Poetic Reflections:  Thirteen-O-Clock!

Poetic Reflections: Thirteen-O-Clock!

Let’s be serious. (A very stern look.) Ha, fooled ya. Probably scared you a tick or a tock if you’ll admit it. You won’t? Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?
Poetic Reflections:  Mothers

Poetic Reflections: Mothers

I was planning to call this “Blank”. I had even typed it up at the top in preparation, but at the last minute I decided to change the theme . . .
Poetic Reflections:  Horror Limericks

Poetic Reflections: Horror Limericks

Time, time, time. I think it’s time. Yes, that’s what it is. The next subject for a poetic reflection. No, no, no. Scratch that. Well, it is high time for a new column.
Poetic Reflections:  paranormities

Poetic Reflections: paranormities

Although I tend to be old-fashioned and behind the times in many ways, whether by choice or budget or for some other reason probably a bit more peculiar . . .
Poetic Reflections:  lake monsters

Poetic Reflections: lake monsters

Fishing about in my brainpool for a suitable title and theme of my next poetry column, I hooked a big one. You know the beast, one of those grandiose whoppers that gives birth to legends.
Poetic Reflections:  horror sisters

Poetic Reflections: horror sisters

’Tis that time of year, my dear, when it must be mentioned unmentionable things. You know what I’m talking about . . . all the things that get swept under the rug the rest of the time . . .
Poetic Reflections: havoc

Poetic Reflections: havoc

In life there are periods of calm punctuated by phases of unrest when things become hectic. And then there are times when You-Know-Where breaks loose . . .
Poetic Reflections:  inspiration’s perspiration

Poetic Reflections: inspiration’s perspiration

Yes, you read correctly. This is about perspiration. But not just any perspiration. No, no. The stuff of inspiration. More to my point, the sweat of inspiration.
Poetic Reflections:  bombilation

Poetic Reflections: bombilation

There is a lot of static in the world. The drone or buzz of contention in the air. A steady hum in your ears if you’re like me. You can hear it if you stop to listen.
Poetic Reflections:  retrospect

Poetic Reflections: retrospect

If people could save all of the time in a bottle that they spend in retrospect . . . clinging to what was or what could have been instead of looking forward to life, moving on . . .
Poetic Reflections:  Poe-etic

Poetic Reflections: Poe-etic

Some days I think I’m turning into Poe. (I really think so.) The air of doom, the gloom, the morosity and sombrerity. (I threw in a hat pun . . .
Poetic Reflections:  the rise of the fall

Poetic Reflections: the rise of the fall

Some of my column intros actually make sense. And then there are those that go skipping off in their own misdirections through fields of shruggeries and flowered flumpheries, amid the bognacious trills . . .
Poetic Reflections:  Holey cow!

Poetic Reflections: Holey cow!

What if, instead of holy, cows were holey? If the black spots on the average dairy breed were empty spaces rather than splotches? Where might the rest of the cow be?
Poetic Reflections:  horror haiku too

Poetic Reflections: horror haiku too

Creating Horror Haiku was so much fun, I decided to take a second sojourn into the art of the concise. For the sake of brevity, I shall keep my intro short . . .
Poetic Reflections:  horror haiku

Poetic Reflections: horror haiku

There is an art to brevity. For once I shall strive to be brief, though my poems are generally anything but that. As are these perflaffly, pregumptuous, extracapitulated, conundrum-hummous intros.
Poetic Reflections:  night howls

Poetic Reflections: night howls

We’ve all heard them. Banshee yodels in the dark. Sometimes rattling the windows. Other times a distant shriek. Maybe an unheard scream building up inside: a peal of effusive all-out joy . . .
Poetic Reflections:  never a dull moment

Poetic Reflections: never a dull moment

Life is full of contrasts and paradoxes, things that add up and things that don’t. Things that fall into place, and things that contradict themselves. Take the brightness of dull, for example.
Poetic Reflections:  stark raving mad

Poetic Reflections: stark raving mad

Is there a level at which one can be considered “stark raving mad”? Some mark on a graph or meter that measures the drop-off point of sanity? Or does it vary . . .
Poetic Reflections:  horror she wrote

Poetic Reflections: horror she wrote

“It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light . . .
Poetic Reflections:  envious

Poetic Reflections: envious

In a movie I just watched, one woman cut off the face of a younger woman who was like a daughter to her, then wore it like a mask to fool the guy both women wanted.
Poetic Reflections:  being off

Poetic Reflections: being off

This time of year there is much talk of Seasons and Greetings and Winter and Weather. Especially if your T.V. only gets The Weather Channel. And you leave it on day and night.
Poetic Reflections:  the little things

Poetic Reflections: the little things

We have all heard it said that “the little things” mean a lot, “the little things” are most important, and when we are in a thankful mood we should appreciate “the little things”.
Poetic Reflections:  chocolate-covered eyes

Poetic Reflections: chocolate-covered eyes

When presented a box of bonbons, has it ever crossed your mind that the center might not be what you expect? Of course, it’s anybody’s guess what hides inside a mixed assortment of chocolates!
Poetic Reflections:  serendipitous

Poetic Reflections: serendipitous

What if you are minding your own business and a curious stranger passes you by, carrying a sack that wafts a fragrance that strikes a chord — reminiscent of an intangible emotion . . .
Poetic Reflections:  blue moon

Poetic Reflections: blue moon

A moonlit night is oft described as silvery, defined by a pale sickle or floating saucer illumining the blue-black sky. It can represent a comforting presence against dark uncertainties . . .
Poetic Reflections:  imperfect

Poetic Reflections: imperfect

Let me state unequivocally that if you were hoping to read something perfect, sorry, not gonna happen. I write to my own beat, an irregular rhythm that doesn’t follow rules . . .
Poetic Reflections:  reverie

Poetic Reflections: reverie

Have you ever dreamed while standing up? How about while standing down? And how do you know that you aren’t dreaming this very instant? You could just think you’re reading this.
Poetic Reflections:  Nothing!

