In the coming days
let them tell ever more outrageous lies,
not thunderbolts, a swarm of flies, buzzing,
spreading disease and filth,
let them be toxic rain, quicksand,
wasteland, then
let me be the wildflower
rising from a pavement crack,
bird-scattered seeds,
bee-bedaubed pollen,
the smiling truth of sunflowers
blossoming under a bluejay sky.
Let me,
let us,
be.
For dVerse. The prompt was to write a poem using “let them” and/or “let me.” You can read the details here.
Mirroring
“What can memory be in these terrible times?
Only instruction. Not a dwelling.”
–Diane Seuss, “Weeds”
“Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.”
–Sylvia Plath, “Mirror”
“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”
― George Orwell, 1984
On this Memorial Day,
there are roses
and rain, a rambling rush
of scent, redolent, recalling the past–
there are geese
and goslings, a gamboling few,
fewer than last year,
later, there will be parades,
and cookouts, drumbeats
and drumsticks, hotdogs,
children roasting marshmallows, perhaps,
there will be parties and graduates
and a party
celebrating its efforts
to erase history.
There will be flags waving,
and proud flag wavers
who march over
what it truly represents.
Somewhere,
there will be drones, bombs,
civilians killed,
children murdered,
spouses disappeared and deported,
there will be hunger
and hunger strikes.
I look at myself
in mirrors, in photos,
through time’s
infinite reflections
caught in infinite light,
so many me’s.
There are,
there will
be echoes of history,
there is always then
and now,
there is always remembering
and doing.
There is always hate.
There is always love.
Today, there are roses
and rain, transitory,
and a river of time
flowing onwards.
Good morning! Well, it’s been another week. Again, I can’t keep up with it all. The present regime is attempting to erase history while rewarding treasonous and convicted criminals. Well, look at our felon president. I’m wondering if he will recognize that today is Memorial Day, and what lies he might spout and what rants and AI slop he might post. Ballroom, bunker, and golden arch (like McDonald’s?) seem to be what he’s most focused on. Perhaps, he’ll simply spend another day golfing. I can’t ever forget Melania’s, “I don’t care, do you?” jacket. That should be his regime’s slogan.
There were protests at Delaney Hall, an ICE “facility” in Newark, NJ, over the weekend. Those detained there have apparently launched a hunger strike, though ICE officials deny it. There hasn’t been much coverage that I’ve seen. Senator Andy Kim and Rep. Rob Menedez toured the detention center prior to the strike. I watched Senator Kim describe the horrendous conditions there. I hope to hear him talk at a town meeting later this week. Gov. Mikie Sherrill is trying to get access.
The weather continues to be crazy. We had extreme heat early last week, then a cooler, cloudy day before a cold, rainy weekend. On our rainy Saturday, we watched a movie, and I made homemade pizza with enough to put two in the freezer.) We saw Miroirs No. 3, a new film by Christian Petzold and starring Paula Beer. The name of the movie comes from a Ravel piece that you will most likely recognize if you hear it. Beer’s character, a piano student, plays some of it in the film.You probably won’t know the director or actor’s names if you don’t watch German films. 😊 I’ve seen and enjoyed several of his films, and Beer has starred in several of them. His movie, Transit, has stayed with me, but I want to rewatch it because my husband doesn’t remember it. So, this is another Merril movie. It’s not an action film. It plays with the idea of mirroring. I read that Petzold is kind of obsessed with Hitchcock and Vertigo.
Yesterday (Sunday), we went to a graduation party for our great niece (college) and great nephew (high school). His graduation hasn’t taken place yet; hers has. Both of them will be starting summer sessions—she in grad school for social work, and he beginning university. It had stopped raining for the party, and there were tables outside, but it was chilly, so I parked myself on a sofa between my brother and sister for most of the afternoon. There was a lot of food and many people, and I hope the graduate and soon-to-be graduate were pleased.
Thank you to those who have given their lives for freedom and democracy. Don’t let their sacrifices be in vain.
