The Cliché of Totalitarian Regimes
A house of cards
that teeter-topples with dissent,
a cheap fabric that unravels
with a tug,
a clown-car
of fleecers and fleeced–
zero compassion,
the whole not superior
to its parts,
great is invisible
truth is unknown,
no war-fog,
only crimes
and the dead.
A quadrille for dVerse where the prompt word was “zero.” A quadrille is a dVerse form, a poem of exactly 44-words.
The Truth of Late Autumn
In the chill-still of almost-winter,
the pulsing-stars of gulls fly
lighting the river ‘s laps,
the waves thirsting for the shore,
the horizon’s cornucopia overflows with
watermelon, persimmon, clementine,
and finally, a lemon appears
only to slide behind a tablecloth of clouds.
Should I accept the red sky as warning,
or admire its beauty?
In the aftermath of rain,
I look down
at reflections glowing gold
look up at brilliant blue,
wonder how some can deny
azure, or see only shadows
without the light.
I listen to the crows and jays,
consoling, forewarning
earthquakes of grumbling people
volcanos ready to erupt;
yet even in winter, the sparrow chirps
the tides
ebb and flow,
the geese rise
to meet the pale gilt sun.
There will always be storms—
and beauty—
both make me pause.
And I am grateful.
Hello again! It’s been a busy week! Here in the US, we celebrated Thanksgiving on Thursday. Our older child, their wife, and our granddaughter arrived on Wednesday. Their trip from western Massachusetts went very smoothly. They stayed with us until just a couple hours ago this morning. It was wonderful to have them here. Of course, all will understand when I tell you our little Sylvia is the most beautiful and amazing baby ever. (Though our cats did not agree.). I love how much she loves books!
For Thanksgiving, we had a small group because my niece was sick, so she and her family could not come. Since the squirrel mold lives at her house, we didn’t have our traditional cranberry squirrel. I did have cranberries in the freezer though, so I was able to whip up a quick cranberry sauce. All of us there had a delightful early dinner with so much food, since I had planned for twice as many people to be there.
On Friday, our child and family visited a childhood friend, then later we went to Blue Cork Winery, where our daughter works, for a quick visit. On Saturday, we visited my mother-in-law, and my husband’s brother and wife also came. We enjoyed pizza and salad. On the ride home, we were forced to take a detour onto a rural, side road, where we passed Amish or Old Order Mennonite in horse-drawn buggies, and I saw the ruins of this cool building. We wondered if it had been a mill. There was a stream behind it.
On Sunday, we went to a local brewery at lunchtime. I made turkey sandwiches for those who eat it and other snacks. We had delicious Pakistani food for dinner.
We started the new and final season of Stranger Things with our child and their wife while they were here.
As all the horrible things are going on around us, I am so thankful and grateful for these moments of joy. I did not read much news over the last few days, but I know the current regime has most likely committed war crimes, while pardoning those who have been found guilty of drug-dealing and corruption. I read the demented one wants an even bigger ballroom, and that his puppet-masters want the Russia-Ukraine war to end with a deal to make them even richer. I also read that it will most likely become more difficult for babies and children to get Covid vaccines because science is no longer to be believed in the current regime (along with facts in general). So, I am also grateful for truth-tellers, such as Heather Cox Richardson, Joyce Vance, and others who are working to keep facts of all sorts in the light and working against this totalitarian regime. Resist however you can.
Now, I need to catch-up with all sorts of things! I am way behind on reading dVerse posts and other blogs. I did manage to submit some poems on Sunday and post a Poems About poem on Saturday.
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Darkest Nightmare, Brightest Dream
The possible impossibility of no future,
the universe’s flawed design,
a bug in its brilliant breath,
a break,
a slow bleed–
or a flashbang—
the syncopated rhythm of stars
collapsed
jazz-hands flutter and fall
time folded, an accordion
waiting to play
every song and none
here, not here
a hummingbird, an azure sky,
green vines, orange lichen,
a soft-pink lotus flower opens,
a laugh.
I don’t always share them here, but this is a poem I wrote for #PoemsAbout #NoFuture on Bluesky in the midst of Thanksgiving/family activities. The Oracle assisted. Our guests leave tomorrow, and I will try to catch up with reading then.
If you’re looking for poetry books this holiday season (including mine)–plus some prompts, a playlist, and other news from Paul Writes Poems!
