Ink Blots


Words better left unspoken

stain the mind with permanent

indelible ink

Remembered // played on repeat

over and over and over again

You can push the pause button

but you can never erase

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Photos: Dwight L. Roth

Make a Difference

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What good is knowledge if it moves no one to action

The spouting of words and details that leave one wondering

Saving the words preserving the truth holds little value

without real life application and motivation for change


What good is rhetoric, going on and on, yet going nowhere

Outlining, detailing facts that leave us in confused limbo

Futuristic admonitions that leave us wondering, “So what?”

A lifeless dust storm of theories full of gritty residue


What good is history if we never learn from it

Generations cycling through life like hamsters in a cage

Looking back but never seeing, listening but never hearing

Doomed to repeat what we vowed would never happen again


Are the answers simply blowing in the winds of change?

Is change just one step forward and two steps back?

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Words Change the World

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The good and the traumatic seem to find permanent residence!

Remember, words are important!

They can build up or tear down in a matter of seconds

Remember, words are remembered

Embedded in feelings they lie in our minds

Remember, words have power

Call out those who commit atrocities

Remember, words can bring peace

Offering forgiveness, hope and compromise

Remember, words make a difference

Be careful how you use them

The good and the traumatic seem to find permanent residence!

Today at d’ verse. Sarah asked us to use anaphora, repetition in poetry. She gave us a list of words to choose from and we were to pick one to use as our repetitive word. I wrote this poem this morning after responding to Michele Lee’s post, ( and modified it a little to include the word remember.

This is what Wikipedia says: anaphora (Greek: ἀναφορά, “carrying back”) is a rhetorical device that consists of repeating a sequence of words at the beginnings of neighboring clauses, thereby lending them emphasis.

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Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Poets or Squirrels?

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We poets

are much like Mish’s squirrels

always searching

for a nibble

on a word peanut

chewing the lines

discarding the shells

looking for that delicious

nut of inspiration

which we bury

deep in our word processor

where we will dig it up later

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Mish shared about the squirrels, her neighbor feeds, who love to nibble on their peanuts and bury them in her yard. They are quite a nuisance, getting into her bird feeder stealing her sunflower seeds. She asked us to use the word nibble in our 44-word Quadrille. I decided to compare her squirrels to us poets, always looking for the next morsel of inspiration to nibble on and stash away.

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My Blood Runs Red

Words…. the poets lifeblood…

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My words bleed red … running over the page
pouring out of the strict and rigid channels
onto flood plains of freedom unrestricted
My words bleed red … staining minds who read them
with lasting impressions embedded like hooks in a song
never forgotten… but rather called up at a moments notice
My words bleed red … life running out of me
so, I draw from your word bank of inspiration
mixing words with words finding my muse once more

Guard Your Words

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Words like skipping stones

create waves everywhere they touch down

spreading // then sinking out of sight

not worried about the ripple effects

leaving everything clouded and murky

as more are thrown without thought or care

Be careful where your words are thrown

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Royal Flush – (a soliloquy)

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Words draw me to places yet unexplored

Stretched across the page like a mountain full of trees

Some of value tall and strong others just scraggly bushes

What draws me to write incessantly // hours on end

Filling pages with cobwebs of past // present // and future


So many like me write on and on, words unheard // never read

Yet they write, like me;   seems they just can’t help themselves

What magic is in these words // the morphine of the soul

Stimulation like no other is my well written page

Compelling me to keep seeking that one last high


I am an Alzheimer’s poet // words flowing day after day

Yet with no memory tomorrow of what I wrote yesterday

There’s magic in words, shuffling the cards and dealing

A new hand every day… new words, new thoughts written

Perhaps one day soon I’ll be dealt my last hand…


My royal flush

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Victoria asked us to write a soliloquy. It is essentially a poem that has the poet in conversation with himself/herself. Musings and ponderings are heard only by the poet himself/herself. Perhaps it is what we old folks do as we age… talking to ourselves. Today, I am musing about why i continue to write everyday.

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Though our words may look

like dried husks, dead and worthless…

of little value…

Inside // buried potential

inspiration and new life!


Those who read find seeds

planted deeply in their soul

(a place to germinate)

Dominoes of light

Lined up //waiting to be tipped

Scattered feathers in the wind

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Reading Ivor Sevens poem the other day, the word husks stuck in my mind, triggering this poem. Thanks for the inspiration Ivor!

Seeds in Lines – Ivor.Plumber/Poet (

The Cutting Edge

Did you ever feel

the edge of a knife

cutting into you

as someone welcomed you

to their house?

I know that feeling

As I once again go back

to my childhood memories

Growing fast

a preadolescent young boy

I was self conscious

about this obvious growth spurt

pushing me into husky size clothes

Although sweet and smiling

when spoken

the words,

“Well, you look like your pregnant!”

Had an edge I will never forget

cutting deep into my soul

Not meant to be abusive

there was no doubt

this cutting judgmental remark

drew blood

left a scar.

I am still wary of people

who smile too much

while saying something

less than welcoming.

Pain comes in many forms

The scars stay forever

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Today at d’Verse, Lisa asked us to consider Edges or Fringes in our poetry. Edges give an insite that goes beyond words into the life of the poet revealing what is beyond the words. I decided to use edges as the way a persons words speak beyond what they are saying.

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Life is a Poem

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Life is a Poem
Everything in life is a poem waiting to be written.
Most do not hear the poets call or feel the inspiration
But for those who look and listen there is music ;
poems to be written // deep emotions to be felt
that can only be expressed in words.


Those who pause // make life stand still
and open their soul …
They understand it loud and clear.
as words resonate // echoing through the mind


Poets are like pleasant speed bumps
that slow you down and make you listen;
Sometimes giving you a big jolt
When you least expect it.


Poets are fearless prophets // writing of love and hate
Politics and Religion // joy and strength;
Raising consciousness //challenging norms;
Searching for words that express Truth
Bringing Light to the world.

Photo: Dwight L. Roth

Inspired by Charlie’s poem “Just Beneath the surface”