Wednesday, December 1, 2021

Coming to My Senses


Coming to My Senses

When it’s time for the Schnoodles 

to go to the groomers for the day, 

we leave before the sun comes up - and it’s breathtaking because 

in the early morning I see

the predawn Christmas lights still shining a fantasy of dazzling brilliance 

festive wreaths hung from red velvet ribbons on rural hometown bank windows

jetliners drawing Etch-a-Sketch pictures on a daybreak sky

steam vapors swirling up off the ponds, summer fishing days a half-Earth rotation away

a heavenly greeting hawk on a wire in the median - from Mom, checking to be sure my doors are locked, I’m not speeding, and I’m wearing my seatbelt 

a flurry of other more excited dogs arriving for grooming and daycare 

in the early morning I smell

a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, flavoring the car with high-octane energy for the day ahead

diesel fumes from school buses,

like the red double decker buses of London - bringing flashback memories 

still-lingering mineral soap scent inspired by the coast of Ireland, according to the box

in the early morning I hear

the silence of my car prayer chamber and God’s voice reminding me that there is both work to be done and life to be lived 

in the early morning I feel

the comforting heat flooding my feet and hands as I drive 

a frequent paw nudging my hand to turn the Rav around: “no grooming needed today, Mom….we’re good”

and in the early morning I taste 

the frozen air, awakening my lungs with the chill of newness as I walk the boys before taking them in for their early-morning groomings because yes, grooming is happening today! 

Tuesday, November 30, 2021




Impressionism in art


Lack of communication 

  between people

Are two different ways 

  of interpreting the world 

Monday, November 29, 2021

Don’t Be a Monkey!


Don’t Be a Monkey! 

When they hang by their tails, they










Sunday, November 28, 2021

Family Tricube


Family Tricube 










Saturday, November 27, 2021

Spoonerism Pantoum

Spoonerism Pantoum 

taking a family Thanksgiving walk

on the Johnson Funny Farm

holes everywhere in the tufted ground 

“What are they? They’re everywhere!”

on the Johnson Funny Farm

pine straw sticking up like golf divots 

“What are they? They’re everywhere!”

Briar confessed: “We have aardvarks”

pine straw sticking up like golf divots 

like a foursome gone club-crazy

Briar confessed: “We have aardvarks”

he mixes up his words sometimes 

like a foursome gone club-crazy

holes everywhere in the tufted ground 

he confused aardvarks with armadillos 

taking a family Thanksgiving walk 

Friday, November 26, 2021

Thanksgiving Feast


Thanksgiving Feast 

Our resident fox squirrel

is savoring his Thanksgiving feast

one day late ~


exactly 48 miles due south of Atlanta,

114 miles southeast of Dahlonega,

159 miles southwest of Hiawassee.

222 miles northwest of Savannah, 

279 miles northeast of Seaside, and 

287 miles northwest of St. Simons


~ right around the corner from the critter’s Christmas-treat-laden tree in the front yard at the top of a railroad tie in the sunshine on the Johnson Funny Farm 

….and we are smiling from the kitchen window, where he has now abandoned his half-eaten apple at the top of the post and would have left us scratching our heads at that apple had we not seen the feast take place!




Christkindl Market

here I come! Said it for years

but mean it this time. 

German chocolate

Glockenspiel and angel chimes

Glutwein in a mug! 

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Peaceful, Easy Groove


Peaceful, Easy Groove

No big production

Picked up pre-cooked pig and bird

Whipping up fixings 

Laid-back Thanksgiving

Foregoing the flusterings 

Keeping it simpler

Peaceful, easy groove 

More time spent with each other 

Less fussing with food 

Jigsaw puzzle out 

For quiet moment seekers

Introvert’s delight 

Front porch loveseats spiffed

Coffee tables ready for

folks to sit and chat

This is how Sundays 

Used to be in the old days

Families gathered 

Big-table dinner

Then they branched off to play cards

Gossip over tea 

No conversations

About hot-button issues

That dampen spirits 

So light up the tree 

“Hey, Google! Play some music.”

Pour a glass of wine 

Let the dogs outside

Play fetch and take a short walk 

Eat buttermilk pie 

Happy Thanksgiving 

From the Johnson Funny Farm

May your days be blessed! 

Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Come on Home Down Country Roads


Come On Home Down Country Roads  

Go past the historic red brick courthouse on the city square where men fight against development and complain there’s no internet 

Go left at the Hallmark Christmas tree, 

fragrant balsam standing tall,

winking love to all, a gift each year from a tree farmer in our rural Georgia country farmland

Go on through the hometown sidewalks bustling with fresh holly-filled evergreen wreaths on every door - the Mortons, the Sawyers, the Demarcos, and all the other names in the church directories for miles on end, people smiling and waving from restored front porches

Go straight down to the dirt road, and turn the window down a crack to hear the crunch of gravel under the pickup truck tires, as every outside farm dog comes running to the road’s edge to take a good hard look with a warning greeting 

Go past the cinnamon-roll haybales standing on their sides, scattered across the rolling hill pastures like manna fallen from heaven, acres and acres outlined in rustic wood-rail fences

Go past the old tobacco barn now home to tractors and balers and machinery that makes it all easier for the great great grandsons of the first generation farmers 

Go right at the fishing ponds where the cat-tails sway and the frogs trill songs of praise for the day and the steam rises like slow-mo ballet dancers on cold mornings 

Go real slow at the roadside stand, the honor system produce market where the farmer leaves a money bucket for the good folks of Pike County to pay for their collards and pumpkins - and tip your hat, if you’re wearin’ one and see somebody 

Go on up to the holy cows, the ones who run together in a big herd toward the cross on the hill every evening at five o’clock sharp when they’re called home 

Go past the old dilapidated cannery, where the women of this town in war-time all worked to preserve the food grown here to feed the nation 

Go over the railroad tracks - the ones that brought all the folks before us out to line the streets as President Franklin D. Roosevelt in his casket rode through the small towns from his home over in Warm Springs all the way back to D.C. 

Go on down past the fire tower and Gregg’s peach orchard, past the old cemetery with its moss-covered headstones, over the creek and through the piney woods to the Johnson Funny Farm and

Come on in, greet the dogs in their full-body wags and sit down and have a glass of sweet tea with a mint sprig in a mason jar with me! 

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

River Tricube


Linda Mitchell challenged me to a Tricube today! A Tricube is a 9 syllable poem of 3 lines, each comprised of 3 syllables, and commonly written in 3 stanzas for a total of 27 syllables. 

River Tricube

when writing,
ride river
word rapids!

droughts will come
so will rains ~
levels change

when words flow
grab your pen: 
listen in! 

Monday, November 22, 2021

I Might Be


I Might Be

I might be the hero
in another dimension’s
Christmas horror movie

I might be
because I have just 
torched a baby girl demon
wrapped in Christmas lights 
and flung her to the 
depths of Hell over a cliff 
by the sea and prayed 
to the Holy Ghost for forgiveness
in case I did the wrong thing 
but I burned every shred of  
evil and cast down the devil’s
Christmas elf in my nightmare

then woke up completely 
peaceful and relaxed,
not out of breath 
or heart all pumping 
behind a tight-skinned face 
or screaming in terror 
despite all the threats 
from the little fiend that 
she would return 
for more tricks tonight 

I might be 
the movie star celebrity 
of a Stephen King realm 
that exists in the dark universe
somewhere in a movie theater city
where the sun never rises 
and no one ever sleeps or laughs,
they all just eat popcorn 
and watch flicks 24/7 
like that’s all there is to do 

Yeah. Me. 
I just killed an evil baby princess 
in a vivid little coastal town 
probably somewhere 
near Bangor, Maine 
scaled a second floor 
sun balcony patio 
with a single jump 
to trap her in a stairwell,
wrestled this female 
pint-sized Chucky
lit her on fire
with an Aim-‘n-Flame
then hurled her over the edge
~ fully engulfed ~
I, the victor in avenging 
this little demon 
on a power trip 
to destroy the world 

only there’ll be no limo 
no red carpet runway 
In a glittery gown
straight past swooning fans 
to a Golden Globe for me  
~ just a Little Debbie 
Christmas Tree Cake 
shared with 3 
adorable schnoodles 
in the privacy 
of my own living room 
where I am only their hero 
in our rural Georgia 
Funny Farm dimension 

and all of this 
left me wondering 
if this little bitch I killed 
is the one 
who brings hot flashes 
and plagues my nights and  
whether I just saved 
all of womankind 
from the depths of despair 
with my dream-powered 
cunning stunts 
clever moves
fearless determination 
to overcome the enemy 

so if the hot flashes 
of the world 
suddenly cease and 
women across
the world are healed and 
have kept the cool side 
of the pillow 
for nights on end 
without sweat or explanation 
and start appearing on 
The Today Show and 
Good Morning America and 
places like that 
giving testimonials 
attributing it to some new 
mineral they’ve discovered 
or find that they’re dog mamas 
of all the same breed?
there’s no need to buy 
the infomercial miracle sprinkles 
or the puppy 
because that’s not why 
they’re hot flashless –
no, indeed
it was my nightmare prowess 
and bravery that cured us, 

that was me – the one
wearing the invisible 
blue snowflake cape – 
a hot flash hell hero
from another dimension 

I did that! 

