“True silence is the rest of the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.”  –  William Penn

What soothes you? What is it that puts you in a state of comfort? When all else seems to be crashing down around you, what offers you hope?

Take us to your happy place and let’s see if it works for us!


Hot tea
roaring fire
soft robe, warm from dryer
smooth jazz
hot bath
hand-in-hand, strolling path
good read
white wine
heavy snow on soft pine
porch swing
easy chair
deep pillow
earnest prayer 

© Copyright Marie Elena Good -2013




The savage breast is soothed in arms
of music’s hidden devil charms,
a lilting soft melodic touch
that keeps a soul quite safe from harm.

A respite from life’s stress and woes,
all meant to ease where e’er it flows.
a tune of beauty to start this bloom;
the seed, its rhythm sows.

I seek this music in my life,
symphonic sounds to lessen strife.
Placate my spirit – lift my heart,
enhance this dance of life!

© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik -2013


The opening of Frank P. Thomas’ book “How to Write the Story of Your Life” (Publisher: Writer’s Digest Book, an imprint of F+W Publications) reads as such:

“HOW DO YOU VIEW your life?

Far too modestly perhaps. Yet your life is important. It is as unique as your fingerprints. It is a precious piece of time that should not be forgotten. There has only been one life lived like yours in all time, and only you can leave an accurate account of it.”

So? How do you view your life? In the first of a twenty part series of prompts, we will see just who you think you are. When finished, we will have written a memoir in poetry.


This week Marie and I ask you to write the poem as an acrostic, using your full name as the subject. The title of your poem should be “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, (Your Name Here)?”

Your poem should touch on your life, or some aspect of it until now. Remember, the focus is you! Tell us. Who do you think you are?



Merciful.  She finds it easy to be merciful, as she experiences daily the mercy of her God.

Approachable. Welcoming eyes and ready smile … not peculiar enough to frighten, nor so lovely as to intimidate.

Redeemed.  Sinner-deemed-sinless, a debt she can’t pay.

Indebted.  Humbly and deeply thankful for parents who taught much, and loved regardless; an abundance of encouraging, uplifting, loyal friends and extended family; and mostly her Creator, whose unyielding love, grace, and mercy breathe her very existence.

Enthusiastic. Taught by her father that “Nothing great was ever accomplished without enthusiasm.”


Enthralled.  Captivated by life, love, and words.

Lazy.  Often rising with the sun to walk the beach in Naples three decades ago, she now lazily hits the snooze three or four or six times rather than rise to take a short morning walk.   

Encourager.  “Therefore encourage one another and build one another up.”  1 Thessalonians 5:11 

Nonna.  Her favorite vocation, hands down. 

Athletic.   …and sometimes, she blatantly lies. 😉


Gullible.  Too quick to say, “Really? Wow!” then later slap forehead with the all-too-familiar, “Oh. Duh.” 

Observant.  Truly, about as observant as she is athletic. (Read, “Blatantly lies.”)

Oldfashioned.  Dreams of returning to days when morals were more than just folklore. 

Dandelion lover.  … but only in poetry and fields.  Not in her yard. 😉

© Marie Elena Good – 2012



Wildly weird and wonderful,
Another in a
Long line of like named gents.
Taught to respect his elders and teach his children.
Even when he is at a loss for words, he’ll
Regale you with his verbosity.

Who is this monstrosity of poet prowess to think he could
Overpower the world of metered rhyme by his sheer numbers?
Just put it this way,
The day he is silenced is the day
Another Walt has been relegated to dust.
Never faint of heart; he can’t start to explain
It. But to name it, his style would elicit a smile and make you think of the
Kinetic poetics he spews. Then you might have him pegged!

© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2012

P.S.  CORRECTION: The acrostic form  is a requirement of the prompt.  There is a method to Walt’s madness that sometimes my partner doesn’t even understand at first.  A little discipline never hurts!

I stand (actually sit) corrected! 😀  ~ meg

Oh, stand up and take a bow! My madness ebbs and flows!


Photo by Keith R. Good

There’s a moon out tonight. Nothing special about that. Unless you make it special. Your poem will be a night poem. The sounds of  night. The night sky. Yes, the moon and stars. Silhouettes in the night. Paint the romance of night with your words. Write the despair of night with your words. Just don’t take all night!