On a positive note, Heather Cox Richardson is launching series of short videos, “to honor the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, we decided to launch a series of one-minute videos that highlight the people, places, and events that have helped to move us toward a more perfect Union.”
https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/may-24-2026
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Some random cat photos.
Happy Sunday! It’s pouring rain here right now, but I hope it will be ending soon.
I have poems out in two anthologies. I’m waiting to receive both of them.
My poem, “The Cure is Us” is in These Poems Kill Fascists, compiled by Fin Hall. Available here.
I have three poems in Unhoused from Prolific Pulse Press. Here’s the trailer:
It’s available on Amazon or through the Prolific Pulse Website.
Bearing Witness
I write of masked men, zip-tied children,
Liam with his bunny hat—the schoolgirls–
I write of kidnappings, deportations,
and renditions—concentration camps—
though no yellow stars sewn to coats—not yet.
I write of billionaires getting richer,
the hypocrisy, the corruption, a ballroom, the slush fund–
a Supreme Court only in name, not quality,
the failing healthcare system, the lack of
oversight, loyalty to one man, ignorance, cleavage with a cross.
I write of wars as distraction, disinformation, of Epstein files
and predators, of follow the money, of coverups—
but I think of trees older than me,
and the nearby river—bearing witness, too–
robins, mockingbirds, sparrows singing of love,
for love, there is still love
under fresh-washed blue
bees buzz, roses bloom, a couple holds hands,
but there will be no cherries, nectarines, peaches,
or apples this year—freak heat and freak frost, our climate lost.
A little girl plays hopscotch, dogs bark and wag from yards,
a cry in the dark, words into cyberspace—I write
too much, not enough,
something.
This is a poem I wrote for Poems About on Bluesky. And this is my first attempt at a video. I’ll get better. 😂I thought this was a poem that should be heard, and I thought I’d try to give people something to look at, too. Sharing this with dVerse Open Link.
Scrap: Salvaging a Family by Luanne Castle
From the back cover: “Scrap: Salvaging a Family is a hybrid flash memoir tracing the long shadow of childhood fear and the complexities of forgiving a dying parent. As a daughter uncovers her father’s painful origins, she begins to understand the man behind the anger–and reclaims pieces of herself in the process.”
This is a long overdue review. I’ve admired Luanne Castle’s writing for a long time, and I was eager to read Scrap. Scrap is beautifully crafted, with the word “scrap” in imagery and metaphor throughout. The book’s epigraph from Umberto Eco states, “We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”
Although I knew the book detailed Castle’s troubled relationship with her father, the way both parents treated her as a child affected me. After starting the book, I had to put it down for some time—but not because it’s not good. I simply was not in the right frame of mind to read it then, so soon after my older sister’s sudden death, and as I was approaching the anniversaries of my parents’ deaths. I never experienced any cold behavior or harsh treatment from my parents. Of course, they were flawed beings, as are we all, but I was never spanked, had my mouth washed out with soap, or forced to sit at the table till I cleaned my plate. I was pleased that Castle states at one point that despite everything, she never doubted her parents’ love for her, and she and her father reconcile.
Once I returned to Scrap, I read it through in one afternoon. I couldn’t stop; I was so caught up in the story! The book begins with the revelation that her father was a bastard. Castle explains the several meanings of the word, and how in the time and place in which her father grew up, it was a stigma that left him shamed and angry. To me, it seems that secrecy more than illegitimacy produced generations of suffering. Castle’s father’s father was a well-respected doctor who not only had this secret family, but who also doctored his own past.
The book is written mostly in brief, impressionistic flash stories. Each is a moment; a memory filtered through time. Just as the collage on the book cover is made up of individual words and images to make one possible whole, so do the stories in Scrap. (Castle’s brother is barely mentioned, and she explains he had a very different relationship with their father.) Castle’s writing is lyrical, imagistic, and assured, as it should be after years of honing. I don’t think Castle could have written this book earlier. Like a good stew, it needed to simmer. The flavors had to blend over time, a little of this and that had to be added. Scrap is a book to be savored for its originality and perspective.
