She’s an IDEAL friend
Doesn’t WINCE at bad jokes
Welcomes others to her TRIBE
Never acts out of SPITE
Lucky to have her in my life

Georg’ann

TRUCE called.
Waving WHITE flag.
Forgiven in SPITE of
irreconcilable differences

Heather

I am surrounded by bins, lots of COLOR all around. There are balls, skeins, and STRAY bits of yarn spilling about. There’s yellow like a daisy, green like a pickle in BRINE, sky blue, rose pink, dusty gray, and more. I dig my fingers into my stash, sorting by touch, happy in my innocent GREED for creativity and abundance.

Georg’ann

Waning VIGOR dawns.
Moving requires GREAT effort.
GREED for life recedes.

Heather

I pick up a new book, wanting, willing myself to step into my best, IDEAL self. How many times have I tried, searching for ways to be better? Always hopeful, always seeking. I smooth the notebook paper, bustle about looking for a pen. Cup of coffee, lamp on. I stare at the pages. One set is filled with words that I hope to take in, words like magic beans, words I will swallow, and that will take root inside me. The other set of pages blank, empty spaces waiting for me to fill, where I will note my questions, copy out passages, savor small and large triumphs of understanding, a PANEL of white waiting for me to fill it up. I pick up the NAVEL orange beside me, pierce its peel, and watch the oil spray out. I breathe in the heavenly smell, anticipate the bright taste and soft texture. Abundance of nourishment – for my mind, body, and soul. Balancing the book in my lap, holding a slice of orange, I am ready to begin again.

Georg’ann

Invited to visit my brother’s lair.
In midst of grime, piles everywhere
he shows me his hobby.
A WATCH repair desk,
strewn with tiny bits and mini tools.
Drawers full of bands and faces.
He reworks discards with reverence.

Here his thick, clumsy fingers
and construction worker mass
become delicate, precise.
I SAVOR this tenderness.
How rare the opportunity
to be with this part of him.

His daughter stands quietly.
The moment broken by beefy
dog sniffing her NAVEL.
Her giggles pull me out
of bittersweet reflections.

Heather

Under gray skies, days threaten to MERGE, a blur of monotony. So sick of being sick. I wish there was a pill, a food, something to do to ROUST unwanted germs from my body, misery from my soul. Oh, how we all would TROOP to grab that cure! En masse, a demonstration of need and urgency. I dream on, waiting and waiting some more.

Georg’ann

Many grocery deals.
WASTE is THORN. Cook, then cook more.
Enough for a TROOP.

Heather

Covid, Take Three
Confined and isolated within
my own house, within two rooms
my only CHORE to mask to protect you.
It’s an experience of absences:
absence of work –
no reason to EXERT or push;
absence of others –
no guests, no meetings;
absence of schedule –
no pings to ALERT me.
What an odd suspension
of time, of self, of us!
A weirdly unique-to-now moment,
I hardly know what to make of it.
Let’s hope we can process
it soon, in the same room.

Georg’ann

Genetics PLAIN to see
in a quick pass through
the ALBUM. Still a mystery
how traits shift, here so
completely paternal, almost
a replica. Suddenly a series
in which maternal features
dominate the visage.
No consistent through line.
Fascinated by attractions,
commingling DNA, the role
of mirroring and emotion
in shaping muscular structure.
ALERT to fear when I feel her
face inside my own. Solace
she never shows in yours.

Heather

PANIC and hasty action, such an unfortunate combo, yet succumb I did — indeed I CHOSE, and now here I am STUCK, in the corner trying to SCRUB a stain out of white pants for all the world looking like the end of the worst rugby SCRUM ever. I clearly will have some explaining to do, though to whom and when is not yet clear.

Georg’ann

To CRAVE takes energy
I don’t have. For now
passivity in the wake
of ROCKY circumstances.

Nightmares and fitful sleep
the result we INCUR.
You also murmur and flip.
Walls are thin.

Today might be a day to SCRUB
floors, reset the foundation
praying on hands and knees.
This is how I prepare.

Others lock in formation,
arms intertwined. Ready
to meet opposition, waiting
to kick what enters the SCRUM.

Heather

No sense of TASTE, so
EVERY FLECK and bite
requires that I CHECK, for
otherwise, it’s a mystery
meal every time!

