In four days, the 2021 November Poem-A-Day Challenge will begin. If you enjoy writing poetry or if you want to kickstart your budding poetry interests, I encourage you to join thousands of poets around the world in this unique challenge. Robert Lee Brewer posts a writing prompt each morning and you as the poet, write your poem then post it on the PAD forum. All the rules and guidelines are found at this link.

Get your metaphors ready now!!


2020 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Results

Thrilled to be among the finalists in the 2020 Writer’s Digest Chapbook Challenge!! Congrats to De Jackson and the other finalists!! 

2020 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Results

Oatmeal Cookies and a Win

Want to Gain a Few Pounds? I’ll help you. (Kidding/not kidding)

Sunday we began packing away my recently deceased father’s clothing. This duty had been on hold since COVID because my ailing mother lives in the same house as my dad had and we need to protect her from the virus. We didn’t last long but at least we began the process.

Monday brought the grieving blues, so I baked cookies—my default comfort behavior. I’ve used the same recipe since I was thirteen.

Monday afternoon I continued working on my father’s tribute video. We haven’t yet held a memorial service for him due to . . .  you guessed it . . . COVID.

More blues. More cookies.

Monday evening I reluctantly checked my email. I’m glad I did. Lo and behold! An email from Robert Lee Brewer (Writer’s Digest) congratulating me for winning the 2019 November PAD Chapbook Challenge.

“Just wanted to let you know that your manuscript Safe among the Roses won the 2019 November PAD Chapbook Challenge.”


I had to read it a several times as it didn’t register for a few minutes. I kept saying, “What? What? Holy Cow!!”

I’m tickled and honored and humbled and feeling blessed.

So to celebrate I’m sharing my cookie recipe with you. It’s delicious! I’m not a foodie or a food photographer. I do write a poem now and then but mostly not about food. I’m not going to write a cookie poem. But if you want to, go for it. I’ll smile and cheer.

I think I copied this recipe from a magazine when I was about thirteen years old. As you can see, the recipe card is well-loved.

Oatmeal Jumbos side 1
Oatmeal Jumbos side 2

Oatmeal Jumbos

1 cup raisins
2 ¼ cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
½ tsp. baking soda
1 t. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
1 cup shortening
1 ½ cups brown sugar
1 (or 2) eggs
2 Tablespoons water
2 cups oatmeal—quick or old fashioned

Preheat oven to 375°. Pour enough boiling water over raisins to cover (to plump them.) Let stand 10 mins. Drain raisins. Sift together flour, salt, soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves into a bowl. Add shortening, sugar, egg, and water. Beat until smooth (2 mins). Stir in raisins and oats.

Roll out dough onto lightly floured board or canvas to 1/4 –inch thickness. Cut with floured 3-inch round cutter. Place on ungreased cookie sheets. Sprinkle with granulated sugar.

Bake 10-12 mins. Makes 2 ½ dozen.

  • I used dark brown sugar yesterday but I like them better with light brown sugar.
  • I often add chocolate chips. Just saying.
  • I usually do not roll them out. I just spoon them like drop cookies onto the cookie sheet.
  • Take them out when tops are slightly brown if you like a softer cookie.
  • Store in airtight container or Ziploc.
Tea and Cookies!


Shooting Star

PAD 30
Write a fading poem.
I’m not sure why this poem pOpped into my head today, but it did and I suppose I should have tried to write something more meaningful and sentimental about PAD ending. Since I don’t see it as an ending of relationships, I didn’t go that route.  Or
maybe it’s because I don’t like goodbyes.

“ShOOting StAr”


YoU loved YoU loved YoU loved

until wE could nOt tear Our
hearts AwAy from


bUrnished brAnded bordeAuxed
brOthelled bAwdyhoused bAthed

in serenAdes of accolAdes
sO grand YoU sO grand YoU
like a plAgue like an Ache,
like a blAde, like a grEnAde











The theatre of toil

PAD 29

Take a favorite line or image from an earlier poem this month and re-work it into a new poem. I had absolutely no preconceived notion of where this would take me.
It took me to the sky.

“The theatre of toil”

was sent
wafting with the ravens,
their flights stagnant against
the torrents of breath and time.

One shadow nestled against the sun,

a thousand horizons,
a myriad songs of plunder penned
in the spiral theatre.

One shadow weaved in lost cadence.

I would willingly fold up my wings
and offer them to the stars for
one unbound night as
captives held together
in concert


The trouble is in the forgetting

PAD 27

“The trouble is in the forgetting”

 I want to forget that she forgets
these days or she makes up
for a quiet moment,
she knows something.

She says she knows her mind
is somewhere
but she doesn’t know
where; as if the world
is hiding
from her.

Women's breakfast 001

When I look into her eyes
I see a fading,

a long twinkling fading
her childhood
of chase, enrapture,
longing to be known and to know.

She asks if she’s my mother
but I am

right here beside her.