Fraiku: Doctor Verse

Don’t edit yourself
Poetry is the fever
Let it heal your mind

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Growing up, my girl next door was called Andy.
I just assumed gravity would bring us together—
like two galaxies slowly merging over a lifetime.

It might still happen though we’re no longer neighbors—
not that that matters in this age of internet dating,
remote work and learning, Zoom relationships.

My neighbors were once the people I delivered newspapers
to or begged candy from on Halloween night and today
I don’t know who lives in the next apartment.

Now I think of my readers as neighbors. I don’t care
which school you attended or the color of your passport.
We communicate at the speed of light.

The gravity of our words draw us together—
faster than the dark energy keeping us apart.

For the LP Prompt: Neighbor and Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Galaxy.

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Fraiku: Politics

When conservatives claim government is broken
They aren’t complaining
They’re bragging

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They stand hip deep in the ocean
awaiting the wave’s crescendo

It doesn’t care how much they love
each other— it will wash over them

and they will either stand strong
or be swept out to sea

(For two prompts: LP’s June Visual Prompt and Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt.)

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Fraiku: Baseball

Crack— a leather orb
climbs to heaven while moonrise
looms over left field

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Mulberries Published at MasticadoresUSA!

My poem Mulberries in the Piedmont has been published by Masticadores USA. I encourage all my fellow poets to check out Masticadores and send them your work.

All thanks to their editor, Gabriela Marie Milton!

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I dreamt I was walking my dogs under the light of the moons.

I dreamt I was walking my dogs
under the light of the moons.

The Greater Moon was full—
glowing porcelain above our heads
while the Lesser Moon was a ruddy
crescent setting in the west.

We returned to the backyard and howled,
all three of us, then hunted snipes
until we collapsed in a pile
of dirty paws and panting tongues.

I awoke in a narrow bed— no foot warmers,
no one begging breakfast before dawn.
Felt the pull of a lonely moon
in the still dark night

and howled into my pillow.

(From yesterday’s Living Poetry Prompt.)

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Fraiku: Thunderstorm

Heavy humid heat
Scraped from exhausted leaves
Summer thunderstorm

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The sun’s no hotter

The sun’s no hotter

It’s just the atmosphere
soaking it all in
like a pasty beach body
with no SPF


We slept too long
skin red as a tornado
on doppler or a lobster
boiling in a pot

This is the inheritance
of my angry children—
blisters and pain
in a world inflamed

Written to this week’s Living Poetry Prompt: Heirloom and Go Dog Go Cafe’s Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge which provided the picture.


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Sonnet composed while waiting for Anaphylaxis

Sonnet composed while waiting for Anaphylaxis

I couldn’t be certain
I wasn’t already sick
and just not snuffling
so I wore my mask.

Every day I took my temperature
to see if it had raised
into the triple-digits
but I remained stubbornly cool.

Today a second dose of mRNA
was injected into my arm
so I will no longer fear
the contaminated air.

Tomorrow I want to feel sick in solidarity
with all you who built your antibodies the hard way.

(Besides the obvious real-life inspiration, this was also for to this week’s Living Poetry Prompt to write a poem containing the words “air”, “certain” and “raise”.)


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