Georg’ann

GRIEF cloak worn everyday,
hanging on broad shoulders.
Days when the weight pulls
her over, inward. Movements
slow. At times wrapping around,
a comforter infused with his scent
while she watches tv and eats
STALE cookies. Or looks out
at the WEEDY garden, tea in hand.

We often CHECK in with one another.
As time passes I’ve noticed her
fingering the clasp, not quite
ready to fully release.
Though she is pushing back
layers of fabric. Shoulders visible.
Transforming cloak to cape.
It’s subtle this shifting
from protected to protector.

Heather

Sick as a dog, waiting
to get well, WHILE the
world turns GREEN out
the window, daffodils send
one brave SPEAR after
another into the chilly air

Georg’ann

Blankly staring at the wall,
listening to clothes the dryer.
Occasional scrape of metal
against metal. No rhythm
to GUIDE me toward rest.
Intermittent pings become
my ENEMY. Steady sound
then a BREAK startles, heart
accelerates with sharper clang
or ping. Now the furnace blows.
Jazz duet, the discordant variety
that jangles my nerves.
Are the lights flickering? Yes.
It’s not CLEAR whether they’re
grooving with the machines,
or like me, about to blow a fuse.
Watery, tired eyes. Pulsing head.
Stuck on this unmade bed as if
a SPEAR held me in place.

Heather

Lily really needed a BREAK. But it felt like the SCOPE of her work just kept growing. It was not even March TENTH, and she already felt overwhelmed. She sighed and looked over at her supplies. Being a LEFTY meant she had all kinds of left-handed things on her desk. But she was so busy that she was having trouble keeping her desk tidy, so those handy items seemed lost in the piles.  Even her personal shrine to the house DEITY was looking a little messy. Perhaps it would be wise to stop and sort things out? Surely that will make her more effective later?

Georg’ann

Windswept variables, 
not a single one settled. 
No action is SMART, 
I THINK, when so many swirl. 
Trying to secure what is still
in motion, QUITE likely to 
yield regret. When she’s ready
the DEITY of Decisions will
guide you. Wait, love, wait. 

Heather

From a PERCH above the SHORE, one bird watches the OTHER. All the gulls love to HOVER, watchful, patient surveillance.

Georg’ann

CROWD of purple crocus.
SAVOR this new carpet.
Above golden tendrils HOVER
on buoyant spring branches.

Heather

The hush is BRIEF –
Then it starts –
FLUSH those birds
up and out – FUNKY
tunes shake ’em out –
Lose the FUDDY in your duddy –
Spin till the room goes FUZZY –
Dance-o-rama!

Georg’ann

WATER pours into and out
of cups. Glistening liquid
falling, infinitely fascinating.
CHILD lost in simple delight.

SOUPY mud mixed with a stick.
Stuffed BUNNY and bear
served YUMMY pies and tea.
Their FUZZY fur slightly matted.

Heather

Step right up, SPOUT
your ORDER, we are 
here to please, 
here to set you at ease
The LODGE is open!

Georg’ann

Open minds

We are oh so stuck 
in WRONG LOGIC.
Let new ideas enter, 
find a way
for them to LODGE.

Heather

Can I FUDGE a little?
Cheat the season a tiny bit?
I STOOD and pondered the
dusty leaves and mud,
giving way to dreams of
a rainbow – CHARD, arugula,
zinnias, basil, marigolds, eggplant!
Modest ambitions, no need to win
an AWARD, my little garden is
its own reward.

Georg’ann

WATCH daybreak, slowly
light comes on as if the sun
were on a dimmer switch
easing us into the day.
Pink glow along the horizon,
sliver of silver crescent moon
rests in dark branches.
AWAKE to receive this REWARD.

Heather

We are about to go out on a date. I am looking forward to it. It will be nice to have a moment, a chance to SHARE and talk. We don’t stay out late anymore, so it will BRIEF. It makes me smile, to think of looking at you across a table. I can see the scene already – small table, we will have a salad to share, a CRUET of oil, and one of vinegar will be brought to the table. We will joke about our ravenous appetites and compete with each other about who can demonstrate more GREED. We will ORDER a pizza or, maybe, some pasta. It will be nice, very nice. I find myself humming as I pick up the hair DRYER to finish getting ready.

