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Punctuation: the point

A few years ago in Arizona, a fellow writer told me I should write more like Cormac McCarthy. Last week in Virginia, I heard about his escape from punctuation in The Road.Now I can’t stop thinking about careening commas, exit-blocking exclamation points, jack-knifed semi-colons and apostrophe ambulances!Well, back to the book. The Road is full of lessons for writers. For example, (spoiler alert)…

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never say...

“Never again.” I’m packing for another road trip to Colorado and Arizona. This time we’ll take a more northern route out, but we’ll spend our usual two days driving through Texas on our way home.

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One down...

A promise kept

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Gods of Spring

Apollo rises, shows his faceand buds emerge, daffodils and jonquilson the verge bow in homageto the gods of spring. April opensloving eyes, but surprise!We shut our windows, stay insidewhile mighty Pollen, omnipresent,sprinkles gold on everything. Inspired by dVerse.

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The Liar’s Holiday

One day a year, I take a break from telling lies for my own sake, but truth’s a thirst I cannot slake. To earn my living, I lie. My untruths brought me fame and wealth and had no impact on my health; I purchased my own commonwealth. Have I learned regret? Not yet. I live quite nicely, I must say;I own a yacht where I can stayand planes to take me far away.I just love the simple life. On April…

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Domenical

de Soir, IV – Max Elskamp, Dominical, 1892 Translation by Denise DeVries An illness comes to stay,Sunday begins to languish,Sunday declines with a malady, the doctors say all hope is lost;old Sunday is bound to die,the last physician leaves his side. But, beside him, silentchildren stay with their elders.Beside him, without a word,with sweet black-clad sisters who crylike bells, every half…

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Dimanche, Jacques Prévert

Entre les rangées d’arbres de l’avenue des GobelinsUne statue de marbre me conduit par la mainAujourd’hui c’est dimanche les cinémas sont pleinsLes oiseaux dans les branches regardent les humainsEt la statue m’embrasse mais personne ne nous voitSauf un enfant aveugle qui nous montre du doigt Sunday, translation On Avenue des Gobelins, between the rows of trees,taking my hand, a marble statue…

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Inspiration

Early in the morning, when sleephas unraveled thought and smootheda furrowed brow, poetryshines in jewel-colored skeins,nudging like a restless cat,promising a tapestry ahead,a crazy quilt finally pieced,making perfect sense.That bright thought impels meto rise, and then, windsaround my ankles,rushes off and hides. *** The above poem was inspired by the dVerse prompt and some lines from T.S.…

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Be well!

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A toast

St. Patrick: A Sonnet “a green glory coming into leaf” Note: That’s not Pat in the photo, but Pan.

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When Dad cooked

Dad cooked on occasion,each dish a storied event: from his Navy dayscame SOS (something on a shingle)creamed chipped beef on toast,another SOS (something in a seabag)ground beef baked in green pepper… and he even had a way with Spamand corned beef hash (from a can)golden-fried with a perfect egg. There were campfire mealsof fresh trout on a skilletor potatoes and burger meatburied in the…

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Empty-handed

Abrojos IV, Ruben DarioThistles IV, translation by Denise DeVriesPuso el poeta en sus versostodas las perlas del mar,todo el oro de las minas,todo el marfil oriental;los diamantes de Golconda,los tesoros de Bagdad,los joyeles y preseasde los cofres de un Nabad.Pero como no teníapor hacer versos ni un pan,al acabar de escribirlosmurió de necesidad.The poet put into verseevery pearl of the sea,all…

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For translation Sunday

Vigil for hope This older translation is appropriate for Lent, I think.

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King Cake

Think of how the milk became butter,the separation, the necessary agitation;think of the flour, threshed, grounddust to dust between two stones. Imagine the harvesting of salt,stripped from its briny water bed,the heat needed to activate the yeast, dough rising with its exhaled breath. Think how rain fed the sugarcaneor buried beet, plants crushedto make molasses, sugar spun,clarified,…

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One spring day

There was that one day of spring, still in February, that raised our hopes and fooled even the flowers. Forsythia, notoriously gullible, burst out at the slightest hint of sun. The tulip magnolia kept its buds warm, covered with velvet like the antlers of the bucks grazing nearby. In the marsh, a madding traffic of peeper frogs blared and shrilled all day, retiring the next night with a sudden…

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Feb. 14 - I too dislike it

Hearts and flowers My sister-in-law has decoration for every season. I have a collection of rants about commercialization of holidays. Recently, I’ve been watching a Korean romantic comedy, “True to Love,” in which the guys get everything wrong. That inspired me to write a macabre ditty about why men fear February. After I finish today’s rant, I’ll start working on one for St. Patrick’s Day. Or…

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Post-Valentine Sale

or Why Men Fear February You expected something he should have known, you could have done better on your own. Bargain flowers, candies and wine? Stick them where the sun don’t shine. The card was cheesy, the bubbly flat and the sleazy dress made you look fat. You wanted diamonds, he gave you pearls. The swine is thinking of other girls.The words were right, the tone was off,he hesitated with a…