Poems by Peggy Rew 2018

Peggy RewAs a free-range wordsmith making shadows dance a ditty til dawn, PEGGY REW knew she’d be an artist. Finally realizing it would be one who painted with words, she’s created trademarks as a poet, non-fictionalist and ghostwriter. Rew’s published hundreds of articles for Nevada publications, mentored writers from Reno’s Unnamed Writers’ Group which she facilitated for 14 years. She has published two books. www.rewcrew.com

Oomph of Margaret Peggy Anna

Outgoing, regardless of too many names, searching for
Outlets to release energy as a
Multi-tasking networker,
Puppy-lover rescuer
Happy to see furry friends with new parents.

Obligated to All Things Pets, as well as being a vigorous
Free-range wordsmith who

Makes shadows dance a ditty til dawn
Always in search of the perfect word to
Redeem an imperfect world.
Grateful for breathing
Appreciative of life, yet
Resistant to simple-thinkers so
Enunciating, a voice for the voiceless, where
Teamwork influences support, however

Psychic powers have proven a Greek legend of
Escape from a dragon, though
Garnering happiness from kitten kisses feeds a
Giddy personality
Yielding love for rainbows.

Affectionate with a
Non-sensical wit
Navigating balance and harmony as an
Artist who truly loves to paint with words.

Lingering Lust

In full moon light,

I drifted off,

hoping to arrive in

my secreted astral harmony.


Lucky me,

a youthful apparition

appears, a gaze

sensed my yearning.


Caressing my silhouette, my core,

it triggers me to

shudder, flutter,

exciting me to feel perfect, sexy, charmed.


With suggestive gestures

in hazy, starlit obscurity,

lips kiss fingertips,

stimulated skin we lick.


I stroke thick tresses,

sweaty limbs spoon,

giftwrapped for each other,

mirage, hallucination, mine for now.


Dosing off, I forfeit sleep

to stare, to connect, to own

this sense of innocence,

such transparency for now.

Visions, sensations forcefully follow me

home to consciousness,

a dawning moon, I refuse to let go,

lingering, I conceal them, ruminate, smile.

Adventurous Audaciousness

Short is life

Guaranteed, not now nor tomorrow

Regret, pardon those feelings

Eying a classy, new car, bargain on the green one

Encounter a stranger, smile and hold the door

A new delicacy, order, savor and enjoy

Anger, release it to the universe

Creativity, slurp and wallow in it

Courageousness, orchestrate sparkle

Progress, works merely with human innovation

Evolution, today’s sweat and tears

Journeys, survival of the fittest, bravest and gritty gutsiest.

Oxymora of Sleep

For much of mankind, sleep is habitual or routine
to the fortunate, a talent practiced and envied
others, a black-market commodity to buy or sell.

For sleep or catnaps, feisty felines corner the market
children vehemently fight, kids debate you for hours
adults crave any power boost time they can steal.

Heatwave, wind, sunrise, a blizzard bothers not
a nocturnal beast, though normal humane
circadian rhythms are wrecked without slumber.

Some creatures face hibernation or hypersomnia
or challenge insomnia or narcoleptic journeys
but mortal health hinges on a ‘forty winks’ recharge.

Wind Symphony on a Windy Sunday

 Commence, trumpets blast
tubas rise above trombones
cymbals finalize.

Harmonious Existence

Mama Dove Desna coos a Morse-coded
rhythm to her nest of dovelings as she
takes flight in search of a feast for five.

“Hey, Desna, how’s the babes?” Hollers Lilly, the preening Lark.
Eyeing a wormy garden bed, “Ravenous!” Chortles the provider.

Budding tree branches bounce with
spring breezes, sopranos and chirpers
claim their perches for a dusky recital.

“Eager to peep and cheep, Girlfriend?” Hoots Hulu.
Darling Starling, Stella squawks back, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

Finches and robins chirp and twitter
in anticipation of rising moon luster
and nightly quietening of April zephyrs.

The Life of a Starving Artist

Elegantly escorted to our table in the shadowy corner.
Mineral water in crystal goblets was delivered.
Presented by a handsome tuxedo, velvet covered menus arrive.
Over-priced, half-filled wine glasses are served.
Imported shaved parmesan is scattered over Caesar salads.
Warm knotted rye rolls invite creatively-molded butter.
Courteously, prime rib, end cut, juicy, aromatic, lands our lace tablecloth.
As requested, luscious twice-baked spuds complement.
More wine, lots of spring water, our table is dusted for crumbs.
Culminating a perfect meal, the puffiest cream puff was consumed!

Subliminal Realism

Screams, running incessantly,
rescue me, but no one offers rescue.
Stumble, I tumble off a ragged cliff,
cold water grasps, but no hands reach.
Sinking, I choke back salty water,
my life, my breath, I can’t catch.