Georg’ann

SOUND intuition, your knowing
her request was a trap, gift given
with undercurrent of malice.

There is a DRIVE towards
secret society insult
with sulfurous salt
into wounds better
served with sugar.

Falling into a DREAM
letting the subconscious work
it through. Awakened
by the thumping of wool
balls in the DRYER.

Heather

Trying to play it SMART, I look for a good PLACE in the class. It’s only the second week of cooking school, and I feel cautiously optimistic about how the first week went. But my mind goes BLANK as a different instructor walks in. Have I made a mistake? Did I walk into the wrong room? I do not recognize this person at all. I glance about nervously. No help from the other students. The instructor looks very intimidating. His chef’s toque sits smartly on his head, and his apron is starched and blindingly white. He begins, his voice soft and accented. I strain to make out what he is saying. We are all bewildered. Then our bewilderment turns tense, as we begin to grasp what he is saying. “We will be developing a series of dishes involving what is commonly known as offal, or organ meats,” he whispers to the class. He claps his hands sharply, twice. We all jump, startled by the loud noise. Assistants step into the room from the doors to the supply area. They are carrying tray after tray of something. The assistants distribute the trays. I can barely bear to see what I have been given. It’s a platter of sweetbreads – the pancreas or thymus GLAND of a calf or lamb. It so happens that I have eaten this delicacy, but I have most certainly never prepared it. I feel both relieved (thank goodness we aren’t starting with kidneys) and intimidated. I hear the person behind me say in hushed tones, “Oh, I heard this set of recipes is how they weed people out, testing us to see who is cut out to be a chef.” I swallow hard as I wait for instructions.

Georg’ann

So much hair in the DRAIN.
It comes out in handfuls now.

Desire spice, relegated to BLAND.
Each GLAND felt for swelling.

Changes noted with curiosity.
Disintegration and renewal.

Heather

May my MOTOR run on playful energy, like a river OTTER, sleek and carefree.

Georg’ann

Gathering at this HOUSE
redraws lines. Family enemies
come out of their trenches,
ENJOY fresh open space.
New hosting reduces tension.
Occasional aggressive barbs
make a CAMEO without taking
center stage. Spotlight goes
to the children. This one hugging
a plush OTTER, those three up
to innocent antics. Boisterous
beings draw out our best selves.

Heather

TWICE over, I was lucky. Once, as I did manage to CREEP along the edge of the swollen stream without falling in and collect handfuls of CRESS. And then again, I manage to slip back inside, avoiding the boards that CREAK. I was in and out of the cabin before anyone was the wiser. I put the tender, bitter greens away and poured my first cup of coffee. I felt quite pleased with my little triumph, as surely as a cat that has discovered a bit of CREAM in its saucer.
Georg’ann

Neighbors and friends gather
in this artsy barn for MOVIE night. 
Buttery popcorn in little bags. 
Man plays a piano prelude
under an AMBER light. 
My aunt, the grand dame, 
sits in a puffy CREAM 
pleather chair that swivels. 
The rest of us on folding chairs. 
Her laugh mixes with rustling
of paper, crinkle of cellophane, 
twisting lid of a metal thermos. 
Under the propane heater, 
it’s that throaty sound that warms. 

Heather

AWARE of Mama making her famous yellow cake with FUDGE icing, I could hardly keep my attention on my homework. Why do I have to write an essay on the THEME of civic duty right now? The smell from the kitchen is too tantalizing! I rummage around my school bag – maybe there is a stick of CLOVE chewing gum. Or something else that will take my mind off fluffy yellow layers with rich fudgy icing… mmmmmmm. I sigh, thinking of how the icing hardens slightly along the rim of the plate. My favorite thing is to run my finger along that space, believing that no one will notice. Aargh. How will I ever wait to get a piece?!

Georg’ann

Warm winter night

Played without keeping SCORE,
drank CLOVE scented cider.

Heather

Scattered ABOUT the snowy yard, life
in search of life abounds:
dark-eyed juncos scratch to find
a HOARD of seeds, while starlings
twine around a bare branch,
and finches flutter, jockeying for position.
Hawk lands, birds scatter –
feathers ROACH up, signaling alarm,
leaving the hawk alone in a
now empty yard.

