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Thanks for your patience!
Overtime, inevitably, roots will show. Life if formed from and based on roots. Allow them to be there. Let them show. Let them comfortably confirm the origin of your wisdom, beauty, and change. And then feel free to cover them up again for another future unveiling. Interested in reading my more of my thoughts…
Wild Asters by Sara Teasdale In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever, clear-eyed daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barren, Bitter autumn blows, And of all the stupid asters Not one knows I allow the wild asters to grow rampantly in my garden. They…
I carry the shame Of the impoverished upbringings of my parents. Abuse and neglect. I can’t wear stained or torn of illfitting clothes when I leave the house. We don’t do that. I carry the shame Of the unwanted weight on my body. Not maintaining my appeal for men and equally, for caring what anyone thinks…
I chatter at it and Batter at it and still it is not fixed. The ages old self-diatribe I am not enough, I am not enough I tell everyone, I’m OK, I’m fine But in my mind there’s a line And I’m on the wrong side. The impossibility of moving on Tethered to a ghost….
Chaos has been averted and contained Corralled and restrained. We left it behind. A Full moon now, Bright shadows smile at us as we roll forward, So slow, so unready. What comes Is gladly hidden. Left only with our hopes for all the news of our next day. Wanna see the whole month of posts?…
SUNLIGHT Sit in the Sunlight. Savor it, Surrender to it. In those rays are Hope… For peaceful moments, Blissful ease of being. Go sit in the sunlight and let it be the only memory you keep from today to start your tomorrow with. Enjoy your weekending lovely readers. As I’m going to be posting daily,…
Looking for permission, I look everywhere. I’m looking at you, can I be here? Or there? I’m questioning my every move, each thought, every day As I can not seem to simply find my way. I ask my Mother to set me free, I ask my Dad to love me me me. Can you please…
My girlfriend commented once after driving into Denton down my street, Gay Street, that there seemed to be a lot of crooked little houses. And it reminded me of the poem. There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile. He bought…
We celebrated Fiona’s miraculous presence in our lives with a meet the baby party yesterday. She’s two months old. I had written a poem in honor of what it is she gifts the world and those who come in contact with her supreme cuteness and innocence. It’s called Hope. I could be dulled By my…
One school day, I reached down into my kid’s book bag and pulled our a triangular scrap of paper. I asked what’s this. Oh something I wrote. And I asked him to read it to me. I was more than blown away. This is the translation. Black vs. White “Ya’ ready?” said White. ”Yeah!” said…
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