Posted December 18, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry

Tags: , , , , , ,



In the slope out in the yard,
there is a deeper slope
whose uneven slide
stows eventide.

I would like,
like a child in active play,
to roll down its twilit side,
leaf my hair with strands of grass,
land in a spin of laugh.

But I am the child
who lies down
in that depression,
hiding from those
who would seek her
even as she waits for them to near.

We are who we are.

The house by that hill
that holds a hill
is brick-faced, eyed
with glass that, in the day, looks black
reflecting back.

As night falls, some windows turn,
like the gaze of animals, yellow,
while others glower
a powder

blue, ice floes
above the wine-dark lawn, the ground moon
of stuccoed patio,
and the world becomes a sea,
wave-troughed, while you, me–

what do we
become?  We who are
what we are, we with
the contoured hearts,
the chambered darknesses.


Hi.  Sorry to be so out of touch!  This is very very much a draft poem.  I am completely unsure of the last half which I wrote many many different ways.  I wrote it for Grace’s prompt about James Wright, posted a few days ago on with real toads.  

For Mr. Know-it-all, The Host With the Most

Posted December 11, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: 55, elephants, poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , ,


For Mr. Know-It-All

You beamed a hospitality
that didn’t require proffered tea-
it said, you’re you and I am me
and here’s a place where “we” can be.

Your spot might not suit to a T,
but we fit just fine if some of me–
(with you)–was whittled carefully–
(fifty words worth–no, wait, let’s see

Cause humans tend to err, alive,
why not add another five--)

Oh, gee, man, how I’ll miss your jive.


Here’s a poem for Galen Haynes, the wonderful G-Man, the host with the most, who came up with the form of Flash 55, posted here for Mama Zen’s prompt on With Real Toads to write something less than 75 words with a homophone.

The Friday Flash 55 prompt was so much fun–Galen’s own post witty and wonderfully irreverent, and his persona a joy.  His comments were invariably kind, thoughtful and affirming.  Godspeed, Galen, as Mama Zen wrote in her own beautiful post, and send his family sincere condolences.

PS — Galen was so kind and funny.  He could always tell if a poster was a bit depressed or under the weather.  The above pic is from a post I did when I just couldn’t squeeze out a 55.  The rest of the pictures can be found here.)

Sally and Seemore and the Meaning of Mushki (Maybe Part I)

Posted December 7, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: children's book, dog, Sally & Seemore, Uncategorized

Tags: , , ,










This is a bit of an experiment.  “Sally and Seemore and the Meaning of Mushki” is the manuscript of a children’s (middle grade) novel that I wrote some years ago and never published.  It is a true novel–i.e. with lots of words-and not a lot of pictures.  But lately I’ve been thinking that it might make sense to vastly simplify it by cutting a lot of words and adding in a lot of pictures.  So, I thought today that I might just start trying to write it out in this pictogram/graphic novel sort of format.

Honestly, I don’t know if I can keep it up, as it is a novel with at least 150 pages or so in the old version with all the words, and I have no art training, but I have hated to let the book languish,  So,  I guess I’ll see if I can periodically keep it up.  (A few frames at a time!) 

If the Toads are very lenient, I may link this to With Real Toads open link night. 

PS–Yes, I know the story, but am making the current text up as I go along, in pencil, so please forgive erasures, and photographed (rather than scanned) drawings, and please feel free to make suggestions!   (Right now, I’m not photographing these in very good light, but hopefully I’ll get more confident as I go along!) 

PPS – as always, all rights reserved in pictures and text. 

PPPS-since it is getting near Christmas, I will mention that I have written two other (sort of) children’s books--1 Mississippi, a counting book for lovers of watercolors and pachyderms, and Nose Dive, a young adult (and rather funny) novel for people who are not quite happy with how they look but love to sing anyway. 

Nose Dive pic

(From 1 Mississippi)

(From 1 Mississippi)





Remembrance (Lessened) Of An Old Suffering

Posted December 7, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,


Remembrance (Lessened) Of An Old Suffering

You caress the other’s face,
making love, but some curve
of your knuckle, back
of your hand,
brushes your own eyelid, and
you can’t tell, for an instant, what
has touched you
where–whether hand or eye
felt that stroke, and whose hand,
and whose eye–
remembering too can be
like that,
with luck, time.


Here are 55 (minus title) that I hope are not too enigmatic for Marian’s Flash 55 prompt on With Real Toads. This poem has been edited since posting so maybe is a bit less enigmatic now. (The earlier version relied on the title more and just referred to remembering as “it” in the poem). 

I appreciate that the photo doesn’t exactly match the poem!  And that it probably is too “short,” cutting off trees. But I took it in my visually-impaired way the other day in upstate New York, and I very much like the crinkled ice at the bottom, the freeze happening on a windy night.

Jane (From Primer Days) Thinking about Events in Staten Island, December 2014

Posted December 6, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: children's illustration, drawings, New York City, news, poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,


Jane (From Primer Days) Thinking about Events in Staten Island, December 2014

Hi. I’m Jane as in Dick-and.
And I’m a wreck.

Even though the curbs of my world are perfectly
squared off and all my streets have just the right
amount of shade.

This is because the trees here manage always
to maintain
the optimal height for a nice new subdivision–not too tall but also not
too small–sort of like
Goldilock’s porridge, only
with leaves.


