(im)perfect wife




Persistently unavailable.

Perhaps presently too.

Unavailable nonetheless

and so we must learn

to embrace with

(hugs) the truth

(im)perfect wife

who lives and loves

and fails only to try

one more time again.

She puts her arms

around the (im)

a hug and some space

to keep her and

perfect from getting

a shade too close.

Inspired by my post at Strawberry Roan (http://strawberryroan.blogspot.ca/2013/01/imperfect-wives.html) and by doing the Respect Dare.

Sixty Second Poet


Do you have a minute to spare buddy?

How about 59 seconds of your time?

If I can write it in a minute, will you

read it and tell me in under two?


Change lanes, change channels.

Follow up or follow through.

Table for five with visible

seating for four please.






Where have the tones and test patterns gone?

Where is the static man, I miss the sound!

Shhhhhhhhhhhh…turn that off it’s too late

for them to broadcast. We are gonna be

busted so bad if Mom wakes up now!


Time. Time. Time. Time.

If you used all you had

instead of lamenting

the moments you lost

how would the world

have changed by now?


Sound bytes. Popcorn bits.

Gritty stuck in your teeth

or so sticky sweet you’ll

be sick tomorrow for sure.


Get the main point, thank you.

I have no time for a story,

just give me the take-away

message so I can get on

with rushing about looking

busy for those who whorship

the godling of static treadmills.


Each stanza here done in sixty seconds or less. I’m hoping you enjoyed them for longer than five minutes!  Linking up at dVerse Poets. Thanks Brian for another great bartending.

Sharks in the water

Like sharp  knives hidden in the soapy dish water.

Words they wait, sharp edges and safe handles.

Sometimes I get one end to grasp the words.

Other times the blade slices deep. I bleed.

Cuts quick and sharp, no pain. Not yet.

Then I hurt. And bleed. And curse it.

The the words come. Pain or joy.

Pain and joy? Maybe that too.

The words either come or

they don’t come to me.

Poetry is born in my

world fully formed.

Lived fully and

then birthed

onto page



For dVerse Poetics tonight. Enjoy!


The words you don’t hear

When your ears are no longer five by five.

Filled with the words you don’t hear.

The ones you long for and whisper.

When your eyes burn with tears

bitter and hurt. Tears shamed.

When your heart aches and

you wish you could hear

the words no one will

say. The words you

need to hear. You

need and ache

for alone.

Ag Shows

You won’t know.

Not until you go.

How farmers get

so excited for the

annual ag show.


Parking pickups like

they are super B’s.

Tractors, grains,

inputs and things.

Freebies and eats

farmers love treats.


New combines so big,

cost as much as a house.

A big house. Really.

Tractors, sprayers,

seeders, tanks and trucks.

Gadgets and weirdness.


Farm shows are

the way farmers

have fun in the winter

when they aren’t

curling and planning.


Farmers are a

funny bunch.

Get a whole herd

offer them free lunch.

Wanna get them

out in droves?

Give ’em hats!


I love my farmer.

I do, he is dear.

But to get him

really excited

you need a good

farm show!


These are memories


These are memories you don’t find in boxes.

These are memories you don’t plan.

These are memories made of fun.

Plain fun, old fashioned together time.

Laughing boys. Running dogs. Smiling us.

These are memories you keep forever and an extra day.

These are memories you don’t have to label.

These are memories made with silly smiles.

Plain old belly laughs, mile wide grins on red faces.

Loving times. Snowy days. Memory making.

These are memories you want to share, and yet keep just us three.

These are memories made on the farm and in the country.

These are memories made with simple things.

Plain up the road and back again fun. Spinning donuts.

Moments not captured but treasured. Memories alive.