I'm back after recovering from poem-a-day April and something strangely resembling Covid. This failed sonnet was supposed to be a "picture" poem. As ever, I leave that judgment to you. (He said bravely.) I Never Painted You Any Picture wp.me/p1AR9N-4AO

Glad I could hitch a ride on today's #NaPoWriMo prompt. I might have tumbled off along the way to the end of the climb, though. The title? If you know, you know. At Last wp.me/p1AR9N-4Al

On Day 17 of #NaPoWriMo, my speedy take on an ambiguity poem. Or is it a lengthy take on what’s true? Another Ambiguous Statement of Love, Loss and Hopeless Hope to Everyone But You wp.me/p1AR9N-4A3

On Day 16 of National Poetry Month, a new "new" poem. Shiny and New wp.me/p1AR9N-4zP

On Day 13 of NaPoWriMo, a "problem" poem. And yes, this is the first after a bunch of missed days. But that's just another of my problems. Problematic wp.me/p1AR9N-4zD

Day 2 of Poem a Day April 2026 ~ An "express" poem that includes some childhood memory that made me who I am. Or at least who I am… Always Sometimes Almost wp.me/p1AR9N-4z9

On Day 1 of 2026's National Poem Writing Month and Writer's Digest's Poem a Day April, I combined their respective prompts and grew this odd bit of philosophical bonsai. Perspective -- A Tanka wp.me/p1AR9N-4z3

New poem of the season. Which one I won't say. I sense you'll know. Like Your Hands on My Face wp.me/p1AR9N-4yI #fourseasons #hope

#Spring snow just doesn’t want to give up around here, so it hides in the shadows while morning sun rises to stalk it and melt it away. Tricky old snow. Relentless (I hope) old sun.

A new, quick poem, just to feel what I cannot touch. Maybe tomorrow. I'll Never Touch Tomorrow wp.me/p1AR9N-4yB #poem #hope

A new poem about that old subject again..."What if...?" Let's Do (And Say We Didn't) wp.me/p1AR9N-4yt #poetry #hope #dreams

My thanks to @siobhanmuir.bsky.social for the wicked prompt and @purplequeenpub.bsky.social for selecting my story as this wk’s #ThursThreads #flashfiction winner. And congrats to all the other writers who joined in this week. This means the world to this stuck writer.

I've been too long away. So today I squirmed out from under and found these words I wished to give you before it happens again. #poetry Sadness Is Invisible wp.me/p1AR9N-4yb

#ThursThreads Week 692 Winners blog is up. Congrats to Nine Time Winner @jahesch.bsky.social and Honorable Mention @sterlings-son-2.bsky.social. Great thanks to Silver James for judging this week. Check out the winning tale. #FlashFiction #Writing #WritingCommunity siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads...

Sometimes I get conflicted when the wind howls and the snow flies. That’s when I need to be reminded how once I loved flying on... The Warmer Wings of Winter wp.me/p1AR9N-4xr

Alone in the night, save for dreams, wishes and... Shadows of Solitary wp.me/p1AR9N-4xd

Another new #poem for my lost poem-a-day November. It’s Really the Waves wp.me/p1AR9N-4wH

A poor pass at a "trope" poem. A Hallmark Christmas film it isn't. They’ve always gone to the fridge for beer at two minutes to the end. The Best Thing We’ve Never Done wp.me/p1AR9N-4wx

Supposed to write a “dialogue” poem, but I’m feeling kinda introspective and missing something on Day 13 of my #PoemADay effort. I think an odd metaphoric #flashfiction story snuck in. I See wp.me/p1AR9N-4wp

Today, a quick color poem. Probably colors that only I could see. Okay, with its meter and rhyme, maybe Dr. Seuss. The Color of Nothing wp.me/p1AR9N-4wf

This flop's a Day 7 gluten-free "dream” #poem for poem-a-day November. While not an expert baker like my daughter, I'm a very patient #poet. So I expect I'll get it right someday. Still Waiting for a Taste wp.me/p1AR9N-4w2

Supposed to write a #poem whose title starts with “How…” As in “How Am I Ever Going to Do This Poetry Thing Anymore?” But I chose to borrow pieces of my nascent newspaper days and those W’s I was supposed to answer. How Did We Get Here? wp.me/p1AR9N-4vX

Supposed to be a “description poem.” It turned into something that is not a poem, prose nor prose poem. But here it is, with my usual array of descriptive nonsense, like a Temu Raymond Chandler. What Is Jeopardy? wp.me/p1AR9N-4vN

My Magic 8-Ball muse dropped this for me (not for Them) somewhere between the Q and the M on my keyboard. No, I don't write poetry with a pen on paper. I'll never be one of Them. I Belong to Me wp.me/p1AR9N-4vB #poetry

Yeah, finding one of my books in a public library is some wild fantasy. But a poet can dream. Obviously. Maybe someday you’ll find us... Between Heaney and Hughes wp.me/p1AR9N-4vv

