Tag Archives: poem

Between Vampires and Snow

Judging by the weather, you’d think we’d gone from Halloween to Christmas in the course of a week.

Me? I’m getting used to shoveling the front steps as our jack-o-lanterns get buried, but am really hoping to see grass at least once more before April.

Please visit rosanevarez at deviantART for more images like the one seen at left. I think he’s just adorable, and reflects exactly how things are over here at the moment.


this year,

is so oddly caught between the vampires and the snow.

Each pushing against the other,

while faux-turkey gets baked…

somewhere in the middle.

And while I love the seasonal cooking,

the wine

and my new ability to bake a pie,

my heart is still in New Orleans.

New Orleans…

Where the immortals drink in 64 degrees

and dine on brass band all weekend.

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Filed under Local, Seasonal

Juj the Running Mantra

fireflies trees rain


I’ve never claimed or even wanted to be a worthy poet. But you have to do something with the brain while you jog through a humid evening. Thus:

Seneca smells like meat

and I’m beggin’ the sky

to bleed

rain to cool the skin

and wash away


I see grey clouds up above

and fireflies blinkin’ love;

Juj you cross my mind

and the memories are kind.

Has another storm come yet

to the house on Lafayette?

I blow a kiss your way

until Saint Patrick’s Day.

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Filed under Seasonal

Summer Cold

kleenex box trees


Summer Cold,

we are not amused.

Rattling throat,

tissues used.

Ricola wrappings liter the table,

and to run my lungs are just not able.

Take yourself to a colder season –

lingering in heat lies beyond reason.

We’ll meet again when days are short,

your vengeance on this brief retort.


Filed under Seasonal

That Old, Familiar Blur

white sun in blue sky

Sometimes good poems just occur, but rarely to me. Nothing astounding here, but it happened:


My eyes settle in to that

old, familiar blur.

Running without lenses,

willing my ankle to be sure.

Feeling naked in the sunlight,

shoulders and shins exposed.

Can we now be fairly certain

the winter season’s fully closed?

I see warm people on green grass; it seems

Winter was only supposed.


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Filed under New Story

Numbered in the 300 Millions

Dali, Dream of a Virgin, sad, desolate, scared

Have you even been convinced that you’re going to be a statistic?

One little bump on the head, and you’re most certainly experiencing intracranial bleeding.

A tired day and you have a rare form of cancer.

Continue reading

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Filed under AutoBio, Death etc..