We of the World share tantamount foxholes,
Ducking terror’s blitz of malignant hate.
Silence malediction from nescient gholes.

Colors of mankind coalesce proud souls,
Veracity, democracy connate.
We of the World share tantamount foxholes.

Equable climates gyre to mob control
Contracted thugs traduce the free speech state.
Silence malediction from nescient gholes.

Dire issues we face! Take the ozone holes!
Toil as One to halt thawed ice mass spates.
We of the World share tantamount foxholes.

Trash and plastics gorge the world’s toilet bowl.
Raping the earth’s rain forests just must abate!
Silence malediction from nescient gholes.

In so many languages alarms toll.
Pinpoint Earth’s dilemmas to ruminate.
For We of the World share tantamount foxholes
Silence malediction from nescient gholes.

INSPIRATION:
I have enjoyed many forms of creativity through the years, painting with pastels, and silk ink paintings, making jewelry by the lost wax method and precious metal clay, pottery, and crocheting. But when grandchildren began to arrive, I created The WombBooks, in audio format for babies in the womb, video format for infants to age 4, and hardcover books. I spend hours a day in my studio with my Woombees, the little characters I created for the books. I wrote the stories in poetic form with rhyme, rhythm, and music enlightening babies womb experience. How blessed am I!

Speak only in kindness. Soft overtones.
My Mother’s wisdom, and adage of old.
Painful words uttered commit as on stone.

A ward smile adduces a comfort zone,
Trust and assurance the soul consoled.
Speak only in kindness. Soft overtones.

Dispassionate phrases statesmen hone.
Laws, literature, and history re-scrolled.
Painful words uttered commit as on stone.

Family, lovers, kindness must be resown.
Mother’s adage, a path for life so bold.
Speak only in kindness. Soft overtones.

Sincerely in kindness will adorn a headstone,
But lies and false witness conjure bones cold.
Painful words uttered commit as on stone.

Passing faces on the sidewalk unknown,
The charity of a smile releases joys tenfold.
Yes, an adage of enlightenment retold.
Painful words uttered commit as on stone.

The Source of Inspiration:

My Mother raised my brother and me to memorize old adages as building blocks of life. The most important one to me is:
“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”
I can tell you that this wonderful old adage has kept me out of a lot of trouble. Live by these words of wisdom for a happy life!

As you pass the mirror, who do you see?
A face with a message of hope for all?
A warm smile invites a seeker’s journey.

Mirrors reflect emotions, rage to zeal.
But soft tones temper cynicism, gall.
As you pass the mirror, who do you see?

Fish fed the hungry on the mountain with glee.
Wonders of kindness adorn garden walls.
A warm smile invites a seeker’s journey.

The hunger line at the door for food free
Sincere smiles gift boxes large and small.
As you pass the mirror, who do you see?

Unhoused, exiled. The realm of refugees.
They seek asylum over rampant walls.
A warm smile invites a seeker’s journey.

A smile. gentle prose, the Spirit’s mercy.
The charity of a smile, joy enthralls.
Yes, as you pass the mirror, who do you see?
A warm smile invited a seeker’s journey.

The source of inspiration:
I took the face of a somber young man in my hands and asked him to smile for me. He then did just as I asked. And before me was a handsome, warm smile. I thanked him for making my day with his smile. I have since seen him greeting more people with that smile. People need more smiles, daily, warm, earnest smiles. Make a commitment to offer the world a smile to make their day.

Martial Five alive in a racial world
Yearns and dreams, preparing schemes, poems and proses
Night eyes judge fates on Memphis streets awhirl

Mothers pray their children traverse YoWorld
Screen gaming sustains sure virtual blows
Martial Five alive in a racial world

Avoid streets’ evils with secure Woozworld
Juveys shroud fear in the darkest shadows
Night eyes judge fates on Memphis streets awhirl

Martial Five, trained corps, face Memphis’ subworld
Life and death’s crux lapsed with one last club throw
Martial Five alive in a racial world

Excessive blows, viewed around the cyworld
Memphis streets flood as tears of grief flow
Night eyes judge fates on Memphis streets awhirl

One human soul’s DOB, and lifeworld
The afterglow. Memoirs bluntly enclose
Yet, Martial Five alive in a racial world
Night eyes judge fates on Memphis streets awhirl.

Truth’s spinning in an obdurate firestorm.
Words morph day by day, hour by hour.
The Patrons must anneal Truth’s platform.

Unclean lips besmirch good names and life's norm
Rabble elicits dissonance, brash clangour
Truth's spinning in an obdurate firestorm.

Nations of peoples at borders aswarm
No possessions, domicile, or dower
The Patrons must anneal Truth's platform.

Capitol walls glazed from bloody blamestorms
Blind Reps walk the halls as staunch avowers
Truth's spinning in an obdurate firestorm.

Truth's many masks, each a pitch to perform.
The Cast's carriage stages adverse power.
The Patrons must anneal Truth's platform.

Factualism twists in a wordstorm.
Balderdash! The piffle of the hour!
Still......Truth's spinning in an obdurate firestorm.
The Patrons must anneal Truth's platform.

Time marches on, an adage oft spoken.
More like a sun’s ray at the speed of light.
Yet our classmate bonds can ne’re be broken.

“Graduate! Actuate!” a keen slogan!
Puerile sight may cloud the road to the right.
Time marches on, an adage oft spoken.

For most a pledge and a golden token
Tarnished by Life thus cancelling the rite
Yet our classmate bonds can ne’re be broken.

