Wednesday, February 3, 2021


Sharp Edges


She was a girl

who knew what she wanted

Had a knack for getting it, too

She was a girl you’d take fishing

because she had fingernails

so long and curved

they could be used to gut trout

You’d never pick up a blade again

Not with her around


©2021 Muriel Thumm



Wednesday, September 23, 2020

An Empty Vase



An empty vase

can be cobalt blue

barely reflecting light

coming in the window,

dim like the last row of trees

on a western hill.


Or it can be ruby

which would only be spoiled

by the line

at the water’s surface,

reminder of fractures in old cement.


Just don’t give me a cracked vase.

It won’t stand up to normal use

with its split lip dribbling away its contents.


Instead, I’ll take one of those pitchers

in mustard yellow that leans back

waiting to be filled,

and just as willingly fills

the glasses within reach.


Emptied, it settles back

ready to serve again.


©2020 Muriel Thumm


Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Coco Chanel

Coco Chanel

I think I’ll write a love poem
to Coco Chanel
She’s with me in this pandemic
I can taste her on my lips
She goes on smooth
not rough like the whisker kiss
of that dance partner
She’s fresh and invigorating
Breathing her in, she
asks me to lighten up,
try a new look forward
Whereas, he stepped on my toes
often on my heart,
Coco never disappoints
She’s there through thin lips
and thick, mine, his

©2020 Muriel Thumm

Tuesday, June 16, 2020


Narcissism comes
at the wrong time in life,
comes when your young body
is easy to love,
your stomach muscles virtuous,
when water beads up
not down into crannies,
when the “turn of your ankle”
doesn’t mean a limp.
But it would be better stored
for the day your aging body
desperately needs someone
to stroke its folds, roll fingers
around its plenitudes,
to look in the mirror
and say,
               “You’re lookin’ good, baby.”

©2020 Muriel Thumm

Sunday, June 14, 2020

I heard love was running out

So, I thought,
I’ll be out of love?
or nearly?
I have none in the bank?
None to be had at the store?
Love has run out.
I always thought it was plentiful,
that I could dip my hand in the creek,
come up with enough for a mouthful.
That it poured off mountains,
city streets were awash in it.
Every subway train, cross-town bus
contained it like the pool man’s
tanker truck full of love
coming to fill my pool.
I will stand here, chin up,
mouth open and wait
for replenishing.

©2020 Muriel Thumm

Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Oriental Poppies

All of my red-headed girls
Dropped their tresses last night
On the lawn and stand bald-headed
Looking back at me.  I smile
Knowing them in their dishabille
To be lovely at heart.

©2013 Muriel Thumm

Monday, May 25, 2020

Time Traveler

He came from a different time, earlier than ours. He came from last year. 

Friday, May 15, 2020

Unwriting My Story

Let me spin my story anew
We didn’t live in Guernsey Hollow, so why would I care
if I might have had to snap potato bugs in a small garden
that we could have had across the road

Saturday, March 28, 2020

Sheltering in Place

My outdoor garden
is sheltering in place
aware the temps are holding,
holding back
but unclear the reason.
Buds on the lilac,
knotted like fists,
have suspended activity.
A world on hold, on hold
but for a stray forsythia blossom
who arrogantly opens
against all restraints.
While tiny leaves on shrubs
peek curiously, docilely waiting, waiting
for the sun’s all clear
to venture out, seem still unsure
if this is the last of the winter cycle

©2020 Muriel Thumm

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

Thursday, November 28, 2019


That he died is not important.
He did that only once.
That he lived is everything.
He did that every day.

{Happy birthday, Dick)                 

© 2005 Muriel Thumm

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