Luanne, it’s cat-approved!
Scrap can be purchased through the publisher or Amazon.
Bridging
“Like a bridge over troubled water,
I will ease your mind.”
–Paul Simon, Simon and Garfunkle, “Bridge Over Troubled Water”
“What side of the bridge are you on?”
—Signs seen at the protest in Selma, AL, this past weekend, May 17, 2026.
(State Troopers violently beat the Civil Rights protesters led by John Lewis when they attempted to march over the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma in March 1965.)
“It avails not, time nor place—distance avails not,
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence,
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt,”
_Walt Whitman, “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry”
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it–
or burn it–
we’ll find a bridge to the past, to understanding,
bridge the gaps and find new ones,
perhaps a bridge too far, or one to nowhere—
what do you feel when you look at the river?
Once only birds flew, and only animals
swam the expanse
before dugout canoes gave way to ships
and war,
and ferries transported people and cargo
ghosts wandered the shores,
now drifting over the litter—
Here are roses, fresh with dew,
blooming bright
where soldiers fell fighting against a king,
but progress can be turtle-slow,
Civil War, Reconstruction, Jim Crow,
history echoes,
hear the rhyme,
one step forward, two steps back
every citizen has the right to vote,
but watch out for the turkeys!
What will you tell your children and friends,
so many generations–
now cloud reflections ripple, sun-sparkles dance,
the morning moon tips her smile,
what side of the bridge are you on?
Hello again. The weekend weather was lovely—warm, but not too uncomfortable, but it’s heating up now, the humidity is rising, and we have a heat advisory with perhaps record-setting temperatures for May.Then mid-week, we will cool down, and it will rain. So, it goes.
Once again, every week has so much going on that I can’t even remember it all. The approval rating of the present occupant of the White House has sunk WAY down. Not even most Republicans approve of his handling of the economy and the totally unnecessary and illegal war he started with Iran. That means the only way the Republicans can win is through more dirty tricks. It just keeps getting uglier. I am horrified at how the Supreme Court, whose majority should be wearing white robes and peaked caps, has gutted the Voting Rights Act and approved gerrymandering (for the Republicans only). There were protests on Saturday in Selma and other areas of the South. I didn’t see too much coverage about it though. There was also some sort of gathering in Washington, D.C, which I also didn’t see much coverage of. I imagine it was on Fox “News” though. Heather Cox Richardson covered it in her letter today,
As she wrote:
“The “Rededicate 250: A National Jubilee of Prayer, Praise & Thanksgiving” event is part of the Trump administration’s attempt to use the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence to rewrite America’s history, turning it from one that champions the Enlightenment values of natural rights, equality, and self-government to one that requires Americans to accept that some people are better than others and to defer to their leaders.”
The United States is not and has never been a Christian nation! And though they present him as a god, the orange one played golf instead of attending this fascist Christian rally. The whole thing makes me want to vomit.
For those who don’t know, I often walk along the Delaware River at a park in my town in southern New Jersey. The land had belonged to a Quaker family who had a plantation there. There was an American Revolutionary War battle fought there in October 1777, and the American soldiers defeated the Hessian troops sent to fight them (although the British still occupied Philadelphia.) The United States is set to celebrate our 250th anniversary in July of this year. Of course, the felon has coopted that celebration as he has everything else. He will probably be setting up gold-plated statues of himself everywhere. There will be the biggest crowds EVER, and it will be the most PERFECT something. (Thank you for your attention to this matter.) 🙄
But on the bright side, we went to the Asparagus Festival in Mullica Hill, NJ again this year! The weather was perfect and the food was delicious! A Goofy photo for Derrick-
On Sunday, we paid a long overdue visit to my mother-in-law. We went over one bridge to get there, and a different one to get home. Our daughter was also there. We went out to lunch and sat outside. A pizza photo for Steve. I made her lemon bars.
