A Poem

Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash

I am gratefully spinning on this globe called Earth:
With gentle breezes blowing on a summer afternoon.
Green grass is growing under shady trees.
Common grackles act like a gaggle of geese
As they eat the goods I provide for all wildlife.
Gray shadows of a passing gang of crows glide gently by.
A grandmother goes strolling with her grandchild in a carriage.
My geraniums are blooming red: they glow in the sun.
The green peppers are growing, ripening.
A gray cat bird sits in the golden gladiolas.
The graceful white tailed doe and twin fawns graze peacefully.
Goldfinches gather around the feeder.
Jar flies give…

Wednesday Prose Poem: misanthropology

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I am machine! I am a super-computer. I am a word processor pounding out words one after another. I write poems, essays, articles. I sit on my front porch and write a poem about birds. OH! Such pretty birds, such pretty songs.

A car drives by. OH! I need to go get groceries. I need to go see my friend in hospice. I need to go get my allergy shot. I am thirsty, I’ll go get a drink of water. I am hungry. I will wash these dishes while I am in the kitchen. I need a shower. …

Without white supremacist ideology Western Civilization as we know it today would not exist

Photo by Liam Edwards on Unsplash

I spent the COVID-19 lockdown doing a deep dive into my family tree. As a Caucasian living in the United States this was a relatively easy task to undertake, records were easy to find, trails were easy to follow. Most of my ancestors originated in Northern and Western Europe. The farther my search went back in time, the more influential my family turned out to be.

Although I was expecting some of what I found, much was difficult to swallow. The lessons I learned while researching my family tree can be used as a mirror to look at the major…

A response to the prompt question “what kind of plant are you?”

Photo by Natalia Luchanko on Unsplash

I romanticize that I am
a stately willow tree,
swaying in the breeze,
weathering all life’s storms,
inspiring peace and encouragement
in all the world.

I aspire to be the rose
brightly colored pinks, yellows, reds,
with fragrance the world adores.
coveted by queens,
named after great lords,
used to court great ladies,
even if I do have a few thorns.

I dream of being the orchid
rare and dazzling,
hiding in the deep reaches
of every thick jungle. …

Wednesday Prose Poem: twisted chronology

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Only when exhausted do I sleep. Exhaustion only hits at 4:00 a.m. Then I wake gasping for breath: salt water on my face from the ocean in which I was drowning. (Or are those tears?) I was being pulled under the dark, murky, salty water by a monster from the deep. The scaly sea snake had the face of my ex-husband. I was dying in the monster’s foul grasp: but I valiantly broke free for the surface just before drowning.

Sleep returns, I float on tranquil blue seas in sunshine. But my brain broken by addiction won’t stop: won’t quit…

Unlabeling myself — poetry prompt day 18

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

You’re too shy, speak up!
You’re too aggressive, be more gentle.
You’re too quiet, talk louder!
You’re too loud, why are you yelling?

No matter what,
No matter how I acted,
Someone criticizes.
Words strike to the core of my soul,
Daggers and knives to my bleeding heart.

As a child I was too shy,
I would never raise my hand
Even though I always knew the answers.
I sat shrinking in class,
Hoping no one would even see me.

Alcohol and drugs became my friends,
Brought me out of my shell,
Let me be a different me,
Until they turned on…

Translated from Portuguese by Daniel Hahn

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

A General Theory of Oblivion (in the original Portuguese: Teoria Geral do Esquecimento) was written in 2012 by Angolan author José Eduardo Agualusa. It was translated from Portuguese into English in 2015 by Daniel Hahn. The novel gives a glimpse into the Portuguese speaking people of Africa.

The story tells how a woman retreats into the shadows of severe agoraphobia. As Angola headed into independence from Portugal, Ludovica, in terror, walled herself into her brother-in-law’s lush penthouse apartment. …

The Story of My House: Part 1

Photo by Author

Recently, I accidentally bought a house. How do you buy a house by accident you ask? Well, it was an online auction. I put in very low bid, thinking, surely, someone would bid at least $100 higher than me. But, no, no one ever went higher!!!

So, now I am the owner of a double wide trailer on 4 acres of land. Here’s the kicker: I had never seen the inside of this house before I bid on it. The outside pictures looked ok, in need of work but ok. So, I was hopeful, especially with 4 acres of land…

Wednesday Prose Poem: carving out a statue

Photo by Dean Hinnant on Unsplash

Upon pedestals, they sit: monuments to violence, tributes to oppression. Above us all, they tower, vestiges of the Confederate side of Civil War. Their presence spews white supremacist, colonial ideals upon our populace. That they lost their war, does not matter, we are expected to respect, worship them. Placed to promote the white supremacists idea of the lost cause — To make the world believe that the war was not fought to preserve slavery — To make the world believe that the Confederate States were heroic and just — To make the world see their traitorous soldiers as heroes.


Rhonda Marrone

Poetry writer. Lover of all things nature. You will most likely find me sitting under a tree watching birds writing poems.

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