© A Lover’s Ballad

In this fertile moment,
As fragile as a second,
My foot steps backward
As yours progresses.
This dance penetrates
My nest and, like a fine
Diamond, exposes my
Peaceful soul, and it

Colors my veins with a
Destiny that binds us.
A magician, you assume
The mantle of Eros.

Opening the windows, you
Invite the seraphs in and,
In the blackest corners
Of dark thoughts and

Helplessness where
Never and Yesterday draw
Their crossbows of
Tomorrow’s memories,

You changed everything.
Your gaze supports my back
The way distant dreams
Support the white of the soul.

Oh, yes. Yes, yes.
Relentless silent lips
Claim me with the mettle
Of a long-lost lover.

Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

(pic: by artist Daniel F. Gerhartz)


Daniel F. Gerhartz 7

© Pile of Crock

The crockpot died last night
Right in the middle of making supper
Taking with it our last supper
And all the innuendo that goes with it
Remember when I wore
Gigantic glasses decades after Sir
Elton John and passersby stopped
And photographed me believing I was famous
What guy doesn’t love that
“Sweet looking ride” and reading books
About the Art of Manliness
And creating an entirely new beast
Geeky Yoga dork survives
Humiliates the unbendable
And squeezes them into
A canvas of light and despair
Saying you can see right through me
Brought a round of laughter
To the ears of those surrounding us
They knew you were missing much
Dancers understand how their art
Is a perpendicular
Expression of that infamous
Horizontal desire
Poets fluent in words of love
Guarantee success and happiness
And Promises of marriage
If you move away and wed another
You showed me your rose garden
Wishing me to stop and smell them
But you neglected to add
You recently covered them with manure
Your past precedes you
I answered when you asked for a date
I never wanted a white knight on a steed
And you never brought a present
Life is not a bowl of cherries
The bowl broke and I’m just as wicked as you
When we are buried perhaps they’ll write
There lies a pile of crock
Image may contain: 1 person
Mona Arizona
All Rights Reserved

(photo is not mine and it is not me; all rights belong to the owner: this is Femme)

What Happens In Vegas…


What Happens In Vegas…

There were no wooden-bellied cellos

Mournfully weeping deep throated

In the house where I live as

I watched the truth of plastic

Freedom plagued by the sounds of

The rat-a-tat-tat

The Bop-bop-pop

Sounds that were echoed only by

Thundering soles pounding the ground

Under fire

Under siege

The feet of the fleeing

Pressing prayers on brick walls

Thrusting souls over fences

Witnessing the crimson pour from

Entities stolen by a lone GUNman

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

© Silence Sounds Like

Silence sounds too much like you’ll be going;

Peace preys like a wolf longing for the hunt,

Serenading mocking love fragments from the past.


Autumn songs, once hidden like stars during light,

Return to the desert after summer blends into fall,

Bring winter’s chaos as if thunder in spring’s soul.


Swimming in a Van Gogh joy and red cosmic dreams,

I never wished for your hand-me-down dreams,

Your washed-out, washed-up, rented future for one.


Hail the part-time dreamer, the full-time idiot,

The lover who came with no warnings,

Conceding to counterfeit honesty……..


Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Tumbleweed Contessa’s poem: A Trembling Balance

I am in love with paint and text, beginning each painting with my favorite current color and each poem with my favorite current word, enjoying the freedom in the art of both. Neither is an autobiography but both carry a part of my soul.

Burdick Archway verse 12by12

© A Trembling Balance
Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved

Embryonic thoughts,
raw, and
splatter the page.

Changing moods,
like tidal waves
feuding between
want and need,
demand compensatory words.

Tumbleweeds cleave to
the desert. Lo! They rush
ahead of the wind
and awkwardly
roll toward freedom.

Love is yellow and
the deepest blue,
pied with
the morning
and with the night.

My love is a trembling balance.

With Tits That Big, All The Sheep Were Getting in Line

And the debate continues — money or power? Some believe if you have money you also have power. Not so. There are plenty of people in the world with money who have no power. And, you can’t buy power. You can buy strength and mercenaries. But power, real power, can acquire money so does not need to sell itself to anyone who thinks because they have money, they are in control.
But, like I said, the debate continues.

The Wizard by John Curran

© With Tits That Big, All The Sheep Were Getting in Line

Did you smell it?
The smugness?
The audacity? The stench
Of their mendacity?

What did they think she was?
A whore in some
Third-world who shivered
With enthusiasm
Over some post-war
Chocolates and silk nylons?

Never say you didn’t know…
It’s always been about
Location! Location! Location!

Never believe
She was not
The closer to the source
Of all power—
She had the power.

Money? They wanted
More. More so they could
Have their quickly erect-
Ed McMansions in
The Hamptons
With their quickly
Acquired money;
Everything that was
Bound to become
Dilapidated in a few decades.

Her property Value?
Extremely high.
But, she preferred power
Over money;
Power was like the
Chauvet Cave with its
Paleolithic drawings
That have continued to survive
For more centuries
Than believably possible.

How ccould she
Respect anyone
Who did not
See the difference?

In a world where
Everyone was busy
Themselves and
Talked of the
Value of being
Wealthy while she sat
Quietly and imagined
their slightly sultry
Faces frying in a skillet.

Look closely at the photo.
Who is that smiling
At the edge
Of the frame?
Yes; it is she;
And she’s still hungry,
Hungry for truth.

Mona Arizona
All Rights Reserved
(painting: The Wizard by John Curran)

What Your Tumbleweed Contessa Is Reading

I have a few books on the shelf to read and reread.
But, today I will be mainlining “Going Under” by Kathe Koja

I understand this novella-size book explores psychological angles of a faltering brother-sister relationship.

Not sure that means this is a YA novella that reportedly vividly portrays the feelings of angry and confused teens Hilly and Ivan in a tale about loss, family, and identity.

I’ll let you know the intended audience and more in my review.