Monday, April 29, 2013


We build shelter
Alike in industry.
We strike defensively.
We tend the garden
For the greater good.
We share our stripes
We understand
It is their reaction
That makes them swell indignantly.


Bird of paradise -
High-voltage territory
If you're an insect.

Sunday, April 28, 2013


To blooming daughter
I have passed the torch of spring
Fire in flower.

My Hero

My hero is not the sort 
I've read of in the books,
But a frail man in a wheelchair
Who's giving me the looks.

Knees shot up,
Bayonet in the arm,
Shrapnel in the head.

He says,
"I've got a bronze star,
a silver star,
for letting people shoot at me."

I also know he has three purple hearts
and 173 are dead.

My hero is the sort
I've read of in the books,
But now he's old and forgotten
His courage never waning.

Poetic Dementia

The Lord's sitting on a haystack laughing.
The bees look up, tilt their heads.
A farmer's afraid to put his hand near.
The Lord pets the bees.

The Lord is going to pick you up
And use you in a way you don't expect.
I know you love the Lord.
I know you love bees.

You can't swear around the bees, it upsets them.
Do you know what happens to your communication
When you say God damn it, God damn it?
It gets broken.

As a nurse I receive a lot of jumbled words from minds crazed by pain, drugs, or dementia.  Some of the words make vague sense, like a poem.  If there is already a poetic form which is a transcription of such altered mind states, then this is my attempt at one.  If not then here it begins.

Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #148.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Woods Not So Heavy

Down a road where spiderwort
Weaves a web around the woods
That swallow up the way
An abandoned turtle shell
Points in circles
And the weight of the world
Falls on the intruder who is lost
Until deep-rooted wonder
Displaces fear
And warnings given branch to branch
Transform to comforting chatter,
The woods not so heavy anymore.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Read All About It

Nine earthquakes shake state since early Tuesday morning
Severe weather possible Wednesday
Please join us for a renovation celebration

Cigarette makers send billions in payments to states
Honor what is sacred, quit commercial tobacco
How do you define 'best interest of a child?'

Norman man arrested in child's death
Man accused of running around naked in front of children
Dr. King is now accepting new pediatric patients

Alleged coon-dog killer collared
What government found in meat
Take our 90-day food challenge

Boston bombs said to be made from pressure cookers
Stress management, night guard help relieve bruxism
Photo of young victim Martin Richard now a symbol

Found Poem taken from headlines and advertisements in the Talihina American,,, and

Saturday, April 13, 2013


Abstractions of Civilization
grow a Tree
but fell the black oak
the white oak and
the red oak
to make Floors,
first floor Deep and
penthouse Towering Transcendent,
and as Words less particular
expand in number and meaning
Man climbs out of his Cradle
and ages Wise and Philosophical 
but there is a Grave that lies in wait,
for what Civilization has been able
to stand its Ground without
the Black Oak
the White Oak and
the Red Oak.

     This poem grows out of my epiphanic confusion brought on by reading the following from The Story of Civilization:  Our Oriental Heritage by Will Durant.  ". . . Choctaw Indians had names for the black oak, the white oak and the red oak, but no name for oak, much less for tree . . . abstract terms seem to grow in a reciprocal relation of cause and effect with the development of thought; they become the tools of subtlety and the symbols of civilization."  But it seems to me that as civilization matures itself in abstractions, the ability to know the difference between an oak and a maple, much less between a black oak, a white oak, and a red oak, is civilization's dementia and ultimate demise.

Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #146.

Monday, April 8, 2013


photo by Libby Meador

A word
Impaled on my brain.

A name
For the family tree.

A rose
That drought could not quench.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Natural Selection

by Libby Meador

Where pondside edges dissipate
Into molecules of calm and space
And restful alertness supercedes 
The weariness of modern dramas
Natural selection
Ebbs and flows in every breath
And this is living.

Where edges are defined
Building towers to the skies
Sidewalks crack the bottom line
And from this ecological niche
A dandelion thrives
Reminding passersby
That nature's not a fragile mother.

Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry #145.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Stages of Humor

Trying to catch a sunbeam
My little guy
Reaching for the shaft of light
Shining through a closed door
Chubby fingers grasping on emptiness
And giggling like only babies do.

My little genius
Philosopher to be
Giggling like only a teen can do
When left unattended for one minute
In a Hobby Lobby
Rearranging wooden letters
Painted in sparkling pastels
To spell the word "poop."

Proud I am he showed restraint
Having imagined some other word
But saying to himself,
"Well, that's too vulgar
For there are little kids here,
And they will think 'poop' is funny."

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Map Turtle

Map turtle
Show me the way
To stretch out my neck
For a good cause
Bearing the weight
Of my own small world
Yet knowing there is time
To set aside
That never-ending task
For time to bask.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Henbit and Chickweed

If henbit could cluck
And chickweed could chirp
Then green-combed roosters
In fine flowered finery
Would be to spring
What their avian counterparts are today:
Sound settings to wake people up
The good old fashioned way.
For few avian patriarchs
See enough light of day
To remember their job to greet it,
Subsisting as they do in free-range factories
To feed cloned appetites.
If henbit could cluck
And chickweed could chirp
Would they spread gloom and doom gossip
Of a weed killer come to judge the earth?

Monday, April 1, 2013


Damned if I am
Damned if I ain't
The fool for the day.

Not wanting to draw down
The attention of the gods
I didn't say my prayers.

But there's freedom in knowing I am
Damned if I do
Damned if I don't.