having never acquired the knack she was not a letter-goer of things and stored thoughts much like the well traveled woman collected knickknacks memories displayed themselves on disorganized shelves in the crevices of her mind giving her an eccentric air some thought charming her speech jumble she talks of silk dresses and closed fountains as though…
Category: Poetry
when your ex shows up to thanksgiving dinner…(and other memories)
i remember cherry coke kisses and santa clauses that had no beards i remember standing alone in the dark waiting impatiently for the shoe to drop as cars drove by completely unaware of the madness and chaos that brewed within it was a time when innocence seemed as valuable as it was vulnerable and belief…
tonight i made tamale pie (so long a good bye)
the house still smells of cumin i stood at stove and wondered should i add an extra teaspoon tamale pie a favorite from a life time long since gone yesterday, i longed for scents and texture of creamed corn mingling with chunky salsa and a dash of chili powder and found myself wondering if ground chicken would work…
and so it begins…nanowrimo day 1
may the words that i write b befitting in your sight. may they heal and be a balm to many or to some. Amen.
wtf disney is making a ‘star wars’ movie
a girl never forgets her first battleship. mine was sleek and long with blasters blaring surrounded by stars. it literally took my breath away. i don’t want disney bastardizing a franchise that opened the gateway to my love of all things science plus fiction. my skin crawls at the very idea of singing frogs &…
creation (for penny)
she moves with the fluidity and power of the four winds her name was god.
feeling the ugly feelings leads to healing
somethings have fallen dropped off & been left dishes have sat a day too long wet leaves lie like a blanket across my lawn and that damn leaky faucet continues its incessant drip drip drop tending grief is a job most leave to professionals being the professional I prescribe time quick fixes leave bigger messes…
mr. lindsay’s boy albert
my grandfather is still on my mind. i remember a story he told often about what it was like meeting his own father for the very first time when he was 27 years old. he was born in 1919 so when he met his father in 1946 he had already worked for nearly 20 years…
in his words…how my grandfather remembered his mother
my father‘s father was an orphan. his mother died when he was only 3 years old. he was raised by his uncle and his wife. he was born in 1919 and his life was unimaginable. he was schooled until the 3rd grade and then sent into the coal mines to work. he used to tell…
when a score simply isn’t enough
nearly a full score has passed and i am sitting here trying to imagine a poem that will capture this love now lost that still drives a fork through my heart like a mack truck rambling its way through the eye of a blunt needle where am i now you ask as though i would…
fearfree living 