Marie’s Night:


As the sun
 slips beneath the water,
Her afterglow lingers above –
Much to wooing moon’s delight.
And they  bask  in the glow
Those fleeting moments
They call their own,
As their hearts

Walt’s Mooning:


Soft summer breezes wafting,
a gentle sifting through the poplar branches.
It enhances the night as I am serenaded
by cicada bugs and the distant rumble
of locomotive engines. Humbled by the expansive
evening sky, I am mesmerized. The lure of lunar
luminance draws my glances on the odd chance
that someone else eyes this same satellite.
It is a great night and it feels right to share
this scene. Over a distance, the same moon
is simultaneously viewed – together, a bond
brightly borne. Come morning,
before the promise of a new day, the display
of this starlit night brings you both to this moment.
Under this shared summer sky; a his and hers moon;
we take joint custody of a shared passion


Change can come in many variances, Sometimes good. Sometimes hard to swallow. But every change (even just for the sake of change) offers a perspective we may not have noticed. Our poems this week spoke of change and our accepting/denial of same. In this game of life, the world changes. The question remains, can we keep pace. The Beautiful Blooms for this week:

Marie’s Pick:

My pick this week is Patricia A. Hawkenson’s “Stay Within the Lines.” She begins with a title that clearly has more than one meaning, but we don’t see that until we read through to the end. Her line breaks are used effectively, and add to the enjoyment of the poem, IMHO. Nature “growing” from the spilled crayons made me smile … quite a creative way to think of it. But the end? Oh the end … it made my heart sink.

Outstanding, Patricia. (Nothing new for you.)

Stay Within the Lines
By Patricia A. Hawkenson

The box spilled
its contents rolled
and grass and flowers grew
then trees with swings
and birds flew
beyond the buildings
to the clouds
till Mama said,
“You can use a different crayon.”
But I colored everything
a happy orange
until I knew
what black and blue meant
and put my colors



Walt’s choice:

My selection is a hopeful poem. The embrace of oneself accepting our faults and learning to get by on our confidence and self-assurance. An although it escapes us more times than not, Our happiness lies within that adherence of “wisdom with age”. Michelle Hed, this “Bloom’s” for you!

ELUSIVE by Michelle Hed

They say wisdom comes with age –

She dyed her hair to hide the gray,
she bought new clothes for self-esteem,
she played games with words
whether cutting or witty,
positive being brutally honest
would be less hypocritical
then telling white lies.

Then she changed –

She embraced her hair with grace and wit,
she bought new clothes for fun,
she played with words on paper
and tried to only speak words
of kindness and love
and she found that sometimes
not telling the complete truth
was kinder to the recipient.

And she discovered –

She found more joy in her life,
loving herself and giving of herself
to others via time, word or deed
than in any other time in her life.
She took more joy from the small
things in life, she slowed down
the pace and smiled at the person
she was becoming, knowing she
was finally on the right path for her.
She is still changing.




The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. A Sedoka, pair of katauta ( an unrhymed three-line poem the following syllable counts: 5/7/7) as a single poem, may address the same subject from differing perspectives.

Marie’s View:


NASA photographs
depict placid cotton swirls,
unsullied iridescence.

Cell phone photographs
catch unimaginable,
chaotic demolition.

Copyright © 2011 Marie Elena Good

Walt’s  Sedoka:


By life, inspired.
Her ways conspire to offer,
all that your words can handle.

Alluring and sure,
her style and grace are welcomed,
lifting you to heights unknown.

Copyright © 2011 Walt Wojtanik


Write this poem:


Park Bench

As I near my autumn days,
I think of all I have not experienced.
No trips abroad.
No vacation home.
No award-winning book.
No fame.
No second-glance beauty.
I think of all I have not experienced.
Yet, let the autumn leaves summon,
For I am content to sit side-by-side,
In dappled sunlight or soaking rain.



Screw the cake.
It is awash with memories
as are these trees. Misted shadows
fall to decay, a way of saying your days
are numbered or done. No one comes to this place,
there is no space for solace to rest its weariness.
It is best that no witness was present; sent scurrying.
A thick moss came to blanket where love once prospered,
leaves over-bearing their branches drooping to offer
privacy and seclusion. The illusion of serenity was feigned
by the spectrum of an Autumnal palette. Murky shadows
fall to decay. And it is beginning to rain.


Vantage point plays an important part in firing up our muse. The view from the ground varies greatly from the treetops. We see things slightly different. Today we are exercising our imaginations and playing with our perspective. So let’s blast off!

Your tether has broken away from the command module, and you are adrift in deep space. You are Major Tom floating by your “tin can”. But, you are not in danger. Until they can reel you back in, you have nothing but time to poem; equipped with your message board and an extraordinary view of the universe.

Write your poem, remembering your vantage point and your over-active imagination. “Can you hear me, Major Tom?”

Marie Elena’s blast:

Peering down on earth
From my perch upon the moon
I see no borders.

Walt’s attempt:

The poem I had written as this prompt’s example came extremely close to what Marie Elena had submitted.

From up in deep space

It is very clear,

I can see my house from here.

I am keeping my eyes peeled for a special phrase in the poems. The first to mention it will get a copy of my chapbook, WOOD. If it shows up as the title of the poem, I will include the CD featuring the reading of the book. Good Luck.