Georg’ann

To Santa Cruz

Heading to the land
of origination.
PASTE scenes of little self
to AVAIL her with information.
Help make sense. Windows.
Through a CRACK, Glen Canyon.
Towhead preschooler is fed
a ROACH, pungent smoke
dissipates. Dark, dank here
at the base. Redwoods go up, up
Straight, sturdy. Ancient.
Tufts of graceful green found light.

Heather

Okay, I have tried to CHIDE and chivvy myself into creativity. But alas, that only makes me DROOP and fumble. SADLY, I give up. I did want so BADLY to perform a verbal sleight of hand that would make these words hang together. Alas, it was not meant to be, not a single draft did I love MADLY.

Georg’ann

Like a FLOCK of seagulls,
pecking and squawking,
ever moving passengers
prepare to board, take flight.
All of us so ready to LEAVE.
Small children, burdened
with large backpacks,
each a colorful SNAIL.
Captivated by the outfits,
wide ranging feathers
demonstrate affinities, religion,
origins, social class. And weather!
Hermetically sealed in one climate
yet transversing the spectrum.
Here it’s frigid, there it’s BALMY.
Finally the single line chaos
of finding one’s place
after searching MADLY
for an overhead compartment.
Wings tucked carefully between
the armrests, we’re squeezed
in formation, headed for the sky.

Heather

PINCH the fabric just so
INSET a contrasting piece
Whip stitch it all into place
And voilà! Patched jeans
worthy of an INDIE film star

Georg’ann

I’ll VOUCH that these words
don’t inspire. I STARE and stare
at this rather BEIGE assortment.
In better times, on a better day
these words and I might work
together, enjoying the challenge.
Wandering a path toward
an unknown place, or releasing
a memory that’s been in EXILE,
crafting in my INDIE style.
For tonight, other plans preside.

Heather

I want to REBEL
climb outta my shell
despite feeling FRAIL
point me to the TRAIL
we gotta prevail

Georg’ann

At Leonard Springs

Walking, deep in thought.
Loud CRASH in bushes.
Buck emerges, leaps across TRAIL.
Eyes wide, man falls back.

Heather

I awake to a travel advisory –
a SNOWY morning, I see
as I STARE out. The chill air
hits my body, as out of
bed I jump, knowing that
it is Sunday, pancake day!
Birds cluster at snow-capped
feeders while I SHAVE little
bits of apple into a bowl.
No SLAVE to routine, just
variations on a theme.
Every Sunday, a different kind:
blueberry, banana, pear –
whatever is to hand –
buttermilk, buckwheat,
whole wheat, cornmeal.
In winter, spring, summer, or fall,
every week without fail –
all is permitted, and all are
presented with a SUAVE
and flirtatious flourish:
for you, my love!
Every Sunday, a Valentine.

Georg’ann

Snow once again lends her GRACE
changing the SHAPE of my view.
What was STALE, transformed.
Will I engage this white canvas?
Gleefully make angels,
SNAKE a stick through the fluff
patterning and repatterning.
Sculpt a person, give them life
with a SUAVE scarf. Then
come in for cocoa or stay inside
shushing the child within.

Heather

“I wish you wouldn’t WORRY, my dear.” I met this kind statement with a GROAN. Tonight’s production threatened to rehash an old TROPE of good versus evil. I suppose I shouldn’t be so CROSS about the whole thing, but this was a very important event in our Belinda’s life. I didn’t want it ruined by some schlocky CROCK of moldy old boring things. Belinda was destined for greatness. And I, her mother, was determined that nothing would get in her way. Even if I had to take a shepherd’s CROOK to whoever threatened to steal the limelight from her first starring role. A hush fell over the crowd. The curtain rose, and a nice lady in a flowered dress began: “Welcome to the Sunnyside Elementary School annual play. Tonight, we have the first and second graders performing Little Red Riding Hood.” I held my breath – let the show begin!

