What I Believe In


art by Teresa Robeson



in Days We Would Rather Know

by Michael Blumenthal

I believe that a scorpion’s sting

will kill a man,

but that his wife will remarry.

I believe that, the older we get,

the weaker the body,

but the stronger the soul.

I believe that if you roll over at night

in an empty bed,

the air consoles you.

I believe that no one is spared

the darkness,

and no one gets all of it.

I believe we all drown eventually

in a sea of our making,

but that the land belongs to someone else.

I believe in destiny.

and I believe in free will.

I believe that, when all

the clocks break,

time goes on without them.

And I believe that whatever

pulls us under,

will do so gently.

so as not to disturb anyone,

so as not to interfere

with what we believe in.



Hidden Pictures

Hidden Pictures Puzzle from Highlights


While on vacation for a week

I forgot where my car fob was in my luggage

and conducted endless searches-

involved everyone

-got anxious-


today when home

in my space

found the key

in the smallest pocket

of the brightest bag

which remained hidden every day

I was away.


I was not robbed

I was blind

couldn’t find

“the hidden picture.”


Got my son and daughter

to join me

in hide and seek

tongue in cheek

forget me not


Mirror, Mirror mutter more…


selfie with iPhone on 4/21/2017 Sedona Arizona


Mirror, Mirror mutter more…


Mirror, mirror mutter more

Slide me smooth across the floor

Light my highlights with your glow

Shine goodwill for all to know.

Merely me-with tooth-filled smiles

Knowing well the many miles

Behind the 76 odd years

The laughter and the tears.

I curtsy before you…


photo by Jeanne (painted by Annika)


Instead of composing my own poem about “manners” today, I want to share these hilarious bits from other poets. These are today’s prompt from Jan Hutchinson.

Manners Prompt
Write a poem made up of suggestions (real or absurd) for
appropriate manners or behavior in specific situations. You might
talk about being taught manners. Or you might simply entitle your
poem “Manners” and go somewhere unexpected.

Carrie says it’s more rude to stare at a blind man on the street
than to make a fat person joke about someone on TV.
Tony Hoagland

If someone you know
who died long ago
appears to you in dream,
it is rude to point out to them
that they are actually already dead.

…silence is always good manners
and often a clever thing to say
when you are at a party.
Tony Hoagland
in “Social Life”

Mary June’s brother Willard always had
just a certain corner of his handkerchief
hanging out of his hip pocket. That was
my first intimation of a personal style.
My hair wouldn’t comb down; so
every night for years I wore
one of Aunt Klara’s silk stockings
pulled firmly on top of my head.
When we had company my mother was always
afraid I would swing my soup spoon
toward me rather than away. And I was to
leave a little, not scraps like a dog at the last.
These glimpses of decorum in my early life
have fitted me for success. My manners,
my neat handkerchief, and my tame haircut
have seen me through everyday encounters with society.
William Stafford
in The Way It Is

Sit, she said. The wolf sat. Shake, she said.
He held his face and tail still
and shook everything in between. His fur
stood out in all directions. Sparks flew.
Dear sister, she wrote. His yellow eyes
followed the words discreetly. I have imagined
a wolf. He smells bad. He pants and his long tongue
drips onto the rug, my favorite rug. It has arrows
and urns and diamonds in it. The wolf sits
where I’ve stared all morning hoping
for a heron: statuesque, aloof,
enigmatic. Be that way, the wolf said.
There are other poets.
Pamela Alexander
in Inland

I apologize…


Jeanne Poland-Selfie (iPhone 6+)


I apologize…
that I’m bigger than the chair

taller than the dress
slower than the game

louder than the group
brighter than the palette

overwhelmed with stimulation
immune to comments
and irrelevant opinions.

sorry that privacy is my #1 priority
and that I seem a recluse
for that is how I process
and integrate my intuition
and balance my appetites
(one of which is you!)

Letter to Spirits


my photo of Father John @ Christ Church- Hudson NY


In my dream…

priests give me hugs and kisses. None of them require I genuflect, or do penance for forgiveness.

The Lustenrings rush from
the wedding under the ‘el’ train on Jamaica Avenue in Richmond Hill to see Aunt Jeanne even though she and John Poland divorced after 17 years.

The gay nephew recalls my total acceptance of his unconventional choices. He divides his wealth 50/50 and finds a new partner who is also accepted as is.

Apparently, the spirit world is like that: timeless and equal. A circle of acceptance and honoring. A fiery flame of purity, a translation of Babel, a merging of cultures.

All the additions to the family welcome its newest siblings to give glory, laud and honor.

It’s like going to sleep and rebooting. Being held. Wrapped. carried as one.

I await patiently the revelation of glory.



photo by Jeanne



cotton robes

cotton pants

bikes in mountains

tricks of chance

that’s what angels are.

pants fall down

wings rise up

spirit moves

in golden cup

that’s what angels do.

grandma’s gems

grandpa’s joy

sibling’s rival

angel’s toy

that’s what angels give.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: