Behind the jar of marmalade,

A trove of pixies and fairies
nestled in the shade
calling, “Climb in and play.”

My arms full of fairy dust, I open
the closet door to see a new world of fairies.
They are iridescently beautiful
and spread peace, love and happiness.

I’m traveling with Princess Tabitha
to a sunny, flowery kingdom where fairies
and Glinda the Good Witch lives
Maybe I’ll meet the Wizard of Oz
and he’ll grant my three wishes…

Bagging Goodwill donations, magically
all the skinny clothes in the back
of my closet now fit perfectly.

My closet, full of decades of clothes
I no longer wear, takes me to those night clubs
where I danced away time.

I enter a world of rock gods that have passed
Cobain and Bowie play next to Johnny Cash.
When Prince joins in, I swoon,
Fainting in my Nirvana-type Narnia.

My arms full of towels, I open the linen closet
door, only to find I am standing on a cliff!

I open my clothes closet and instead I see
a bird suit with wings especially for me.
I insert my arms, step out into the sky,
and you know what comes next, I start to fly.

I open the small unmarked box hidden
in the bedroom closet. A tattered leather leash?
Yes, and his favorite doggie toy! I close my eyes
and I’m transported to the Rainbow Bridge
where Five-0 waits patiently, tail
a-wagging and ears flopping in the wind.

Crouched down, peering into the dark.
No pots and pans. My hand rests on cool
crystals of sand. Thunderous crash of waves
send saltwater spray against my cheeks.

I opened Mother’s hope chest, a time capsule
of her youth, and found love letters
from my father, a testament of love.

Checked the dried flowers hanging in the dark
hall closet and was lured into a florid chasm
to the queendom of symbiotic plant harmony.

At the back of the front hall closet,
I step into an alternative universe where
we honor nature and respect science.

I opened the secret door, unseen
and hidden for years, a whoosh of musty air
blew my hair out of my face. When
the dusty cloud cleared, I peered in
on a perfectly groomed garden—clearly not
my ramble of over growth— perfectly
manicured— but by whom? Then I hear
the scratch of a metal rack across
tiny trail pebbles. My eyes caught only
movement and the color red— could it
have been a little cap atop a garden gnome?

I will never know. I closed the door
and went out to water my thirsty tomatoes.

Original prompt: You are in your house and go to the closet and open the door but instead of towels or potato chips or clothes, you see another world. Where and when do you go? Who or what do you meet there?

Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Julianna M. Cruz, Cindi Neisinger, Rose Y. Monge, Barbara Berg, Debby Johnson, Natalie Champion, Gudelia Vaden, Nan Friedley, Kris Lovekin, Frances T. Borella, Frances J. Vasquez, Ginger Galloway, Cati Porter

Just Another Monday in Quarantine

Wake up! It’s time to get up and go to work
in my pajamas, while the coffee perks.

Up with the sun, exercise at heart.
This is how I determine the day will start.

I hear things are starting to open
Is there a job for me? Sure am hoping!

God knows how sexy I feel
When I wear a glorious green high heel!

Monday in quarantine is like a bad stew
Except when I am awoken by a sweet mew.

Milo Morris says mew mew:
Feed me chicken stew!

My dog with black patches I named Pow Pow.
No wonder his former owner named him Cow Cow!

I brought home a dog I named Zancudo
Long-legged like a grasshopper and ate Menudo.

My morning is busy, I do lots of chores,
Laundry, dishes, and sweeping the floor.

Gentle breezes and delicate chirping.
Somewhere in the garden a cricket is lurking.

Feet in the ground, I reach, trying to bud.
My roots inhale deeply, looking for mud.

Have I listened to all the sun has said
or busied myself inside baking bread?

Eavesdropping on birds singing a duet,
Worried they may stop if too close I get.

A pig, a pond, a perfect storm pervades.
A gathering, a smattering of ants invade.

Nights and days are becoming blurry.
Unable to hug a loved one is a worry.

Monday’s children blessed with faces sweet and fair
must hold hearts imbued with love, empathy and care.

The next generation:
Tape on floor marks our separation.

Wear it, don’t wear it, only you can decide.
Mask or not, let your conscience be your guide.

Bombay Club sings “I got my second wind”.
Hoping you get yours as you elect to stay in.

Original prompt: Write a rhyming couplet, i.e. two lines of poetry about ten syllables each that have a words on the end that sound the same.