On the Mountaintop, Sliding toward Dawn
Heroes appear in every generation
ordinary people with stinky feet,
and morning mouth,
imperfect beings
who smoke, drink, are unfaithful
(we contain multitudes)
Believers in dreams
and mountaintops,
movers and shakers,
solitary sparrows,
Icarus-flyers,
dancers to the edge
where they might stumble—or be pushed
into the abyss
but they go on–
and when they fall,
and they always fall
as autumn leaves,
as soldiers of truth,
others take their place–
there are always others
to take the baton,
because there is always a baton
in this endless relay race,
and the batons glow with promise,
slashing doubt with lightsaber flashes
because there is always light
even in bleakest winter
a star shines—somewhere. Look!
Hello again! What a week! The demented one called a female journalist “Piggy,”
and threatened to execute Democratic lawmakers for speaking the truth. Then he praised NYC’s mayor-elect Mamdani, who he has been demonizing. None of this is normal! And these are just some of the things that happened last week (Epstein files, Venezuela, and on and on.) Here’s what’s coming up: Joyce Vance and what has happened recently: Heather Cox Richardson. Protests are ongoing against ICE and fascism.
But Thanksgiving is coming up, and I am truly grateful to have food, shelter, my husband, our children, our grandchild, my siblings, friends, cats, health . . . We’ve been busy cooking and cleaning. And I’m trying to get some poetry submissions in by the end of the month. As usual, I’m behind on commenting on blogs and social media.
On Saturday we saw the play The Mountaintop by Pulitzer Prize winner Katori Hall. It imagines Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in his motel room at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis the night before his assassination. There is a mysterious maid with him, and they have a long, profound, funny, moving conversation. BTW, we don’t have mountaintops in South Jersey. It’s very flat here.
We’ve seen the play before, but I didn’t remember it that well. This was an excellent production in the smaller of the Arden’s two theaters. It was an almost completely full house, and several shows were sold out. I know this because I had to switch our tickets from the original date to this one. Both the actors were excellent. As usual we walked through Washington Square Park and through Old City before the show. It was another dreary day, but not too cold. I thought I wouldn’t get any photos, but there were still autumnal colors that popped against the grey. We saw photographers taking photos of a bride and groom at Dock Creek–the path goes past Carpenters’ Hall.
Afterwards, we went to Caladrino’s Old City Vino. The family is so nice, and the wine is so good! We walked back in the early dark of November to get our train amidst Christmas lights along the streets and at Franklin Square.
Before we left on Saturday, I participated in the dVerse monthly live poetry event. I haven’t made the last couple, so it was good to see people there.
Wishing all who celebrate a very Happy Thanksgiving!
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Resa has created this fabulous post of her artwork inspired by my poems in my new poetry collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time. I am so honored! 💙
A Glimmer in the Gloom
There are still robins
chirping in the trees,
still scattered shapes
of pink, red, yellow,
an endless kaleidoscope,
shadows and light unmoored,
sculpting their own beauty.
Now the robins coax
the hidden sun,
now the bare boughs
reach up in supplication,
winter’s monotone drones-on.
A quadrille (a poem of 44 words) for dVerse. The prompt word, which must be included, is coax.
Stories
Every night I dream
stories of what was, and what might be
a delicious dazzle of mind-mazed
heart-feels, the timeless breath
of the cosmos, kisses of the past,
the merging of if with when,
rising,
every day I wake
to a new story, the story of today,
now the wolves of winter
are growling in the distance,
the shivering trees are losing
their stained-glass gowns,
pools of light rest lightly on the ground
like shallow bowls of pumpkin soup,
the heat not lasting,
but just enough to nourish
the fleeting beauty part of the eternal story,
the princess awakened, spring returned
in the turning of seasons, of Earth, of moon
commanding tides to flow or ebb,
the chemical magic of everyday, of air,
of yeast, the rising of dough, bread, wine
you, me—
all connected, rooted,
even our bones and ashes–
all part of our world’s story.
Sing to me now
of the Snow Queen,
the girl and boy who defeat her,
un-freeze hearts
with whispered words of love
carried by wind-whistles,
hear it late at night, as the river sighs
carrying on,
as a cat curls with contentment
at your feet,
and you both dream.
Hello again. Do you remember the days when we didn’t wake each morning wondering what had happened overnight? Sigh. Now the demented felon wants the Epstein Files released? Perhaps Joyce Vance is correct in thinking that since he announced an investigation, his lawyers will object to the files being released (like his tax returns).
