Ambivalent Love Song to Things: Part Two

I love the familiar
things of my life—
the worn brown
bedspread my little sister
made as a wedding present
that covers me warmly
through the night—
the silver shining
laptop that lies stlll
under my restless fingers,
effortlessly recording
the meanderings of my
wayward mind—
the vintage golden
plush chair, now
twenty years in the family,
that faithfully cuddles
me each dark morning
as I write. I am
grateful for these
old friends that hold
me in the sweet
embrace of the particular,
reminding me of
who I briefly am.


Partial Transcription of an Enthusiastic Weather Report

Here’s our upper low. This is the beginning. (Pretty good upper low isn’t it?) But just as important is THIS: a closed off and intensified roadblock in the atmosphere! Other energy is coming causing a big train wreck. (You know what I’m looking at.) You’re getting a fresh injection of arctic air. Arctic air bleeding.   (You had me at hello, I knew this was going to be a big storm!) The storm and then the arctic air override, everything is set!

The bulls eye is clear. All this energy diving into this upper low. (Here we go.) All the way down into Georgia – snow in Huntsville! (Watch what happens.) The tilt of the trough. (It’s going negative!) The Atlantic moisture ramming into that fresh injection of cold air – (Look at this!) A negatively tilted trough strengthening the upper low. (LOOK AT THIS!) Going down to 984! (Look at this storm!) Hurricane force winds intensify – (You know what’s going to happen.) Thump hard with snow.

Intensifying storm with thunder and lightening along edge of arctic boundary. Snowfall rates of 2-3 inches per hour Worcester, Hartford and norther NJ. (I don’t want to underplay Philadelphia.) This storm has ability to shut stuff down.     Boston and Portland.   I like what we have.)   A foot.   Six to twelve.  Twenty-four to thirty-six. (I’m worried you’re going to get dry-tongued in Boston.)

Here’s your bulls-eye. All blowing and drifting going to shut everything down.

(I want to show this again.)

Blown shut.

It’s going to be a blizzard.

(Thank you to for the information and poetry.)


Ambivalent Love Song to Things: Part One

The trappings of privilege
are set to catch
the unwary.
The sirens of witless
accumulation call
sweetly then slowly
engulf us until
we dare not move
for the weight
of things we
are possessed with.
We wake up
lost in the heap of
the things of our lives.
Knowing better still
we seize tightly
the trap while
the true heart
mightily yearns
for release.

Junk Yard Rockcastle-3


Saint Joan: The Play

Shaw made sure
in the final
scene that we
understood our
miraculous and
untamed Joan
was not welcome
here either.

Young women who
hear voices amidst
the bells are too apt
to betray the power
that men warily
guard while rapt
in self-serving
lies of great beauty.

Four hundred
years is a safer
distance for a saint.


Some Thing To Give

I wish
I had some
thing to give;
some magic formula
guaranteed to clean
your counters
and contain your colic;
some tiny totem
to reliably finger
in a dark pocket
as proof against
daily distress;
like the genuine rabbit’s
foot I once had.
It worked well
enough until
the creepy claws
led me to wonder
about the rabbit
in question who
clearly wasn’t
doing nearly as well
as I hoped.

Maybe no thing
giving is better;
rabbits then run
free and I can
easily do
the hopping

Copyright © Dandelion by Pexeto

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