I’m now embraced by a mysterious lover,
guiltless sweat throbs, I lustfully melt.
Into an erogenous affair, I tumble,
my pulse, a breath, I can’t catch.
A tsunami of emotions drowns me,
but for this dream, rescue me not!

Facade of Serenity

Dawn begins,
yet pauses despite
obscurity shadowing our cozy kitchen,
Mommy lovingly tucks my head safely beneath her chin
hugging me tightly
she yells bad words at Daddy
I cover my ears
brother hides behind the curtains at the front window
the garbage man outside waves to him
our new baby brother cries
the TV screams reality
and upon our cold mac and cheese, the sun sets.

Parallel Contradictions

Quietus of
my day roars
by as
archaic potholes
my new treads.

My diminutive lunch
of nuts and berries
doesn’t quite
impress today’s

Now craving
a nice hot bath
harmonized with a
crushed ice beverage
is just the answer
for my dubious day.


Spring morn stirs, docile
full moon drifts, Crabapple chirps
my cup steams, dawn glows.

Essential Love

Her belly mimicked a puffy, gray, furry cloud,
with a slight waddle and a definite green-eyed
glare, she was ready to spill this miracle of nature
that wiggled and squirmed within.

Wanting to collapse, take a day off, regain strength,
nature began the 2am delivery of seven occupants
ready to make their debut, Philomena’s tiny nurturing
body became vacant finally, after sharing it for 64 days.


Judged an obnoxious weed,
though scrupulously the most versatile early spring wildflower, I am

nutrition for beetles, birds, bees
playful blush for childish noses
yummy accents on Grandma’s salad

and then poof…
a wish for imaginative humans.

Gardening Therapy

Gritty intentions,
dirty hands arrange transplants
rainbow pallet, peace.

Life’s About the Moo View

Regardless of wind or weather,
our phenomenal
earth’s magnetic poles
magically direct all bovine friends
to always face north or south
while grazing or resting
in any worldwide
peaceful pasture that
accepts the weight
of their mysterious decision
as mud and grass emerge
through splits of knurly hooves.

Skin Color from the Sun
by Daryl Ngee Chinn
‘How can we tell
what part of you is Jewish or Chinese?’

In Love with a Rainbow

World, will we ever resolve biased issues
of appearance: skin, orientation, eyes, hair?

Society, will we ever accept the variety of
inquisitive voices: lingual, dialect, vernacular?

Humanity, wasn’t America the place to start
anew: no matter race, love, creed, size or color?

Time to ponder, why is acceptance of our vivid
human rainbow still questioned in America?

Chinese, Irish, Italian, Jewish, Mormon:
can you tell which part of me is me?

America, you are a rainbow of societies,
cultures, family recipes, clothing, religions.

When is it too late to love, to tolerate, to learn,
to enjoy, to pray, to educate, to honor, to accept?

Inscribed Paramnesia

Decades of muddled, joyful,
throbbing hypermnesia,
a fanciful imagination smoothed and protected,
hiding us from monsters and dragons
in tree bark forts near railroad tracks,
my best allies were ‘all things pets.’

Flashbacks backhand dirty blonde bangs
from sky blue eyes,
Scout & Parky make a mad dash
just to lick my dirty face,
proving their unconditional canine love,
away in the wind we soar atop our parakeets, KeeKo & Luigi.

Birthing more litters than any cat I know,
our gorgeous calico mother cat,
MoKee, loved and nursed and nurtured
every one of them no matter age, size or color,
she loved us, too, so
did she or we wish she was our mother?

A subconscious recall hangs in gladness knowing
safety existed in make believe and dreams
where accountability was only required
in chocolate mud pie making,
chitchats with Fred & Ethel, our tiny turtles
and rusty wagon pulling filled baby brothers.

One is the Loneliest Number

Our front door shuts,
I can hear the big garage door open,
but then it slowly closes.
I’m soothed by the radio.

Watching out the front window,
one car passes at a time
as the sun wraps around our house.
Sunbathing time.

At the window again,
two kids jump from the school bus
and run home.
I’m lonely.

My three tennis balls anticipate,
I’m just not in the mood,
so flop over.
I dose off

The metal clunk of our mailbox
wakes me, I run to see the mailman
dropping in four letters.
I get a drink.

I sense the rumble, our garage door is opening,
eagerly, I try not to
wiggle and worm too much.
My 5 o’clock friend.

Poem #14:

Pure Phantom

Sleek suspicious body style lurks
fearful onlookers sense
sinister activity
per the vicious waylay
and dangerous silence of the
outcasted Corsair.

The slit of a gangster-type windshield
obscures several squinty eyes
of renegade occupants who
menace society as elapsed
closeted skeletons of yesteryear
ride shotgun.