Poetic Reflections: Nothing!

That is the answer. So what is the question? What’s on my mind? I think not. There is generally some absurd notion or other ping-ponging in my head . . .
Poetic Reflections:  thoughtlessness

Poetic Reflections: thoughtlessness

Have you ever had to walk around without a thought in your skull? How about an absent mind? It occurs to me. I can be a very thoughtless person.
Poetic Reflections:  happy endings

Poetic Reflections: happy endings

Reality check: Life is not a fairytale in case you weren’t aware, and it isn’t always fair. Sometimes it ends badly. Sometimes it begins badly. Sometimes the middle goes from bad to worse.
Poetic Reflections:  intricacies

Poetic Reflections: intricacies

Shivering at my desk from cold that cannot be warmed by four sweaters, one of which is pretty thick, I must compose a series of words that say a great deal . . .
Poetic Reflections:  the years

Poetic Reflections: the years

Being an optimist (except when my paranoid paradoxic pessimistic side kicks in), I am starting this year determined to accomplish great things. That is generally how I start any year . . .
Poetic Reflections:  yuleogy

Poetic Reflections: yuleogy

What, it’s December already? Wasn’t it just Halloween? Oh yes, every day is Halloween in my head. I think I do recall something about Thanksgiving whizzing by, now that I mention it.
Poetic Reflections:  tanks

Poetic Reflections: tanks

I meant to write about “thanks”. And the opposite. How ungrateful we humans have been to Mother Earth. How uncivilized civilizations have been toward other civilizations. How backwards . . .
Poetic Reflections:  gothic

Poetic Reflections: gothic

Oh yes, I am treading there. Creeping down the woebegone highways and byways of gothic-style horror this Halloween. What could be more appropriate, methinks, than to honor that dark . . .
Poetic Reflections:  the root of all fear

Poetic Reflections: the root of all fear

Fear is a dreadful topic. Even for an author who occasionally dips her pen in the inky genre pool of Horror and Suspense. And yet it seems almost kismet that I should delve headfirst . . .
Poetic Reflections:  hatitude

Poetic Reflections: hatitude

Finally, a discussion on one of my favoritest topics: Hats! There are all types, as many as there are varieties of birds. But don’t quote me on that because I haven’t counted either.
Poetic Reflections:  scrambled

Poetic Reflections: scrambled

I’m sure you must be wondering what I mean by the title up there. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’ll let you know once I do.
Poetic Reflections:  unstructured

Poetic Reflections: unstructured

i waited all month for this column to zap me with a bolt of inspiration as they’re apt to do until i had nearly despaired with three days left in june . . .
Poetic Reflections:  thirteen

Poetic Reflections: thirteen

So here I am, having been struck over the head by Inspiration (as well as encouraged by a fellow author and friend named Lynn Tolson), which suddenly compelled me to . . .
Poetic Reflections:  treedom

Poetic Reflections: treedom

This is my twelfth and final poetry column. I shall miss these monthly maunderings. But will my voice be missed? It seems I have developed such a small and furtive following . . .
Poetic Reflections:  bewary very

Poetic Reflections: bewary very

So what is there to be very wary of? I’ll tell you. Come closer so I can whisper it: “Everything.” That’s right, you heard me. Everything! Not that I’m paranoid.
Poetic Reflections:  m’friend

Poetic Reflections: m’friend

I’m writing this poem on the birthday of a friend. She knows who she is so I don’t have to pretend. It’s one of those things that you can’t say enough . . .
Poetic Reflections:  trust

Poetic Reflections: trust

There are lighter topics I could choose, yet I find myself able only to speak from the heart. A heart that beats too loud, too strong, too fast at times.
Poetic Reflections:  bon-mottery

Poetic Reflections: bon-mottery

I have managed to avoid most addictions along my journey, yet I must confess here and now that I am hopelessly — helplessly — haplessly (take your pick) passionate about words.
Poetic Reflections:  preposterosities

Poetic Reflections: preposterosities

The mood strikes to write in a peculiar manner. To speak of that which cannot be described except by the bizarrest-meaning terms. To stretch vernaculars like putty, craft the craftiest . . .
Poetic Reflections:  hallowing

Poetic Reflections: hallowing

Did I spell it wrong, as in "Halloween"? Or "Hollowing", as to carve a pumpkin's snaggled grin? Let me rub my chin and contemplate. Nay, I think the word should be this way.
Poetic Reflections:  the silent resonance of regret

Poetic Reflections: the silent resonance of regret

Another month, another poem. When all is said and done, as I look back on my achievements — and lacks thereof; the list of unfinished goals — this column is one thing I will not regret.
Poetic Reflections:  existentialism

Poetic Reflections: existentialism

Well, what about it? you might ask. I'm getting to that; hang onto your berets! Oh yes, I’m the poet. Hang onto your chins then . . . Philosophically, "Existentialism" relates to free will.
Poetic Reflections:  punderances

Poetic Reflections: punderances

Like the question about a tree falling in the forest, I wanted to see if I failed to post this monthly column whether it would be missed.
Poetic Reflections:  nonsense and stuff

Poetic Reflections: nonsense and stuff

'Tis another month and I must keep the promise to myself of writing a new poem. Why did I get myself into this? I have absolutely no idea what to express.
Poetic Reflections:  ode to a poem

Poetic Reflections: ode to a poem

No matter what anyone may say, it is our belief that Poetry is not dead. We are a family of poets, and we contend that the world will always need more verse . . .