Thursday, January 31, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle

she loves foggy days
they way they still
the clamoring
how they enfold her
and kiss her hair

she thinks it's okay
to be broken
on a day like this
when the sky
is only a dream
good to let fog
wrap her in velvet

whisper small secrets
like a mother to her babe
forgive all those dark things
she never meant to happen...


Tuesday, January 22, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle


If I had my druthers, I’d do just two things every day:  write poetry and make soup…a dark brown lentil soup for cold, rainy days, with enough fire to heat you;  bean soup--to remember my mom who always put ketchup in her bowl of beans;  Granny’s Cabbage Patch soup because I love the smell of simmering cabbage and onions; and about a hundred others.  I’d be writing poems like crazy, for all that soup would inspire them and I’d stop now and then to have a bowl, slice some good, yeasty bread that smelled of sun and earth.  I’d butter it thickly and pour glasses of hearty red wine, invite someone, now and then, to share, then shoo them away and write some more, till all the words and soup had run out.  Suddenly, I’d notice the moon, and you, waiting patiently for my fever to subside, and finally, I’d stop.  You would still be there, reading a book, sipping wine, stoking up the fire, and at last, there would be nothing else but to lie down beside it, and write poems all   over   each   other   all   night   long.

Friday, January 18, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle


I saw her today,
blue on blue on blue
ice, sky, bird.

She was stepping slowly
onto the frozen pond,
and how, you may ask,

do I know the bird was female? 
It was just a look,
a topknot of feathers

ruffled in the cold,
the way she stood so still
as I passed near.

There seemed a connection
(a poet’s fancy, no doubt)
of eggs and nests and nurture

a connection in the season
when bird and woman
must leave safe ground,

step out onto that place
where our old faces
shine back at us,

new and full of light,
though we feel unsure
but strong, because

it’s what we have to do,
sometimes, to survive.
The sky is a mirror

beneath our long legs
but oh, beautiful sister,
where will you sleep tonight?

~  mimi

an old favorite from Crow Ink...

Sunday, January 13, 2013


Photo by S. Auberle


I don't understand why, but Blogger will no longer allow me to post images, or they've changed the process to be impossible to figure out how.  At any rate, if I can't post images on my blog, I'll be moving to another site and starting over, because I must be able  to include visuals or it's simply not the same.  After almost seven years on this site, maybe it's here's a new poem...

The door groans open
and in they totter--
he on bent, wobbly legs,
she cautious, in a red blouse,
her hair like April snow
flying in every direction at once.
He announces we're here
for Rose's blood pressure
and the receptionist smiles,
everyone smiles, even me
who's grumpily waiting
for yet another remedy
on how to patch up aging bones.
They fall into chairs
across the room
and laughing, Rose says
oh you've worn your yellow socks
and he displays them proudly.
Well that'll stop the clock, she says
while on the wall above us
time ticks relentlessly away.

okay, so my photo finally got published, though not where I wanted it to be, and frankly if this doesn't get easier to post, it's adios amigoes!