Sometimes, a cat scrambles up one–such fun–
and Mother, who wears high heels
with her apron, calls
the fire department or, if the firemen can’t come,
the police.


The police, who wear blue jackets with yellow
buttons, always have time
for cats, and if you ever somehow stray
in your play, hopscotch
a square too far,
they walk you back
below those just-right trees,
sometimes touching your hand
but never more than–

Unless you are lost with your baby sister,
in which case, the policeman carries her and showing,
just over the crook
of his dark blue arm, are ruffles.

Even with the ruffles, it’s a world
that’s flat–
pretend pressed onto
a pre-Columbus
page–we, its only

Yes, I know, some people leaf through
my old world and think it was not
because our pages showed stuff like
red balls that are real enough–
the red balls that only Dick tossed, caught, lost–
(Me, I never got to toss
a Dick-lost ball.)

There was also our hard cover,
yellow and blue, just like
our hair/eyes, the policeman’s

But oh, you’ve got to know–
we were pressed
so flat in here–I’ve made myself
as flat as they come
and believe me–that is not a kind of flatness
that comes just from holding
my breath.

Speaking of which–breath, I mean.
You know, breathing–

I mean, here I am speaking–speaking
of which–
and yet I can’t, you know,

Because when you are pressed flat, see,
that’s what happens.


Here’s a drafty poem of sorts for Shay/Fireblossom’s prompt on With Real Toads so write a “mash-up” poem putting some character/ historic figure in an unusual context. I had a hard time thinking of what to write; my mind has been very taken up with the recent events in New York City concerning the death of Eric Garner, and I could not really think of anything else to write about.  That said, I really do not want to seem flippant about these very serious events.  I sincerely hope this doesn’t come across that way. The illustrations are mine, in pencil–so sorry that the erasures show!   

Process Note–Primer here is pronounced “primmer” and is a word for a primary level text-book.  For those who don’t know or remember, the Dick and Jane books were primer reading books, popular in the 50’s and 60’s.  

For those of you who are outside the U.S., or haven’t been following the Garner case within the U.S., here’s a timeline of events around the case, with links to articles–timeline


Posted December 1, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,



I walk a newly muddy road
with hurting feet.
Birds cheep, relieved
by the thaw–I do not think,
listening to them, of wings–I am not so
grandiose, even in need–but of how,
for the past few days, geese have honked
above cloud cover, braying
like fox hounds, and of how my feet hurt
just like those honks,
invisibly but oh
so loud (if feet in boots in snow could
be but heard)–not like these murmurs
of smaller birds, fading already in the rush
of swollen stream.

And I wonder, weighed down
by the particular gravity of borrowed boots (having despaired
for the moment of my own), whether in all the multitudes
of geese and universes,
there was ever any single one in which–
except I remember that the geese
actually did break through the clouds yesterday,
or the sky did,
and how they jockeyed for position, realigning
their V as they turned
this way and
my feet did not hurt.

I come up with college, picturing my high
rubbing against a bristle of bare leg,
and how (later), my boyfriend used to lean
over my notebook and write, ”Sweet feet,”
and then, “Hi Petie,” though my name holds nothing
of the Apostles–I think he just liked
the rhyme.

Now, I walk a stretch where stones still part
from ice casings, which somehow brings up
because of the rhyme–
when really it is dust at stake
when it comes to the future–
my foot bones a dust
in the process of being ground–

though they will, I hope, even dusty, carry me
south or north, veer
east, west,
to whatever gate awaits,
even as their own creaks,
whether or not the wind blows,
birds riding
on its wings.


Here is very much of a draft poem, and belated to boot, for Bjorn Rudberg’s post about time travel on With Real Toads.  He asks us to use a poem with different tenses.

I do have very difficult feet, pictured above, though the picture is not from this week.

I’m sorry to be a bit late returning comments but hope to visit tomorrow, as I wend my way back down to NYC.

Finally, if you want to get yourself a book for Christmas, think of one of mine!  Two on kindle for 99cents, all available also in print on Amazon


Walking With Grown Children In Snow

Posted December 1, 2014 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,


Walking With Grown Children In Snow

We wondered at the whites
of water–
snow on pines,
rapids on rock,
ice in the air–
water in all its falls
around us
who walked uphill
by a mountain vly.

In a lavender later,
as night itself fell,
snow lit the darkness from both below
and above,
glow rising from the ground cover
to the low cloud dome
in a silent overarching hum,
and too, quick darts of it–all those
tiny webs
we leaned into, a beat of slight stings
in the wind.

As we headed back,
the wind behind us,
I felt I could walk forever
in the cold dark pale that overlay earth,
road, tree, sky, me–keeping us all
until I said (aloud) how I understood those who freeze thinking
they might just lie down, only
for a little,
and you both laughed, and I could almost make out
your turns towards me–and each of you said, come on,
and held out
an arm,
and I protested that I wasn’t about
to lie down,
and you laughed again, but slowed,
keeping me
in the middle, for
even the cloud mirror
had now disappeared; there was only
a flash
at every footfall, and even
that hardly lasted
but till the next.


A foot of snow here this past week, melted now. (I sadly did not take many photos, so this one is from last year.)   I am posting this for With Real Toads Open Link Night, hosted this week by Marian of Runaway Sentence.   Process note–a “vly” is a mountain stream.  


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