It has gotten colder, and it’s been very windy this past week (and today). I didn’t walk outside several days because of the wind. (I do run and workout inside.) Yesterday, however, we were in Philadelphia, and we walked around a bit before seeing The Snow Queen at the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia. It was the first time they’ve done an all-ages show. It was fun, and the children in the audience seemed to enjoy it. There was a storyteller who told the tale, and in the playbill, the director wrote of how his father used to tell him stories. Afterwards, we walked over to Tria, where we sat at the bar and watched a server concoct a new winter drink. The sun was already setting as took the train home.
We’re still re-watching Stranger Things, which could be the title of any week since the new regime took over the government. I’m getting ready for Thanksgiving. I baked challah, made applesauce, and I’ve written lists of lists. I made pizza for us on Saturday night. This is the season of making soups and stews.
As for poetry, I participated in two open mics last week. Last Sunday, was the first one Paul Short has hosted (mentioned in last week’s musings), and on Wednesday, it was back to Black Bough’s open mic. It was a lovely, convivial group with some excellent new faces and voices. It’s fun when it’s a small group, and we can chat—or sing a truly terrible echo-delayed “Happy Birthday!
I’m one of the poets on this week’s Eat the Storm’s podcast. I’m not good at recording; fortunately, Damien was able to work his magic on the one I sent to him! Here’s the Web page. You can listen wherever you listen to podcasts. https://eatthestorms.com/2025/11/16/eat-the-storms-the-poetry-podcast-episode-5-season-10/
As always
Look for the helpers and be one if you can.
Elizabeth Gauffreau’s new novel, The Weight of Snow and Regret, captivated me from the first page. To be totally honest, the title made me want to read the book, but it was the opening chapter that hooked me. The novel tells the story of the Sheldon Poor Farm, the last such place in Vermont, and one of the last in the US. I’ve worked with 18th and 19th century poorhouse records, but I had no idea that poor farms existed into the 1960s, and a few into the 1970s. Gauffreau’s novel is centered on the twelve fictional residents who live at Sheldon Poor Farm in its final days, and Hazel and Paul, the married couple who manage the house, residents, and farm till it closes.
Readers are introduced to Claire in the first sentence. She is not an official resident of the poor farm, but she’s destitute. My favorite part of the book were the chapters that covered her backstory. I did wish there was more about her, but I will let readers discover how the story unfolds.
The novel moves back and forth in time, as we learn more about Hazel’s life. Historical events and people are woven into the story—both world wars, assassinations, and new technology, such as television. The real-life blues musician Lightnin’ Hopkins has a significant role in the book. I smiled when he appeared because I know Gauffreau’s fondness for the blues. I also appreciated the scrupulous research that went into the book. Events, products, and way of life are woven into the fabric of the story without being clunky.
Elizabeth Gauffreau is an excellent storyteller, and I came away from the book believing I knew these people. I did not grow up in a rural area, and the way they lived was as foreign to me as if they lived in another country. I lived in suburban areas in houses full of books, where education and the arts were valued. None of this is true for any of the characters, who have few choices and few opportunities. Both Hazel and Claire were young when they married, and neither could talk to their husbands about their feelings. Their husbands were also stuck, I suppose, in their roles as breadwinners.
In my mind, after the close of the book, Hazel and Paul find a new sense of peace in their lives together after the poor farm closes. I hope Claire finds a sense of fulfillment, too.
Gauffreau writes in her afterward that although it was unintended, “these characters have something to teach us about social justice and the worth of the individual.” I believe they do.
Find Liz at: https://lizgauffreau.com/ and on Substack: https://substack.com/@lizgauffreau
The Weight of Snow and Regret is available in hardback, paperback, and e-book.
This book is cat approved!
I’ve had a few people tell me that they can’t read the e-book version of my new collection, Held Inside the Folds of Time. I have had this issue with other people’s books, too. It’s not just my book–really! Many books do not work with older Kindles (like the one I have). Here is the solution–download the app!
If you scroll down on the Amazon page to my book:
you will see this message: “This title is only available on select devices and the latest version of the Kindle app. Please refer to the supported device list before purchase. Available on these devices “
You can download the Kindle app for free on your device, then my book opens–as do other books! If you’ve already purchased my e-book, it should be there in the app. I just double checked this on my laptop. It’s very easy. Soooooo, I do hope this works for anyone who is having an issue reading my book or other e-books. (I know the hardback version is expensive compared to the e-book, but it is beautiful, if you want to put it on your gift list. 😊)
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 