Give In, Not Give Up.

And they tell me the only thing I can do is pray. It’s so powerful, so mighty, so positive. So why do I feel so powerless, so scrawny, so angry? (This is far from my usual mode of positivity and optimism.) One of you has been betrayed. It is clear from your posts that your…

Vow in Autumn. (Poem)

Nothing haunts me more than the things I never had the courage to say. Partnered with longing to take back spears thrown in the heat of battle, or the enmeshment of insecurities weaving a relationship fabric so warped, it serves as a battle flag to avoid that same slope and ditch in the future. Destiny. …

Reveal.

Might take a while but I think we all recognize the “good” in “goodbye”.  Maybe not simultaneously or even assign it the same weight or meaning. Weightlessness is fine for wandering or aimlessly bobbing around, here and there.  But there came a desire to be grounded, certain, and that never happened.  It is then we…

Greenroom. (Poem)

A slow-glowing firefly rests where the cottage red garage door meets the pebbled tan foundation.   It lights, labored, out of breath from a long summer winging warm night air.   Across the gravel, honeysuckle continues a thin late bloom.  One must come so near for barely a hint of perfume that filled the entire…

Neil.  09.08.2015

What a strange place to be Sending intermittent thoughts Small prayers to ‘wasband’ he who was my husband On the untimely but not altogether unexpected death of his brother, Cornelius “Neal”   Named for their father   late last week, diseased liver and rattled core gave up and ghosted him to the other side younger…

Unapologetic Season. [Poem]

August, the Sunday of the summer months. Suspending the start of autumn, an air of distracted denial in these late summer days. Our activities hum similarly round in their tune. Bring in the fruits for winter’s cellar and holiday cheer. Relearn tying shoes and making lunch. End earlier to rise earlier Summer’s growth spurt in…

Independence Hymn. (My thoughts on singing today.)

You know my father stands up and sings. And his mother, Melba Shorthill Bradshaw Dawson, she stood and sang.  Beautifully.  And I bet my newest U.S. passport your grandparents did, too.  Stand up men removed their hats (and still should) and sang. Singing our National Anthem is not about sounding good or “talent” or jazzy,…

Humble Hush. June 12, 2015.

Before bed I ask – your pain ease, your breath normal, your rest restorative. – my child find peace in her heart while away. – tomorrow’s weather be kind. – more thunder charge the dog back over the fence. – peaceful moments for friends grieving missing loved ones. (A hard week for many.) – abundant…