Change is hard, especially for the dim-witted.

A play on words.

Plastic or Cash?

A Poem that Stinks or Makes Scents

It takes too long to make change

For a buck without much sense.


But give the dear some credit

Since he's quick to charge away.

© 2010 Photo and Poem by Rose Marie Boyd

The Phantom of Winter Nights

Although I can't see it, I know it's there. I can feel it and hear it when I wake up dry-tongued in the middle of the night. Something hovering by the ceiling, noisy and annoying, blows hot air directly in my face.

The Phantom of Winter Nights

Sporadic banter,

Full of dry taunts,

Awakens me

During the witching hours.

A blast of heated breathe,

Enough to rob the moisture

From my skin,

Spews through sharp fangs.

I curse the poltergeist

And his exasperating monologue,

Until the torture ceases

And dead silence lulls me back to sleep.

© 2010 Photo and Poem by Rose Marie Boyd


I took a walk today and noticed quite a few tire imprints in the dirt, some were prominent while others less obvious. Below is one photograph I snapped along my route. Studying the photo, the thought occurred to me that some people have a good grip on life while others slip and slide along. But we all leave some kind of impact wherever we go. The idea inspired the below haiku poem.


Gauged deep or shallow,

Each one makes unique tread marks

On life’s muddy path.

© 2010 Photo and Poem by Rose Marie Boyd

Weighty Burden

Yesterday morning, I inspected the new fallen snow outside my window. A particular bush, taxed by the white slush, drooped its branches towards the ground. The plants posture resembled that of crestfallen person, one struggling with negative psychological baggage.

Weighty Burden

Heavy on weak shoulders,

Raw load is hard to bear.

Till stress melts away,

The strain appears unfair.

©2010 Photo and Poem by Rose Marie Boyd

Posted by Picasa

Bound for The Garden Party

This white bloom sprouted from one of my house plants. If you strain your imagination as I did, you might see the profile of a young lady in the shadows of its curled petal. Young and inexperienced she's on her way to an affair under the sun.

Bound for The Garden Party

The curled white brim
Obscures a face in shadows,
A pompous profile
With chin and nose held high.
One tight yellow choker
Holds erect the long, thin neck,
A small lump of insecurity
Hiding behind its beads.

© 2010 Photo and Poem by Rose Marie Boyd

Posted by Picasa