Born, the innocents in cribs of oaken
Parenting with no manual! Bless the wight!
Time marches on, an adage oft spoken.

Careers and callings……corporate brogans,
Downsizing, outsourcing, a damning blight.
Yet our classmate bonds can ne’re be broken.

Swiss watch for retirement, golden token
This juncture of talents, freedom take flight
For, Time marches on, an adage oft spoken,
Yet, our classmate bonds can ne’re be broken.

INSPIRATION
I ran across this poem I wrote for my last class reunion, but I
don’t recall reading it at the reunion. But it truly says a lot for
our class. Even with many years behind us, there’s still love,
devotion and loyalty to each other after all this time.
How lucky we were back in ’66!

Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!
The Harp and Artist beget the grande scene,
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Homeless relegated to gentry’s kitsch
Stone dwellings shelter box-tent homes ‘tween.
Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!

Children enslaved on a pirate ketch.
Ungodly intent so evil, mean.
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Thoughtless human rubble, a peccant glitch,
Fetid trash heaps defile the sphere, blue and green.
Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich.

The night’s fractured like cymbal’s heinous pitch
Holy lands dare dream of peace so serene,
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

Joy and love shape quilts with hopeful stitches.
yet, baby angels are tossed midst styrene,
Still, Aurora’s dawn, arriviste, chroma rich!
Whilst night sky pearls resplendently bewitch!

INSPIRATION
So interesting…using flowery words to describe such vile
acts of inhumanity. But whatever it takes to get the
attention of people with hearts for understanding and love.
Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You!
Let there be Love!

This poem was published in Best Poets of 2019 and ended up
winning second prize in a prestigious collection of poets. The
following is an exert from a letter from the publisher:
Congratulations!  Your poem “Day by Day” is a second prize
winner in the July to December 2019 contest!  This is a remarkable
accomplishment of which you should be very proud, as your poem
stood out among the thousands of entries we received.  Our
judging staff ultimately selected “Day by Day” for its poetic merit,
which is a true testament of your effort. Talent, and dedication to
your craft.  You exhibited a creative flair for verse, and by
incorporating various poetic elements and techniques,
you have created a piece of work any poet can appreciate.

Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud,
Quarantining our Planet, One by One.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Immure walls of home, a needle’s eye viewed,
Kin and friend grasp cells, shields from the undone.
Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud.

Canyons of suites emptied; careers detrude.
Time to focus on the backyard home runs.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Respectful to mask, yet blind smiles delude.
Tainted tongues of world news spun and unspun.
Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud.

Each soul born with seeds of dreams included.
Actualize innate gifts, for some unbegun.
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

Time on hands searching quiet aptitudes.
Tiers of gilded gifts unveiled by the One.
Still, Faceless Killer, masked illusory pseud,
Sunup….Sundown….Sanity?….Solitude.

INSPIRATION
The subject of this poem was requested by the publisher,
memorializing the world’s reactions to Covid-19 and the quarantine.
The day after finishing this poem, Jane Pauley reported that
quarantined rocker David Lee Roth explored an ancient art using
a centuries old formula of ink. The frustrating gift of time in
quarantine has encouraged a world of people to explore and enjoy
hidden talents. Also, a gentleman cleaning his garage found an old
bucket of baseballs he used with his son and grandson. A neighborhood
boy had lost both his grandfathers, but the bucket of baseballs enheartened
a friendship, sharing the love of baseball. This poem was published in
The Best Poets of 2020.

Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.
Debate.  Propaganda.  Merry-go-round.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Race. Trickery.  The Tortoise and the Hare.
Special interest mavens prance like proud hounds.
Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.

Our Grand Constitution.  Jeopardy.  Beware.
Freedom shredded by fiat.  Source unsound.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Vain civic souls feign veritable care.
Party theriac……verbiage, the noun.
Elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.

Patriots panic through Labyrinths and lairs.
Governance grotesquely swell and abound.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Wits and Wages, the middle class not spared.
Charades.  Risk.  Go Fish.  No Clue!  Wits End!  Zounds!
Still…..elect.  Reelect.  One musical chair.
American Dreamer, brave Truth or Dare.

Source of Inspiration:  During election year, our lives are consumed by a barrage of political verbiage, enough to leave us stupefied!  But this is a time to remind us of our FREEDOM to make these political decisions.  Therefore, we must revere, respect, and execute the right to vote.  Always!  I was raised by a mother who was a politician and a father who was a highway patrolman.  From my father I learned a healthy respect for the law, and my mother taught me to always vote for the person, not the party.  And always vote, lest you waste or lose your right to vote!

Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game,
Broach Life’s loves, fated wars, edgy affairs.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Oversoon notions tossed into the flame,
Sketchy, shapeless, precociously bare.
Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game.

Ancient scribes penned psalms, songs for history fames,
Exemplar recitations trumpets blare.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Burgeoning bards with contemplative aim
Scribble rash embryonic artful wares.
Words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game.

Abstruse expressions of a soul, marred, maimed,
Scrawled in ink, agony, evoking tears.
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Life’e circadian rhythms fan the flames
Of balladry verse.  Passion’s novel pared.
Thus, words, like ebon tiles jumbled in a game,
Poetic portraits in echoic frames.

Source of Inspiration:  A friend of mine coined me The Voice of the Villanelle, and then taught me how to create a blog by the same name.  I’ve been asked many times why I write Villanelles and the answer is……..for the challenge.  My favorite game is Scrabble and writing a Villanelle is much like playing Scrabble.  The rhythm of life is merely mocked by the rhythm of poetry.  And that is why we write………poetry.