Today’s poem has me wondering whether the Covid booster has additional side effects like murderous nightmares 

Sunday, November 21, 2021

Go Ahead. Roll the Dice.


Go Ahead. Roll the Dice.

And so it unfolds ~

a tempting delicacy

on a glistening silver tray

sugar-laden phyllo 

luring the senses

beckoning one taste

of Eden’s secret

but be forewarned 

cheating is 

a nutrient-rich 


bolting shut 

home sweet home

and all its

familiar comforts 

Today’s poem was inspired by Metaphor Dice, with host Margaret Simon on as part of the November Open Write. My rolled metaphor is in bold. 

Saturday, November 20, 2021

Covid Booster Blues


Covid Booster Blues 

heat lightning against

a nighttime sky ~ random bolts

jagged energy 

Covid booster shot

flared the same effect on me-

muscle lightning storms 

sore left arm like a

petrified tangerine lump

hornet sting of pain 

ice pick scraping skull 

like a dentist drills a tooth

eye socket headache 

trembling Jello ring 

fetal position shivers

fire poker iceberg 

warm-socked feet, blankets

tucked tight holding this body

weathering this storm 

Friday, November 19, 2021

Ten Dollar Lunch


Ten Dollar Lunch 

that ten dollar bill 

you gave me to clasp with your 

windshield wiper if 

I had a message?

I’ve always kept it folded ~

hidden, close to me 

I’ve never told you 

how often I think of it

how it melts my heart 

because - just like you -

it’s so random and quirky 

and unexpected 

 - was it for dog food? -

I forget. But now all I 

see is one part of

a thirty dollar 

lunch that caused a steep nosedive 

bursting pinatas 

I should return it ~

lift your windshield wiper and

say it bought that plate 

Thursday, November 18, 2021

Wait, what? Take 2


Wait, what? Take 2

SB 226 

to ban harmful books in schools

is really a thing? 

What defines harmful?

Our religious difference?

Political lines? 

Kids won’t want to write.

When we silence and censor,

we are admitting

that our own beliefs

are too weak to stand against

the ones we don’t keep.

A nation so rights-

oriented for guns and

vaccination choice 

wants to ban free thought 

and speech. Because books have the 

power to change us

in a way guns and

diseases don’t. Indeed, books

are healing vessels.

Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Wait, what?!


Wait, what?!

wait, what??? the earth is flat??

what about the round pictures from space?

<am I in some kind of vortex??

can this conversation be happening?>

why are sunrise times different, then? 

how would we have different time zones coast to coast on a flat earth?

<is he serious? is this a bet he has made to make us believe this?>

wait, aliens and spaceships? 

why would secret footage be hidden?

<does he just want to argue a ridiculous idea to the point of fake truth?>

we really aren’t allowed to fly over antarctica? how did my friend visit there? 

<are there cameras hidden somewhere and we’re going to be on a show?>

so the 4 different kinds of map projections are all out of whack and things are distorted? 

but isn’t that a visual representation challenge and not evidence of a physical planetary impossibility? 

<i need a drink>

wait, we didn’t land on the moon? 

so Glenn said he did it and later denied ever taking the one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind?

<what has he been smoking? 🌎>

Tuesday, November 16, 2021

A New Son


A New Son

“A young male schnoodle - 

a stray on the streets,” she told 

me, about this dog…

“…animal shelter 

placed him with his first rescue,

who called another…..

more breed-specific -

we took him as a foster…

he’s such a sweet boy! 

Come meet him!” she urged. 

Off we drove to fall in love,

welcome a new son.

“Here is all his food~

oh, and the ball is sacred.”

We brought him home, changed

his name from King to 

Ollie, bought a new collar,

tag, and dog sweater.

We introduced him

to his new tribe of brothers -

a family tree! 

He doesn’t like baths,

wants to play fetch all day long.

His eyebrows tell all.

He whine-talks his thoughts,

outright barks his firm demands.

He’s made us his own!  

Coming to My Senses

  Coming to My Senses When it’s time for the Schnoodles  to go to the groomers for the day,  we leave before the sun comes up - and it’s bre...