Cati Porter, Ginger Galloway, Frances J. Vasquez, Debby Johnson, Sharon Sekhon, Stephanie Barbé Hammer, Frances T. Borella, Nan Friedley, Rose Y. Monge, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Thomas Vaden, Gudelia Vaden, Dar Stone, Barbara Berg, Lynn Doiron, Mark Givens, Kamelyta Noor, John DiFusco, Natalie Champion

A Bouquet of Mothers

First, a vase, tall and lean, thick and wide,
bodaciously curvaceous, glass, ceramic, brass.
Babies breath a delicate flower, an accent
to her beauty. Named for the joy of her heart,
like sweet kisses on her breast. Forget-me-nots,
cornflowers, and blue irises. Dried roses
from your funeral and memories of laughter.
Yellow roses and lavender hydrangeas.
You knew all their names and wondered why
I couldn’t get past lavender and lilac.
Violet geraniums in a bed of pink primroses –
mom’s pandemic garden! My dearest mother,
gone three decades, you loved rust
chrysanthemums, so I always get them for you.
How the big pink peonies grew for you!
Under the cypress trees. And how the big black ants
loved them too. We shook them upside down
each time you cut a stem. Clouds of rosey blooms
in vases all throughout the house April, May and June!
Daisies as fresh and pure as a baby’s first delicious howl of life.
Daisies, sunflowers or marigolds? It didn’t matter,
you loved the amber hues. You named me Rosa—
the only flower in your family bouquet. How cool is that?
Lilies and roses to Mamá who loved me first, and to Tías
who nurtured me along the way: Te amo siempre.
Roses red, violets blue, I am who I am because of you.
Roses are pink, geraniums are red, and the birds have been fed.
Whether the one or ones you mothered are furry or human,
biologically related or not, here’s a lavender rose plant,
my favorite, to scent your daily path in tribute to you.

Original prompt: Write about flowers to create a bouquet for Mother’s Day

Frances J. Vasquez, Liz Gonzalez, Sharon Sekhon, Cati Porter, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Gregory Anderson, Mary Torregrossa, Ginger Galloway, Rose Y. Monge, Frances T. Borella, Debby Johnson, Thomas Vaden, Natalie Champion, Rob McMurray, Gudelia Vaden

When You Come to Your Senses

Dented and scratched, dedicated life-line.
Cold, reserved mostly but fills my tummy!
Small and addictive, constantly calling me over.
Smells like hell. Tastes like heaven. Prickly love.
Sleek White Metal Horse rides high in the saddle.
Tasty, tender tri-colored tidbits tantalize my tongue.
Sipping cool cinnamon lemon infusion so refreshing.
Circles of magenta, yellow, pink; fragrant love given.
Musty, stained from use; flammable, if given an excuse.
Sweating from those emerald bits that singe my tongue.
Lavender scented in steam with lemon wedges, sssssss!
Bright as summer, a ball of fragrant sun kissed sweetness.
Tough fluff stuff faster than a speeding bullet sweet images.
Happy daze in a shiny blue and white can, low carb to boot.
Pea-sized Crest on gnarly bristles, scrubbing my minty molars.
Tattered but hanging together still, good for another sleep at least.
A pair of mirrors that let me look out, but don’t allow anyone to look in.
You can see reflection through it. It tells what you look like from inside.
Chuffs and puffs, whistles and bells, squeaks and squeals, creosote smells.
Sticky sweetness fills my lungs as I sit, on the verge of sneezing, in deep shade.
Lovely brown seed of the gods – valuable like gold – satiates, intoxicates my senses.

Original prompt: Write about something by describing it using your senses, without naming what it is.

Rakhi Shelat, Julianna M. Cruz, Frances J. Vasquez, Frances T. Borella, Debby Johnson , Nan Friedley, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Thomas Vaden, Elizabeth Aamot, Rob McMurray , Rose Y. Monge, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, John DiFusco, Cati Porter, Kamelyta Noor , Natalie Champion, Gudelia Vaden, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Ginger Galloway, Janine Pourroy Gamblin, Kris Lovekin

Beginnings & Endings

When you and I were Gaia
our love began, and our love
expands eternal—MyOTHER.

My mom is a Prothonotary Warbler
in a nest of soft mosses and leaves,
an Osprey always in deep defense,
and a Least Tern giving me shadow
in the sun or cooling me
with a sponge bath from the ocean.

Mom, you are my best friend
You are so kind and beautiful
You inspire me! I love that
at my age you still call me kid.

My mom is a fighter, a dreamer,
a reader and a dancer. Just like me.
I’m proud of Mom and her keen
sense of humor, as she reaches 100
in January: Keep on going strong!

