“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


love is cake, poetry the deciding knife

sometimes you awake with words on your tongue,
the north wind under my brambled feet,
and though they are your words, 
you are sure dylan thomas has been dream hopping
and hiding words beneath your sleeping pillows. 
sometimes you step into the day
and there is a red wasp taking his last breaths atop a green pecan,
there on the sidewalk at your feet
as they flipflop their way into the sun of the backyard;
you have to sidestep jump to avoid both,
and you understand suddenly the dream warning of brambled feet
sometimes there is pound cake for breakfast,
plain, cold from the refrigerator, soothing to your stomach,
and when you cut a fat slice,
the crumbs fall from the knife in the shapes of hearts. 
sometimes the poetry is your skin itself, your alone heart. 
sometimes those crumbs are the tastiest of all.
sometimes you have to pick them up and touch them to your tongue.



  1. and sometimes, okay, all the time, your words fall right into my heart.

    i keep trying to send you some north wind, hoping to cool it down for you...

    this was amazing.

  2. Sweet Deb, that was so beautiful...! Most excellent word-crafting, or word-massaging, or word-milking ... whatever magic process you call it. : ] Thanks for misty wondrous brain tickles to start my day. BTW my wiggledy-word in order to get my comment left is "oultunbu". Are we in Africa...?

  3. kelly - i never even thought about the north wind's possible meaning. of course. :)

    sooz - if we're lucky . . .


  4. You have such a poetic way of viewing little every day things...my brain only sees it that way when I read your words...and it's a wonderful change from my otherwise dull observations. I love your poetry. Blessings,

  5. Oh, lady, this was better than chocolate cake. Utterly scrumptious.

  6. You transport me with your words, their like a soothing balm. Beautifully written.

  7. I never know what to say when I read your blog, Debi. My words don't compare, don't matter, don't belong here. I leave without writing a word because..well, I can't. But, I do want you to know that I read..and this..well, this was simple beautiful, and so full of grace.

    ps: You need to write a book. Oh, and Mrs. should, too.

  8. Reading this, (the whole thing of course), those last three lines in particular leave my jaw hanging open and in my heart a little biplane pulls a flag behind it that reads: Yes! Yes! Yes yes yes!

    I love how you pulled cake and poetry together.

    Just - wow - love.

  9. why does it that i cannot come up with words like these ever??? and you always??? no fair.

  10. Pound cake in the morning would be totally delightful! Just noticing what you notice is pure delight!

  11. cool pound cake for breakfast ..crumbs always are the best...such lyrical writing ..is this going to be a song..the words on your tongue

  12. You make my day so often. Now is one of those days.


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