We’ve watched the first four episodes of the new show, “Widow’s Bay.” It’s on Apple+. It’s a horror-comedy with Matthew Rhys. He plays the mayor of this fictional New England island town who is trying to bring in tourists to make it “the next Martha’s Vineyard,” but strange and scary things are happening. There are a range of quirky town characters, as well.
Keep fighting the good fight!
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Glimmer
Synonyms for stars, or
star-adjacent, sidereal,
glittering constellations
scintillating shapes,
points of light, swan,
bear, hunter, milky way,
silver river,
stelliferous, star-like–
a field of dandelions,
lion-teeth aglow
asterisk—a little star,
a child pointing, asking why?
Van Gogh’s Starry Night
Over the Rhone—that couple
in the right foreground
so inconsequential, less than specks
in the vast universe,
lives briefer than blinks,
but caught in the radiance, holding it,
holding each other, star-dusted,
they look up. I look at them, resplendent,
all of us full of wonder. Wonder-full.
For dVerse where the prompt was to use some sort of list as inspiration.
What Should Be Simple
“I am the grass; I cover all.”
–Carl Sandburg, “Grass”
“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars”
–Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
Late spring makes green look easy,
though it’s hard work,
everywhere trees and grass in verdant scenes
with pointillist pops of red, yellow, white, purple–
spring moves relentlessly forward,
while forces move us back,
as pawns on a chessboard
necessary and ignored,
bullish men with blackened hearts
crumbled to ash, fold white hands
in sham piety, hypocrisy practiced
to perfection
covered in gold bling. Ceasefire, they say,
and the markets sing–
for the billionaires.
Everyone wins,
the dictators brag, as they get on private jets
or hide in bunkers, away from the public’s eye.
So, here we are in cross-current spring,
proud parents present their chicks,
bees dance in the sun,
even as the wind kicks
a disordered Rockette line,
so that leaves dance
and petals spin,
while we fight against
book burning, the illegal overturning,
the destroying, and annoying,
the White supremacist drumming,
dog whistles, faux Second Comings,
illiberalism and militarism,
to embrace caring and sharing,
votes for all and empathy,
remember suffragists and Freedom Riders,
Founding Fathers—and Mothers–
support librarians, not censors,
We make difficult what should be simple–
celebrate the trees and grass. Watch the river flow.
Sniff flowers, fly a kite–
feel electricity, the power of love
the pull of earth, the wonder of stars
whose light still reaches us, the splendor
of blue
and green
and red
and yellow—
all the colors, all the scents–
in wind-chime we should hear
ancestors’ huzzahs, not their sorrowful sighs.
Hello again! Yesterday was Mother’s Day and today is the anniversary of my dad’s death, many years ago. Both my parents would be appalled (as we all should be) with what is happening here and in many countries around the world. They grew up during the Great Depression and married during WWII when the US was fighting fascism, not embracing it. They prospered in the post-War period, living a version of the American dream, though at that time, my mom could not get credit in her own name. It was around the time I came of age, that women in the US were given credit equality; we were allowed to attend formerly male universities, hired in businesses and government. Roe v. Wade was passed in 1973 (Chief Justice Burger, nominated by Republican Richard Nixon.) Sandra Day O’Connor, the first female Supreme Court Justice was nominated by conservative president Ronald Reagan. We’ve shifted so far to the reactionary right, that middle of the road is now seen by many as being far left. The current Republican party is not conservative. They do not want to conserve; they want to destroy and go back to a mythic past. The Founding Fathers did not create a Christian theocracy, nor did they want a king.
OK. Stepping off my soapbox now. . .