Georg’ann

Not the simple Haiku book

Beautifully BOUND volume,
even a navy blue ribbon
to tie it closed. Thus
each opening again a gift.
Hands caress lush silk cover
in burnt oranges and deep blues.
Every page double paper.
Highlights the life work of Hokusai.
Tonight symbolizes the SCOPE
of our relationship. How earnestly,
elaborately your heart strives
to meet mine, where she wants.
CLOCK this bittersweet pattern.
Your arrows have a CROOK,
always missing the intended target.
Yet their faulty trajectory piercing
love lesson bullseyes so deftly.

Heather

True Story

As a TREAT for you,
How I want to be WITTY
Perhaps come up with a DITTY

But then I got online, got
So depressed I gave up.

I sat with the grief.
I sat with the anger.
And then I stood up,
Took the hand that was
Offered, and moved forward.

Georg’ann

MARCH is just around the corner,
bringing to mind iconic literature.
Frog and Toad All Year.
in which Frog tries to cheer
his friend, Toad, by telling a story
of trying to find the corner
that spring is just around.
Searching until at last he finds it.

We love to QUOTE the WITTY
wisdoms of these dear friends,
whose outlooks so often opposed.
Singing a DITTY or two
from the musical version
always makes my feet lift
in a jazzy Charleston,
long legged frog that I am.

Heather

WOULD that it was not just a dream, this scene of a QUIET, SUNNY day. It seemed to AUGUR a better future, and i don’t wish to lose this image of women from all over the world — dressed in everything from a BURKA to a sari to an evening gown to a house dress to jeans. All as one, dancing to a RUMBA beat, a multicultural festival of joy.

Georg’ann

RIGHT now is the time to ROUSE.
Open your heart wide.
Send love everywhere.
To urban jungles and RURAL towns.
Neighbors, strangers, friends and foes.
Within you the steady RUMBA beat,
inviting all to dance.

Heather

FLIRT with me, the toss
Of her BRAID seemed to say
RAPID moving, fast falling
In love, baby

Georg’ann

MOUTH opened, words tumbled
LAPSE of judgement illuminated.
Strings of VAPID thought, or
more accurately lack of thought,
like noxious vapor emanating.
So RAPID the poisoning.

Heather

It was a mostly LOCAL CROWD, making it easy for her to SCOUR for her enemies. She was pissed and ready to settle the SCORE.

Georg’ann

His meditations on DEATH
begin to settle the SCORE.
Leaving in peace when time to go.

Heather

THERE, I thought as I laid the blanket out on a wide PLANK. I was making progress and felt pretty good about it. Pleased with myself, in fact, as a large project is nothing to SCOFF at, after all. I like how the yarn feels, how the repetitive motions of crocheting soothe my nervous system. Crocheting or sewing both put me in mind of the history of such activities, things that were once done out of necessity rather than as a hobby. I like thinking of the lineage of women in my family, from my sisters and their embroidery, to my mother’s sewing and quilting, back to my Italian grandmother’s crocheting and tatting. I can feel a cultural link back even further, to a time when the woman of the house was called GOODY as an honorific, shadows of the past hovering behind me as I gather the half finished blanket back up and settle down for another pleasant hour of restful, productive activity.

Georg’ann

Running that FIRST time,
barely got around the BLOCK.
AGONY, leaden legs became GOOEY,
everything about me GOOPY.
Collapsed in a chair, panting.
Skin dried, breath slowed.
Ready for a GOODY,
ate half a pint of ice cream
right out of the container.
One delicious spoonful after another.

Heather

I held the SPARK today as long as I could. And BLESS us, it was a pretty long time. But by the end of the day, I was having significant BOUTS of fatigue. Too many blustering, frightened, and sometimes BOGUS arguments about what is wrong with the world – I finally had to give up. I do appreciate the unexpected BONUS, though, of watching you get some clarity through a final burst of anger. Well done, dear! Can we call it a day now?

Georg’ann

At the party

So many people
came to celebrate her.
Barely SPACE to maneuver.
Social skills RUSTY. Hinges creak.
FLUSH surges in this heat,
awkwardness of chitchat.
Wanting water, hours pass.
Finally directed to the porch,
a cooler with glistening bottles.
BONUS, in cold air darkness
moment alone to quench, to quell.

Heather

You – a PLAIN scone with
A SPECK of cream;
Me – a slice of toast with
A big pat of butter.
Our tea bags STEEP,
The milk and honey await.

