Tag Archives: Wordle


Coral tinged fingers of his stamens
pointed motionlessly with eloquent
yet fragile strength toward the brilliant sky.
As Spring rapidly swiveled into Summer,
the bloom anticipated
the cleaning of his filaments and anthers –
the precious pollen and nectar must be shared.
Safety and survival of his species
hung in the balance!
Where were the Bees?

Inspired by the words of the latest Sunday Whirl – Wordle #30


Dawn on Hales Passage

The latest wordle words from the Sunday Whirl.

Rusted-out glaze smears through
ragged clouds and the crystal crusted
mountain echoes that rosy hue
marking a fresh beginning.

Leaning from the edge of his craft,
the gnarly purse-seiner
straightens stretched webs –
the net’s necklace strung with floats
rolling over into the icy sea;
the little skiff dragging it ’round to bridge the gap ‘tween.
The bottom now prepared to be sewn up tight as a purse,
boiling and shimmering with terrified sardines.

The blades of eel-grass nod
and bide time with our fisher;
waiting for a flood of the
incoming and phosphorescent tide .

Water Fall

Swirling shallows rush indignantly past the dam and
then drop 800 hundred feet to the gorge below.
A sizzling bolt scars the indigo of the nocturnal desert sky.
It strikes, then topples the ancient and contorted fir-tree
(“Old Man” he is called by the Ones who live here)
into the boundless and unforgiving chute.
His broken limbs are first gathered up then flounced away.
Bursting and dancing,
he is swept through the thundering canyon,
riding through on the river’s back to his next world.
This awesome sign causes the Ones who live here to pause
with their hoops ‘round their shoulders
and sigh.

Inspired by Sherman Alexie’s poem “The Pow Wow at the End of the World” and using the words from the Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #26 (below)

Balboa Blues

Isn’t it crumby?
That I never did
get to go and see it inside…
Oh, my folks could be
     such a drag back in ’65!
The next year it burnt down;
clear down to the ground.
Its site sat fallow until
a “better” use could be found.

Maybe an encroaching Pacific tide-pond outside
would lap automobile and surf buggy tires,
then tickle the toes of rambunctious surfers,
stopping to admire their ride.
Out in the (my parents said so) infamous parking lot,
they’d be sneaking their underage swallows
of brew, and smoking (not pot,)
and maybe taking a leak in a neighboring garden.
Oops! Begging your pardon.

I’m imagining that once inside,
their Pendleton flannels
tossed up on a hat-rack,
surfers hangin’ ten,
going trippin’ and stomping –
those aging floor planks
and Socrates Sandals a’ clompin’.
Dancing to the blasting surf beat – Cowabunga!
Dick Dale, King of Surf Guitar – we love ya.

The bell at Our Lady of Mount Carmel tolls and oh a
big parking lot now skirts big condos in Balboa,
where a plaque remembers and saves it from doom
the famous but obsolete Rendezvous Ballroom.


Well, I couldn’t get the middle part of this poem quite right, but decided to go for it and maybe I can fix it later?


My muse drudged up some Southern California memories and lore (and patiently coaxed me during my attempt at rhyming!) The words in bold are from the Sunday Whirl – Wordle #25

Catskill Mud

The jolt preceded just the week before
and that quake was No Big Deal.

Irene, then Lee, cut through
each Catskill hollow and hamlet –
where ancient streams flow and pass.

Now bold, roaring rivers of mud
scrape away trees, bridges, buildings.

The Simple details of life
are Urgent or Not.

Hands in her pockets,
the waitress said with dignity,
“We were So Lucky, we only lost a car,
and just the downstairs flooded.”

While visiting my sister in Phoenicia, NY, we witnessed the flooding devastation inflicted by hurricanes Irene and Lee. The last line of the poem was uttered by our waitress as we sat at the counter of the Sun Frost café located somewhere between Woodstock and Bearsville. We found that the most current flooding news was always at the diners and cafés. It was heartwarming to see such generosity and compassion – people who weren’t totally wiped out eagerly offered whatever they had left to others – furniture, clothes, vehicles.

The words are taken from Wordle #21 from this week’s Sunday Whirl.

Cave Creek Junction

Birdlike blooms quivering
     in the desert dusk,

as hordes of lizards crawl
    over pallid sands.

The women rack-up another set,
      joking, goofing off and waiting…

The cowboys,
     donning rhinestone studded shirts,
     and big hats – hitch the horses outside.

Another Friday night at
     the Horny Toad Bar and Grill…

With a wink and a nod to the real deal in
 Cave Creek AZ and using the 12 wordle-words in Sunday Whirl #20.

Keepin’ the Blues Alive!

Fervent fans trickle onto the grassy grounds
after unloading lawn chairs and coolers from the trunk.
Joe the proprietor is eyeing the crowd –
fingers crossed for a turnout and a profit.

Cloaking the perimeter, a cacophony of tie-dyed sheeting
stretched ’round and fused with that throbbin’ Bo Didley beat…
guarantees passers-by will be obliged to pay the fee
if they want to see the sounds that tease.

Hour after hour, band after band takes a turn on-stage,
Groaning, twanging, belting, tinkling, rasping and cranking out
Nothin’ but the blues.

As the set finishes, human ants shoulder
massive loads of gear to and fro, through the throng –
Guitars, amps, basses, washboards, saxes and keyboards.
Transitions and the sound checks mess with the programming,

But it’s all cool…

Ok and now it’s The Chainsaw Blues.
I am telling you the truth:
The guy has a saw revved-up AND
is playing it!

SPF70 residue, caked with sprinkles of dust,
now decorates my feet.
We are grateful as the welcome breeze sweeps through
the hurts-your-eyes-brilliant-blue skies
and cools our sun kissed skins.
Sweat and sunscreen running down my arm
have smudged my “I
the Blues!” entry stamp.
I’ve drained the vessel holding my ice-tea.
No matter, it’s time to enjoy an ice-cold beer.

And the turnout: twirling, ruffle-skirted little ones,
Climbing, running urchins, smoking teens, pencil-thin pubescent girls,
Pot-bellied, bopping grey hip-cats, young Moms and babes,
And even Grannies. Every flavor of age, size, hue, and OH… the attire!
Dancin’, tappin’, clappin’, rockin’ and keepin’ the blues alive.

Inspired while attending the 2nd Annual Lummi Island Blues Festival,
And using the 12 words in Sunday Whirl #19.