capture the wildness of the waves
to embody all of what was heaven
how small was their request from a God
Who could do all things
give us the strength of your heaven
give us the majesty of your seas
simple violets are we
let us praise you
and God the Gardener was moved
by their flower prayer
but He wanted to spare at least
these His creatures from
all that sky and sea entail
and so He compromised
took a painter’s brush
with which He soaked their petals
in the richness of His blue
and when His art was then complete
He marveled at the way these violets
these loving creatures He had made
would bob their blue heads towards
His infinite heaven
how they would bow their blue heads
towards His majestic sea


For me, this simple poem expresses the complexity of love. Love, that is, far beyond the love of spouses or friends; love extending to unknown and unnamed others who might chance along a path and see a flower. I think it extends also to love for the whole creation, here represented by a single flower. Finally, it deals with love in the mature sense: that is, love capable of looking beyond the moment to something more permanent beyond, in this case, the sadness that would have ensued when the flower died. Simple, yet profound: that’s how this poem impressed me. Hence this proffered bloom.


I saw a flower along my path
Beautifully bloomed
With heavenly fragrance
I stopped to touch its petals
And experience its scent
And thought about picking it
For you

I left it where it grew
For all who walk that path
To enjoy its beauty
And fragrance

For if I had picked it
You would have enjoyed it
For but a day or so
Before it died
And when dead and limp
It would make you sad
That I had picked it
For you


For my Bloom this week, I choose Erin Kay’s ‘Dance of the Gingerbread Cookies.’  It was at once a tasty, sweet, nostalgic childlike, dreamlike poem that had a perfect ending.
It brought back memories of my own two kids, and the fun and magic of the Holiday season.

Dance of the Gingerbread Cookies

The Gingerbreads have come to dance tonight:
With candy eyes and icing sugar clothes,
Oh what a wondrous, scrumptious, darling sight
They make, all dancing sweetly – there one goes!

The Gingerbreads have danced the night away:
So, out of breath, they climb back into bed;
As morning heralds in the light of day
They’re fast asleep with blankets overhead…

The child in her pj’s taps her chin:
“Why have the Gingerbreads all grown so thin?”

© Copyright Erin Kay Hope – 2013

On that note, I bid to all a good night!
Merry Christmas!  Happy New Year!  Best Wishes for a safe and joyful season of celebration!


For this week’s In-form Poet, I’m giving all you wonderful poets a gift. You see, the form Sonnetina Tre, which typically is penned in rhyme and metric form, doesn’t necessarily have to be so, as you’ll see when you read the description below (per The Poets Garret.)

“This Sonnetina form comprises of two quatrains and a couplet (Three Stanzas). The normal sequence is two quatrains and then a couplet, (One stanza short of a Shakespearean Sonnet). There is however, the mini-Dorn [Sonnet] to consider: this variation consists of a quatrain, a couplet and then a closing quatrain, (Dorn uses sestets instead of quatrains).

There are various forms of quatrain, ranging from free verse, rhyming couplets, alternate line rhyme or an envelope, so there is a certain amount of flexibility here. No meter is stated, but tetrameter or pentameter is normal.”

For our purposes, this means essentially that you are being challenged today to write a Sonnet(ish) poem (or two or three or more.) The only major requirements are that you include in your poem two quatrains with a couplet, or one sestet with two couplets or one quatrain. Got it? Good!

Here are a few of my examples:

Sweet Temptress

O, sweet icing I have to swirl on this cake:
you tempt me so, with sugar and cream.
I am full of desire which I cannot shake.
You are my confectionery dream.

Just one tiny taste, and no one should detect
it. I’ll still have plenty left to ice.
Then, just a few more spoonfuls. Oh! Have I wrecked
it? Now I can’t even frost a slice!

Well, I guess I’d better be off to the store
and hope that I can find a tub or two more!


Go To Sleep, Caitie

Sitting in bed with my most bestest book,
bunny ears on…let the magic begin.
This is the moment I love. Take a look…
“Go to sleep, Caitie!” “Hey Mom, in a min.”

I’m up to the chapter right near the close,
and what happens next? A conjurer’s trick!
I know how this ends, but – fun to suppose…
“Go to sleep, Caitie!” “Hey Mom, in a tic.”

I’m finally finished. Gosh, that was fun!
“Go to sleep, Caitie!” “Okay Mom. I’m done.”


Seven Girls

Faded background, long ringlet curls:
sign of the times from yesteryear.
The worn faces of seven girls
wearing vague smiles, mostly austere.
Updated background, tattoos and swirls:
sign of the times from modern day.
Made-up faces of seven girls:
wholly different kind of display.
Times have changed; and that resonates. It’s true…
each photograph could capture me or you.

(Note: this was also an Ekphrastic poem, because it was written to a photographic/picture prompt. In it, the screen was split: on one side were seven little girls whose appearance seems to indicate a time frame from around the early 1900s. The opposite side of the screen shows seven teen/young adult girls who are considerably more ‘modern’ in appearance.)


So…are you up to the challenge? I think you are. Ready…set…start poeming!

(One final note: As you read this post, please know that I am studying for finals. I won’t be able to get back to you and comment on your poems until sometime on Friday. By this post, I will have already taken two finals [on Tuesday] but am facing two more finals on Thursday. I apologize for the delays, but please know that I will be looking forward to reading your work when I finish up my school term.)