Georg’ann

At the sturdy blue table,
eyes scan to locate thought,
then she tells me how DOUBT
made her a better mother.
Certainty a binding STRAP.
Once it broke, she and her kids
scrambled up STEEP hills
as naturally as mountain goats.

Heather

Bits of salt remain on the steps like so much strange FROST. I try to get them off, but they are stubborn and STICK to the concrete, reminders of the last snowstorm. I SWEPT once, then again, finally settling for shifting aside a wide SWATH of dead leaves and Christmas tree debris.

Georg’ann

Saturated with stories, input.
Cognition frozen, spinning
the rainbow wheel of cannot
compute. In this bright room

I feel more aligned with a dark
musty CABIN, weathered.
Imagination won’t SPARK,
Clogged thoughts are STALE.

Before me a long SWATH
of open hours. There are tasks
yet no set timelines.
The day is mine to empty.

Heather

Dammit, 2025

the WORLD is a blur,
a slow waking, when
I LEAST feel able to BLINK
away the FILMY
goo of sleep, one eye
open to allow one PUPIL
to adjust, barely able to
face the day

Georg’ann

Please take EXTRA.
More here than we can use.
Can’t stand to let it SPOIL.
As a PUPIL, I took to heart
my teacher’s teaching:
“Waste not, want not.”

Heather

I don’t often think about the PLACE where I grew up. But I can easily conjure up the experience of standing in the driveway. It was the spot where I learned to orient to the cardinal directions. This is such a strong memory that I return to it as needed, remembering the PEARL-like tints of the sunrise to my right and the rich reds and purples of the sunset to my left. From the same spot, I could admire the carpet created by the crab-apple tree, its threatening thorny branches belied by each soft pink PETAL. The same spot also served as a gateway to joy, as I would PEDAL my bike up and down our dirt road. Pure exhilaration with the wind whipping my hair as I zoomed down one side, using momentum to get me halfway up the other side. If I close my eyes right now, I can almost feel the sandy gravel under my bare feet, full of possibility and wonder.

Georg’ann

How ALIKE we are becomes CLEAR
you write to me of the starlit dusk
as I send you a picture
of the same sky
Reentering our shared orbit
with gestures as soft
as a velvety rose PETAL
in hues of apricot, coral, and pink
Once again riding a bicycle
built for two, each foot
steady on its PEDAL
moving together in one direction

Heather

The CLASH between the style of the belt and the cut of the pants was just too much to handle. “It emphasizes my GIRTH – and I cannot even believe that that sentence came out of my MOUTH!” This was truly an exclamation for the ages. Even as it felt useless, her companion tried to soothe her. “It could be worse, you know, you could still have that broken TOOTH.” This only earned a withering look and a quivering lip – truly hard to achieve, unless, of course, you are 14 and desperate to impress the cutie in the next BOOTH.

Georg’ann

“We’ll go to the restroom. Then you’ll just GRASP this string and give it a QUICK yank with your WHOLE force. That TOOTH will come right out. If you want I can do the yanking. Or you can keep wiggling it as long as you want. Your choice, Sweetie.”

Ry kept her seat in the BOOTH for a moment longer, then got up and hesitantly followed her aunt to the bathroom, not quite sure she was brave enough to go through with the string maneuver, no matter who was pulling it.

Heather

MONEY didn’t enter into it. At LEAST, that’s what she said about her new romance with a less than blueblooded beau. And now, Lucy Shea was lying in the morgue. PI Jones would admit that money did have something to do with why he agreed to take this case. So when Shea’s wealthy grandfather was impatient with the police, and wanted his granddaughter’s lowlife boyfriend followed, Jones said yes. Now, here he sat, in his car, freezing, following the boyfriend. He had an EERIE feeling that all was not what it seemed with this case. Oh great, he thought, as he saw said sleazy boyfriend leave the liquor store and walk across the street into the local nudie REVUE. Why didn’t I become an accountant like my mom wanted, Jones thought for the hundredth time that day. Sighing, he shrugged off his tweed jacket, grabbed the leather one and a hat from the back seat, thinking here we go.

Georg’ann

Trying to REACH you
please REPLY.
An invitation to go RETRO,
REUSE our gogo boots,
boogie at the Soul REVUE.

Heather