let the sun shine let the sun shine in

Is springtime at last approaching?

My hitherto forced grins

Are becoming more spontaneous.

Now I can come out

Of my shell again

And face the world.

Not cut out for winter,

I fall in love

With each vernal outburst.

 I wish it were permanent.

Join us for quadrilles in  dverse   forty.four.word poetry.



an enigmatic good-bye

Perhaps I should have told him

Or at least made something up.

         I’ve met another man, joined the

Dominicans…  O it’s too late now.  He’s

          right  here.   I must make haste.

 My heart is broken but at least it’s all over.


magpie tales

kathe w


c hummel kornell

the good life

I thought my life would be like  cartoon talk or a piece of gum,

Ever ready to be contained within,  or to produce, a bubble.

I soon shall figure out a way to make it so.

         I sha’n’t relax until I see that day.


Time for the third quadrille where De wants us to bubble with 44.word poetry at


the belle of amherst and I visit my early days

I went to Lindenhurst last night

I  thought I Heard the bells

Ring out loud at O.L.P.H.

The town was Dark and still.

I then went back to East Elmhurst

Outside St. Gabriel’s

And no one Recognized me there.

I felt a Solemn chill.


“Perhaps I’ll come back Someday soon”,

I thought as I did leave.

“I don’t belong Here anymore”,

Was all I could believe.

I have there now no Friend or foe

But only Tales to tell

Of life that was once, long ago,

A world I once knew well.





the belle of amherst

It’s a bright morning, seven a.m. April 16, 1862, in Amherst, Massachusetts. Emily Dickinson and her older brother Austin are to spend the day at his house celebrating his thirty third birthday with their family. For a while she is left alone. She contemplates her poem number 449. Death for beauty meets death for truth. Engrossed in a mystical vision of their confrontation, the consummate poetess loses all track of time. At about noon, Austin and their sister Lavinia arrive at the house and are stunned. Why had she entirely ignored the candle?


I have included a link to Dickinson’s poem, with an explanation of it, in order to give some insight into the circumstances surrounding my story.

an attempt at a sonnet of botched-up romance

              Bernice was a big Yankee fan for life

          Though Stanley he couldn’t stand sports at all.

                He got gussied up all prim and proper

And she wore bermuda shorts day and night

            She was such a radical left wing chick

           And he, alas, was that far on the right.

   She ate only macrobiotic style

And he wanted  a well-rounded diet.

She, a country girl, lived on a large farm.

And he was a die hard city slicker.

She listened all day to the Grateful Dead

But he wanted a Mozart concerto.

Alas their romance didn’t quite work out.

Hard though I try I shall never know why.