So much of writing really is sitting alone and… The Search wp.me/p1AR9N-4vp

I was tired, sore and empty of words for a few weeks. But I felt not so tired and sore while I raked up these words in todays sunshine and autumn breeze. Where I Found Them wp.me/p1AR9N-4vc

I skipped the reunion, though I doubt I was missed. You see, I lettered in introversion and aced invisibility. And you know what’s changed since then? not much wp.me/p1AR9N-4uY

Like the title says, this was supposed to be a “small” poem, like maybe a micro or #haiku. But the 5-7-5’s ran away with me. So we got this Wednesday poem. This Poem Is Small (Sad But True) wp.me/p1AR9N-4uR

This is what happens when too much time passes between poems...or warm touching warm. We Go By Time wp.me/p1AR9N-4uK

Want to thank Gordon Lightfoot for the title, from his song, "Looking at the Rain.” Maybe my favorite. The rest of this pile of not quite poetic enough leaves are all mine. Waiting for a Line to Fall wp.me/p1AR9N-4uE

Sometimes the writing is as hard as the sleeping. And the sleeping comes hard most nights. To Sleep, Perchance wp.me/p1AR9N-4ux

You might be one of the gritty city bards who say I’ve no standing to tell you about the slums and shadows I never told you I grew up with. Well... the truth is in the scars wp.me/p1AR9N-4um #poetry

Writing #poetry isn’t supposed like breaking wild 2x4s into saw horses or building a barn in rural Pennsylvania, but it kinda is. Waiting to Measure, Willing to Cut wp.me/p1AR9N-4uh

This feels like one of my old #poems. Not one I already wrote, but something like the ones I'd sleep with and hold gently all night, warm and safe next to me on the pillow. I Remember You and Blue Flowers wp.me/p1AR9N-4u5

Sometimes, when the good stuff feels out of my reach, I still try making diamonds for my special audience. Magical Hoping for an Audience of One wp.me/p1AR9N-4u1

I sometimes wonder if it's worth it, these blind faith dives into the unknown. But, for better or worse, they're my only true adventure. Tomorrow I'll be swimming back. What I Found in the River on My Way to You wp.me/p1AR9N-4tU #poetry

Back in the saddle after much too long in the emotional wasteland. A new #poem. Admission of a Certain Guilt wp.me/p1AR9N-4tK

Sorry for the absence, but 3 deaths in the family within a weeks’ time tends to focus a body on things beyond need to bleed black and white. I had to write today before I forgot how. I hope this is how. Messages in the Morning wp.me/p1AR9N-4tD #poetry

So I spent 20 minutes free-writing something about this dark, sorta stormy Saturday, because I felt the urge. Never fight the urge, even if it feels like... skipping six-letter stones in the rain wp.me/p1AR9N-4tj

It’s been too long since my last #poem. Maybe I’ve been posing too many question of myself, of us, #poetry can’t answer. Probably because we don’t need an answer. Inexorable. Us wp.me/p1AR9N-4tf

A new #poem. Maybe I didn’t say goodbye because I wanted to stay with them but didn’t know how. How to stay or how to say goodbye, I’m not sure. Never Said Goodbye wp.me/p1AR9N-4t4

A new #poem that ponders, “How much love?”. None? Any? Some? Enough? Too much? More? Or maybe just the question of... What’s Just a Little? wp.me/p1AR9N-4sX

Just wait, you’ll see how that quality of life criminal trashes the temple of your soul. And most every other part of the vessel you call you. But I fight back. Just not how you might. time is a vandal wp.me/p1AR9N-4sR

The Vermeer sisters weren’t born when we had Instagram, but maybe they were born FOR it. A ❤️ for the Rebel of Vlamingstraat wp.me/p1AR9N-4sk #poem #art #150words #painting #TheGuitarPlayer

A “memory” poem. Afraid I took the prompt too literally. Just flip through the other 1,800 pieces of me on my site and you’ll see more memories than you might care to. I can’t remember which off the top of my head. I Forgot Where I Live wp.me/p1AR9N-4s8

A “memory” poem. Afraid I took the prompt too literally. Just flip through the other 1,800 pieces of me on my site and you’ll see more memories than you might care to. I can’t remember which off the top of my head. I Forgot Where I Live wp.me/p1AR9N-4s8

Some Day When you’re a wisher like me, there’s always a day out there you’re hoping will come. Let’s call it Some Day.Some day some something will come, will happen,will make all of this worth it. But, more often than not, Some Day doesn’t come.Or worse, maybe once, it did, which is…

From my archives, when I still believed in Joe the Writer. On the 250th anniversary of “The Shot Heard Round the World,” a first and only draft of a story peering through the smoke of centuries and imagining who actually fired first, and why. wp.me/p1AR9N-2PA

Day 19 of #NaPoWriMo was a combo platter of two prompts: a poem as another persona and a poem as another culture’s god or goddess. Here’s Saturday’s creation. Thank you, Muse. (And Erato.) Erato on Line 2 wp.me/p1AR9N-4rH