Mom is the keeper of family recipes
stored loosely in a worn red and white
Better Homes and Gardens cookbook.

s l o w l y aging, I feel you slipping
away. But, when you smile at me
MaMa, I feel like your child again.
Sturdy, practical, careful and devoted
to us always. I hate the thought of losing you.

First Mother’s Day without you;
no lunch at our favorite place,
no cake—everything tastes
of salt and umami anyway.

You have no idea how much
I miss you cussing us out.

Madre mia, you live through
your Dichos, capirotada,
and Cumbia memories.

I look at our children. Still
in awe. The dream came true.
Pieces of me out in the world,
tethered by love, make my heart complete
Becoming a mother I learned why
a craft of popsicle sticks, glue and tempera paint
is a more valuable gift than diamonds.

Devout atheist, with the best skin—
your granddaughter continues
your brilliant refusal of all easy answers.

What a blessing to be a part of five
generations of strong and nurturing
women. Stay tuned for more!

Mom, I love you so much that words
cannot describe. When I am in the cocina,
you guide me from heaven to add
a pinch of this and that and reminding
me to go easy on the red pepper.

Although we are now apart, there is
so much, so much in this world,
I am glad, you cannot know or feel.

Mama, you are the first reason
I love strays and abandoned critters.
I know you deep in my bones,
but you’re still a stranger to me
Even in my darkest night,
you are my guiding light.
Mom, you can still remember
so much with your heart, I will keep
holding your heart with all my might.

Original prompt: Write a line of poetry in honor of Mother’s Day.

Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Stephanie Barbe Hammer, Tom Vaden, Barbara Berg, Natalie Champion, Dar Stone, Julianna Cruz, Robin Longfield, Juanita Mantz, Gudelia Vaden, Cindi Neisinger, Cindy Bousquet Harris, Nan Friedley, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Rose Y. Monge, Kris Lovekin, Debby Johnson, Faith Dincolo, Raine Levaivre-Naggi, Frances T. Borella, Ginger Galloway, Kamelyta Noor, Frances J. Vasquez

All in Day’s Work

Sam woke to the sound of her alarm clock and stood up, stretched, yawned. Summer was her least favorite of the seasons; she longed for cool breezes, but when she looked out the window she knew something was not right. Better get dressed and see what’s going on.… Then flames scorched her windowsill, a dragon’s wings crashing through the air like thunder. The morning air was already steamy hot. No dog barked, no bird sang. It seemed the earth stood still. The sounds of ambulances and glaring lights were too much to bear this morning. Her eyes burning, she searched the red horizon for signs of life, but found only a strange stillness stretched across the melting asphalt. Pools of sweat form under the N95 mask she has worn for the last 12 hours. She longed to be anywhere but here but what could she do? She knew she was trapped! Her eyes caught the fiery dragon’s searching for a soul in the emptiness. Then she heard a voice come seemingly out of nowhere. “Where are my lemons, my sweet limes? Your bite is like sugar to my soul.” It was the dragon! “Hot as hades in the beautiful city of San Francisco I walk to La Loma Produce for lemons, limes, tomatoes and fish that make my day so much brighter…” No breeze, no clouds, no sun, just a thump, thump, in her chest and the sound of her aching breath. “Well, the Farmers Market is that way…?,” said Sam, somewhat confused but also relieved. It was then that she noticed the little girl, staring not at the dragon, but at Sam. “Wait! Are you leaving already?” the little girl cried. “Yes, I need to go. Every day I show up, I make a difference.” She pulled on some clothes, grabbed a supergirl mask and headed downtown to work.

Original prompt: Write one line continuing and building on the line before to creative a story.

Julianna M. Cruz, Dar Stone, Cati Porter, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Nan Friedley, Magdalena Nunez, Natalie Champion, Cindy Bousquet Harris, James Luna, Ginger Galloway, Gudelia Vaden, Kris Lovekin, David Stone, Debby Johnson, Frances T. Borella, Rose Y. Monge

A Recipe for Survival

Mirepoix, because vegetables.
½ cup sanity, julienned on ice

plus one jalapeño to spice it up.
Cubed onion with tears yet no fears!

Garlic is good; we’re socially distant anyway.
Fold in lightly beaten dolphin egg.

Swirl in the sound of small hands, drumming
on an upsidedown plastic bowl.

A dash of pepper, a bit of salt
just a taste of whole gestalt.

Fold in a heaping measure of compassion,
an ample amount of quality bread

flour, kneaded well to make it rise,
and a dash of mother’s love, like a hug.

Dash of dill for daily determination.
Savory rice with a pinch of oregano

and something from the back
of the fridge I can’t quite identify.

A splash of rum will do no harm.
Add fresh mint, growing wild in the backyard.