Keeping Watch

Joseph leads with somber grace
A weary donkey slows the pace
A restless Babe in Mary’s womb
An empty trough will hold Him soon

Anticipation grips the earth
A star will mark the foretold birth
There’s something in the air tonight
Compelling truth will come to light

The angels watch with trembling wing
Awaiting birth of infant King

© Marie Elena Good, 2013


SANneTinA Tres
Way up North, as the tale is told,
where the wind blows hard and cold,
the “Legend” lives amongst the pines
planted neatly in straight lines.

A jolly sort, who shakes and jingles,
one of the Merry Christmas Kringles
who with his Mrs., as I hear it,
are keepers of the Christmas Spirit.

They shine all year without applause,
Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus!

© Walter J Wojtanik, 2013


For the In-form Poet, December 11th, we’re going to do a rhyming form again (oh quit yer whining!) with some metrics, for…uh…good measure (and yes, I said no whining!)

Per Terry Clitheroe’s wonderful The Poets Garret (

The Terza Rima is a wonderfully challenging poetry form of Italian origin. In the original form, there was no set meter although it is normal to keep a constant syllable count and line length. In the modern version the syllables are accentuated and usually iambic tetrameter or pentameter.

Lines 1 and 3 rhyme with each other, and line 2 sets the rhyme for the next stanza. There can be any number of tercets or three line stanzas and it is a matter of preference whether you link back to the first stanza or not. If there is no link back, it’s normal to terminate with a couplet that rhymes with the previous stanza.
The rhyme patterns are ….a. b. a…b. c. b… c. d. c. etc., finishing x. a. x.; or x. x. etc.

On Writing Terza Rima

I sit and stare at my half-penned schema
and ponder words which might ring like a song.
It’s rather hard to write Terza Rima

since every try seems to turn out wrong.
I wonder why my muse plays games with me
but gives no flash insight for which I long.

Am I taking this too seriously?
I sincerely hope that is not the case.
I think I’ve become delirious. Me.

Once again, I’ve spent too much time and space
since this form has proven to be my bane.
Nevertheless, I’ll try to show some grace.

As you can see, this is not a cinquain
but apropos of nothing, why complain?


White Horse Farms

On the drive home from Atlantic City,
(my grandparents moved there when I was small)
we stopped at a farm stand that looked pretty

inviting, with fresh fruit, as I recall.
My parents bought baskets of sugar plums,
peaches and summer berries from the stall.

“When the peaches are ripe, when the time comes,”
said my mom, “I’ll make a cobbler or pie
or a peach cake with cinnamony crumbs.”

Pleased, we got in the car and waved goodbye.
And suddenly, plums magically vanished…
devoured by my young sisters and I.

Matutolypea *

Does the AM put you in a mòód?
Do you wake up feeling fractious?
Should the early hours be eschewed?

Is awakening detractious:
one side more than the other side,
or is that just being factious?

There are those who say, “Woe, betide
folks who roll to the other side.”
Cranky might be the term applied.

On getting up, you must decide:
Will you be Jekyll…or be Hyde?

* The word, Matutolypea, per Worthless Word for the Day, means ‘waking up on the wrong side of the bed.’


And finally, if you really want a challenge, why not try combining forms, such as the example below (5-7-/5 Haiku/Terza Rima.)

This is the Season

This is the season
of bright scarves and rosy cheeks
and scents so pleasin’

‘cause we’ve waited weeks
for this time to (at long last)
come.  Small children’s shrieks

of joy waft right past
us, like the ribbons we use
to wrap up gifts.  Cast

your gaze, and your muse
will grant your wish, appeasin’
any sort of blues.

And that’s the reason
for all the hustle and fun.
This is the season…


So…are you up for the challenge?  I think you are.  Ready, set…start poeming!


Politically Unbecoming

We tend to see things differently,
But I would never stoop so low
As to treat you viciously.

I’d never thought of you as “foe,”
But that’s how you have treated me
Since partisan rifts began to grow.

I’d love to let ideas flow,
But you would just get mean so, no.

© copyright 2013,  Marie Elena Good



By mid-October, she gets this tingle
through to her fingers and her toes.
The little folk begin to mingle

in their merry workshop clothes.
And in the stables things get going,
that’s the way it always goes.

Just outside, the wind is blowing,
frigid hands, but warming hearts
and even though it’s really snowing

it belies the way this season starts.
So, in the kitchen – pots and pans
and dry goods stacked on sturdy carts.

Mrs. “C” makes no demands
as Christmas baking she begins
with her tender loving hands.

He’ll be busy filling his bins
with toys for all the girls and boys,
while her baked goods fill her tins,

her one of many Christmas joys.
They called her Crystal, Mrs. “C”,
an angelic voice amongst the noise,

the sound of much activity.
But, she is clear on why she’s here:
to celebrate Nativity.

Her given name, it surely fits her,
transparent as the day is long,
for Santa Claus can see through her,

her eyes – wide open, vision strong.
This “Peace on Earth” was her grand scheme
and when she’s right, things can’t go wrong.

While children close their eyes to dream
with blankets tucked beneath their jaws,
that is when Mrs. “C” will beam.

This “Lady in Waiting” for the cause,
listening for his sleigh bells jingle.
She is his Mrs. Santa Claus!

© copyright 2013,  Walter J Wojtanik