Sunday, August 12, 2012

His Island (Poetry Rally Week 71 at Hyde Park)

Far away: thunder storms, haunted homes,
Teachers' lounge, fisherman's boats,
Snow-covered mountains
above Cape Red Lake,
August, the fair time,
All the churches of Christian
are pinned in painting,
Standing next to one another
like a priest's extracted
wisdom teeth,
We plot football games strategies,
and cook out at paid lawns,
Tilt our notebook, pages hot
from the sun, and draw stars
with images of bottomless smoke,
Between lines,
Orange slashes of a torched island flash,
Letting it pass upon the realization
of dead end.

Image Credit:, newmax, msn at

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Gem Smiles On Their Faces (Humor Is Welcome All The Time)

Q: What kind of jokes do chickens like best?
A: Corny ones.
Q: What's the favorite game in the hen house?
A: Chickers.
Q: Why should you never tell a joke to an egg?
A: Because it might crack up.
Q: Have you heard the joke about chicken pox?
A: Shhh! Don't tell it, it might spread.

Image Credit:

Monday, August 6, 2012

Tide, A Family Choice © Cheryl Alexander


My whites were dark and dingy
My colors failing fast,
Giving up was coming close
My mom said "Tide will past."
I've tried so many other soaps
I've grown so tired and weary,
Frustration caused an overload
My eyes were puffed and teary.
I knew mom used Tide growing up
My dad, he would insist,
Us kids really didn't know
Not just the smell we'd miss.
Now that I'm married now myself
And clothes are piling fast,
Moms words of wisdom fill my thoughts
Cheryl, "Tide will past."
I've used the cheap brands: All of them,
In class my kids would hide,
Most kids there had brighter whites
My son said, "Mom use Tide".
Stubborn me, I gave in
Now my choice is clear,
The only soap in my home was
Tide with bleach this year.

Image Credit:, yahoo at

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Mortal Surge Plus Olympic Dynamics (Short Story Slam Week 24)

We are anxious,
We pant,
We shout like bullets slicing the space,
the frothing ocean,
The burning torch,
The foggy eyes of lost souls,
All confuse in unison,
staying put.
We seek the convergence of glances,
Feel breathless when being comforted,
The sky stares at us closely,
Penetrating the veil of our frankness,
Daring us to advance,
to be healed,
make whole,
and made clean.
We're along and never alone,
Connected and not secured,
Freed and yet invisibly caged,
We scream born and weep dying,
We're honored in the image of the dead,
We love the image of the to be born,
We shuddle to beget with children,
We shuddle not to beget with children...

Image Credit:, the new york times, msn at yahoo, Washington post...