We saw three shows this weekend—documentary, musical, and play that dealt with aspects of the US and democracy. On Friday night we watched The Librarians, “A different kind of SUPERHERO movie,” writes The Hollywood Reporter. I highly recommend it. It intercut interviews with librarians, parents, students, the so-called Moms for Liberty (🤮), with old movie clips, quotations from authors, such as Ray Bradbury.
https://thelibrariansfilm.com/
On Saturday night, we watched the musical “Suffs,” which we had recorded from Great Performances on PBS. It’s about the suffragist movement from the time Alice Paul challenges Carrie Chapma Catt, the march on Washington, and the passage of the 19th Amendment, permitting women to vote. The cast is all-female and diverse, and touches on generational change and racism, as well as sexism, but it is also laugh out loud funny at points. It’s inspirational, but it also made me sad because of the attempts to take our rights away.
https://www.pbs.org/wnet/gperf/suffs-about/17498/
On Sunday, we went to see Franklinland by Lloyd Sun at the Lantern Theater Companyin Philadelphia. It’s a short play (80 minutes) that covers the relationship between Benjamin Franklin and his son, William. It is a comedy with modern language—and it was funny, but also moving. Before the performance we walked around in Philadelphia–some places where Franklin and other founding fathers and mothers walked.
https://www.lanterntheater.org/plays/franklinland.html
On Saturday afternoon, my sister hosted a “Wills Party,” or as some were calling it—because my family has a sick sense of humor—the “Death Party.” The idea was to get our wills and advanced health directives written. Then my sister had some friends over to witness and a notary. I think it was a great idea because it gave me a deadline to get a lot of paperwork and organizing done. My husband and I still want to look over our documents. I didn’t get photos of people and papers, as I didn’t want to show sensitive documents or people who might not appreciate being in my post, but I did get food photos.😂 It all lasted much later than planned. Of course.
After the play on Sunday, we went to our daughter’s house to celebrate Mother’s Day. We were all so tired, I forgot to get Mother-Daughter photos, but once again, food! Our daughter did quite a spread with some wine samples, too. And while we were eating, our older child called, so we FaceTimed with them and our grandchild.
Saturday morning, we picked up our first farm share of the season. The boys enjoyed the box, and we later enjoyed some of the produce!
Stay safe and well, all! There’s a lot happening now. Pay attention! Get involved however you can. I think about how those who we call the patriots now organized without cell phones and computers and so did the suffragists. We should be able to do it!
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Oracle
Were we you, the Oracle said,
after a day dark with dream-destruction,
we’d realize that every if,
is followed by black hole denial
or then-when possibility–
hours pass, cat-clouds
stretch across the sky
then leap into oblivion,
men lie, then lie again
with cruel smiles
and cold fisheyes,
but you
can still be dazzled
by the delicate breath of dawn
carrying the scent of a new day.
We see only what might be,
were we you, the Oracle said,
we would try to lucid-dream out of the nightmare,
gather a bouquet of stars,
let the seeds fall as rain,
make when now.
Some of us consult with the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I haven’t written an Oracle poem in a while.
The Course of a Life
Charles Darwin, quicksilver mind
jumping here to there, takes a giant leap
aboard the HMS Beagle,
tangles in summer song and windrush,
as sea foam horses gallop past—
not Odysseus, though he follows
the siren call seeking knowledge
gentleman-scholar, never quite
loses sight of home,
he sends missives and specimens
back to England,
(though only part of the rhea, he realized
too late was his Christmas dinner)
does not lose touch with family
and friends, he
makes history, marries his cousin,
suffers sorrow and triumph,
doesn’t recognize some changes
taking place right before his eyes–
we know now there’s a mutation
that caused the white peppered moth
to turn black, aiding its survival
as leaves became covered in soot—
the Industrial Revolution
also evolved and selected.
we can adapt to circumstances,
sometimes we advance, progress,
but cannot defy death,
our own ebb tide,
takes us far and deep,
to an unknown sea.
For my dVerse prompt, a random word prompt with the words coming from this list of roses. There is a very pretty rose named for Charles Darwin.
And, the photograph is going to send me down more rabbit holes.
Here’s some info about her from The Met
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 