There is
no Frigate like a book,
To take us lands away.
Nor any Courser like a Page
Of prancing Poetry.
...Emily Dickinson
When I am stressed I find a nook
To satisfy a quiet need
I crawl into my space to read,
There is no Frigate like a book.
Imagination rules the day
As images whirl through my mind.
the written words all intertwine
To take us Lands away.
The flowing words help to assuage
My temporary discontent,
There is no flight more reverent
Nor any Coursers like a Page.
I find I read voraciously
Exploring things I never knew,
Especially in my debut
Of prancing Poetry.
**Gloss form, Poets' Forum Magazine
1998
Song of Sonnets
The rhythm of a sonnet sings to me
With flowing words it plays a sweet refrain
Iambic notes become the central key
To move and pace its chorus without strain.
A flutist could not play a sweeter phrase,
Nor organ pipes resound a greater note
Than music from a sonnet's clever maze
Of structured syllables, and rhyme, and rote.
The sonnets sing with words from days gone by,
Yet modern tunes are coaxed to weave and bend
A pleasing melody, when poet's ply
Their expertise, a song is in the wind.
Iambic notes are waiting to be played
Before the melody begins to fade.
**1st Place Kentucky State contest, published
in Parnasus 2000
Don't Count Me Out Yet
My hair is gray but I'm not dead,
If I must age, I will wear red!
I'll wear high-heels and dance till dawn,
I'll drink champagne and hide a yawn.
My SUV is quite the style
Its sporty lines are full of guile.
I wave to friends in paisley prints
They nod and say I've lost my sense.
Their gossip is, "She should grow up,
Accept her age, she's filled her cup."
No matter what, I'll still wear red,
Just cause I'm gray, don't mean I'm dead!
**1st Place PA Poets contest 2004
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