Dollops of chilli flakes make it vavavooooom!
Calories are out the door; Slather more butter, por favor.

Melted chocolate to grace the top.
A spoonful of sugar to make the recipe go down.

An aromatic candle awaiting to inflame the senses
… and the romance of Javier Solis’ melodic Sabor a Mi.

Original prompt: Write one line that is an “ingredient” in our collective recipe.

by Cindi Neisinger, Shali Nicholas, Cindy Bousquet Harris, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Frances J. Vasquez, Rob McMurray, Kris Lovekin, Frances T. Borella, Debby Johnson, Ai Miyamoto Kelley, Sherre Vernon, Burcu Misirli Chatham, Kamelyta Noor, Rose Y. Monge, Thomas Vaden, Dar Stone, James Luna, Nan Friedley, Elizabeth Faith Aamot, Veronica Ortega, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Natalie Champion

A Few Words from Our Friend Will During the COVID-19 Crisis

Embrace the world with arms stretched out, then we shall have
“A Midsummer Night’s Nightmare.” People, resolve to love thy neighbor—
embrace COVID-19 health protocols! I howl with resolve
to embrace this bump and stay well. My mind howls

with the loneliness of it all: Let the body howl; the mind, then, willing!
Thy February face howls for lack of wit. Lonely
scenery ready to embrace. Lonely? Never! I embrace
each peerless moment! Heed the cry, embrace your dreams,

resolve your fate. Bumps in the night are a terrifying reminder.
Pepper is so lonely. He howls at the moon. Just wants
an embrace. I howl at this darkness with resolve,
“you are but a bump on my journey for I am stronger than you.”

With resolve, the lonely wolf let out a howl
until he felt the gentle bump of his mother’s embrace.
I long for your embrace, I’m so lonely, so I resolve
to see you again. Today, we long for that loving embrace.

Original prompt: Pick from words from this list of six words coined by Shakespeare:

Bump
embrace
fixture
howl
lonely
resolve

Frances T. Borella Sharon Sekhon Dar Stone Liz Gonzalez Frances J. Vasquez Julianna M. Cruz Natalie Champion Ginger Galloway Debby Johnson Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez Rose Y. Monge Burcu Misirli Chatham Ai Miyamoto Kelley Barbara Berg Gudelia Vaden

What is True, Love?

Could lose myself forever in you, truth,
if only I could find you.

A confession: my deepest, strangest
love is for the enigma of love itself.

Love is a beautiful battlefield
where I fight for it every day.

Love twinkles as midnight fades,
so you can easily find your way.

Love is watching the sunset, talking
late into the night.

I love my family to the moon
and back.

Kisses in the moonlight, walks
in McLaren park and snuggles in bed.

Listening to music early morning, here
comes the sun.

Love is a rainbow
in the sky after a stormy rainfall.

Love follows the winding roads through
the twists and turns to yield the cold.

Many decades later, nothing has come close
to the endorphin high of my first love.

One thing I miss terribly right now is going out
for pho, that simple yet magical soup.

A Sumptuous Equation:
Family +Friends +”Breaking Bread”=LOVE.

The decadent sweetness of dark chocolate melting
into a puddle of indulgence on my tongue.

Such a wanton, fluffy, mischievous, loyal
companion loved so easily.

Hockey loving, Fortnite playing, Lego building
little dudes give the best hugs.

On May the 4th, love is sitting through an all day
Star Wars marathon and never falling asleep.

All I love, costs nothing—family, friends,
this beautiful, imperfect world.

Original prompt: Write about something you love.

Natalie Champion, Dar Stone, Good Newz, Raine Lefaivre-Naggi, Good Newz, Douglas McCulloh, Nan Friedley, Frances T. Borella, Andrea Jill Fingerson, Rob McMurray, Debby Johnson, Robin Longfield, Juanita E. Mantz Pelaez, Rose Y. Monge, Gudelia Vaden, Burcu Misirli Chatham

Forest Chant

I, elaborate forest, chant
like honey, ask— still the skin

Elaborate petals spring-
luscious, rain-languid, sing
about rust & apparatus

Watch purple honey running
over a lazy day moon

The moon is like honey on
an enormous lazy dream

She rose, delirious and death
singing sweetly. Pink moon petal
on the rock after a lovely rain

Dreaming of a delirious death by milk
chocolate, sweetest sleep

Original prompt: Go to the virtual “Magnetic Poetry” and write a line of poems drawn only from the words there, about ten words.

Ginger Galloway, Barbara Berg, Natalie Champion, Debby Johnson, Nan Friedley, Gudelia Vaden