Category Archives: Rictameter

A rictameter is a nine-line poem. Its pattern of syllables goes 2,4,6,8,10,8,6,4,2. The first line and the nineth line must be the same.

The Metro Prophet

His face painted silver, surrounded by all his earthy belongings, the man used loud speakers to broadcast prophetic doom. Exiting the subway train, we hurried, looking away not wanting to see his face.

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Red Lipstick

Our mom was in great pain. Even breathing was hard. Fluid filled her face making her barely recognizable laying there. Her favorite red lipstick we put gently on her lips to make her look like our Mom.

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In Due Time

A life of faith, knowing all things will resolve the way they should is the ultimate test of patience, endurance, and belief in the guidance of a greater power.  Trusting in that force gives passion a life.

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Sound and Fury

Black clouds roiling on the horizon…dark, stormy mountains of nature’s wrath seething terror. Flashes of lightening and bolts of thunder thrown to the earth in forceful display of strength. Pouring rains drenching all that lies unprotected. Sound and fury retreats … Continue reading

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Time in the Wilderness

Alone time. I need it to recharge my energy …to listen to my own thoughts and to sort out the demands made by others. Solitude in small doses cures my angst and restores me until the next alone time.

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Healing Prayer

Enough sorrow and angst! It overwhelms me and I feel so helpless and hopeless. How can I make any difference when the world is in such a state of turmoil? Sometimes just to pray for healing hurt is enough.

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The Key

Walk down that new path and rediscover a gift within yourself.  It has always been there and you must open the door.  It has been closed and locked for a long time but you have the key. Do not be … Continue reading

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Kindred Spirits

Feeling a connection. Kindred spirits crossing paths in an unexpected place. A shared interest invites an easy affinity that develops into friendship with a genuine feeling.

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The Color of Spring

Verdant shades of spring…from the deep hues of lush lawns to the chartreuse sapling treetops. The color green becoming to new growth aptly describing tenderness and inexperience …delightfully verdant.

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Voiceless Venting

A voice. You don’t know how much you use it until you no longer have it…is it the victim of the demon pollen or maligned symptom of the common cold?  Either way without words, I have no voice.

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