Lady of the lake…


 Lady of the lake….


We loved the weeping willows trees by the lake, we loved the month of July and August. Once I wanted death and my lady of the lake, whispered a sweet song to me.         

         “Do words matter?   

               What are we?   

               Maybe we are just, here for a second,   

               maybe we are just dancers upon the wind,

                   waiting for a reason to be alive. 

                 Dear Poet,   

               dance with me near the weeping willow tree,     

             Lets, become like the free and wild dandelions, 

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Would you? Could you?


O so sweet, O so soft…

My dearest miracle, I was alone till you blessed me with your sweet kiss and your gentle voice. Once I asked you. Would you, could you, love me? You whispered. After 50 years of, O so sweet, O so soft, we shall know, promises made are meaningless, lover’s meet, lover’s dance and lover’s learn. Time together is the proof of lover’s wisp.

I do love you.

     Dancing Coyote

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The storm… Written in 1988.

Don’t Miss This!!


The storm

A Poem by Coyote Poetry
"Love can break you down and leave you empty and alone."    

                                The storm…

Love can be like a gentle rain and
 love can be like a thunderstorm to the heart.

A fall day in 1984. A auburn hair beauty came to my door with six wine coolers
and a smile. Requested to join me in my apartment.
She told me she broke-up with her boyfriend and needed company.

I invited her in and she removed her coat.
Showing me long  tan legs and a perfect young body.
Her short skirt left me dreaming of thing I shouldn’t have.

Sweet Jennifer had great dreams. She was going to be a designer of clothing.
She loved to dance and laugh. She was barely 19 years old.

I was not old in age. Just old in spirit. I was just tire and accepted my…

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Cherry Blossoms

Roth Poetry

Cherry blossoms lead the Spring parade. Along with flowering pear, and redbuds they provide a glorious silhouette against the deep blue sky. I took this photo in my neighborhood this morning. Cherry blossoms are a great symbol of new life and light as we lead into Easter this coming weekend.

Cherry blossoms shine

Painting warm soft spring snowflakes

Soon wrapped in deep green

At d’Verse, Frank asked us to write our Monday Haibun on the theme of cherry blossoms. I waited to post till today so I could show you the beautiful cherry blossoms I see as I pass in and out of my neighborhood.

Join us at: https://dverse

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Wind Blown

Reliving Memories!

Roth Poetry

Laundry on the line

For all the world to see

Basking in sunlight

Fresh sheets blowing in the wind

A fresh smell like no other


Clothes from the washer

Suds squeezed out through the ringer

Woman’s work back then

Monday morning wash day

Life’s simple routine repeated


Wicker basket filled

Undies just hung on the line

Wooden clothes pins tight

No one then gave it a thought

Whether the neighbors saw them


Phosphate soap bubbles

Tide will always get them clean

Good fresh smells linger

Dry clothes pressed on ironing board

Folded put up by supper

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

At d’Verse this evening, De asked us to write a poem about laundry! I grew up in the days when clothes were washed in a ringer washer and washtubs, hung on the line outside with wooden clothes pins, and ironed on an ironing board in the…

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My mouth is an open wound for the flies


Honey, let me tell you what your eyes refuse to see

When I smile at the man who dares touch my skin,
All my insides turn upside down
My ribcage strain to hold out anger
My chest is empty of breaths and full of violence
A curse has latched itself into my bones ─
It peels. It burns.

Beyond my Cheshire smile is a war
Between words I want to say and the world that won’t let me
My heathen tongue is shut by the thing that you call “joke”
So I bite down a wrathful scream
Swallow a coil of sorrow,
Bury it deep in a mass grave of apologies

For being a woman who can’t fight.

Honey, you see ─ or perhaps you don’t
There is no safe place my kind
Against the devil and you, the accessory to the crime
Who thinks a touch,
A tap,

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Come Join Me – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon


At dVerse Frank is hosting Haibun with an invitation to write about cherry blossoms.

dVerse Poets – Haibun – Cherry Blossoms

Photo: Hans Braxmeier at

“To find yourself, think for yourself.” Socrates

Come Join Me Going to hell in a handcart seems infinitely better than joining with the elite ignorance of those who presume they're on for a visit to the angel bar in the ether. How can it be that we tolerate the essence of ego over integrity, where is the authentic one, where the grounded reality? How is it that we have put a gun to the head of community, in pursuit of self-indulgence? Of course, it is infinitely more valid if we charge a small fortune for courses that enable wrong choices to look like someone else, someone who knows the mantra. Surely it is time to self-prune, to take stock and account for the present…

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