Sunday, December 31, 2017

Political Jargon #1

Political Jargon #1

Widen the lens
and watch the optics.
No, we’re not talking about photography.
This is the age of
political language
based on art.
Ironic, isn’t it.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

Watching and Waiting

Watching my mom
asleep in her hospital bed
and wishing she would just
Let go.
And then I wonder,
Is that me being selfish?
Or wanting to put her out of her misery?
Maybe it’s both.
If I tell myself that
Maybe I won’t feel as bad
wanting my mom
to give up.

Her face has started to smooth out
I remember when my grandma died.
She looked beautiful,
Her skin looked young again.
That is what is happening with my mom’s face,
except she isn’t dead yet.
And that is what scares me,
Maybe she really is that close.

Writing. Stories.

The act of putting words on paper
in an organized manner
to tell a story.

A narrative,
either true or fiction

The writer’s burden.
How the story is told
Is what matters the most.
How the story is told
will determine if it is read.
How the story is told
will influence
How people hear, see, and smell it
How people perceive the actions
How people will judge the characters.

A good story contains both.
So does life.

Writers tell stories
with words.
Singers tell stories
with words and music.
Actors tell stories
with words and actions.
People see and hear what they want to hear
and sometimes
They hear it in a way
that touches their heart.
That is when the story or song
becomes art.

can be a way
to touch someone’s soul.

Friday, December 29, 2017


They say it’s the best medicine.
In a hospital bed,
IV pumping fluids in,
unable to get up without assistance.
The television is on,
It’s a “modern Family” comedy marathon.
She looks almost radiant,
And then the laughter causes a cough.
And for a moment,
the frailty returns.
Until her face relaxes
and transforms
as she smiles and laughs

It may not cure the disease,
But it makes it more bearable.
And that is good enough.

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Fly Away

Sometimes I feel like
I want to fly away.
Sometimes I feel like
I already have.
Like I spread my wings,
and look where it got me.
Right back where I started.

Sometimes i feel like
I want to fly
away from my life,
To anywhere but
Sometimes I feel like
I already tried that,
and it got me nowhere
Right back
where I started from.
Or maybe it just feels
like that.

Maybe it’s true
the more things change
the more they remain
the same.
And flying might feel free
while you’re doing it,
But at some point,
you need to land.
And then what.

Being Human

Not necessarily mutually exclusive.
All are part of living.


That feeling when
things that mean the most
to me
Become fragmented.

That feeling when
it seems like
everything that matters
Is falling apart,
Dying before my eyes.
People are dying.
Relationships are dying.
Love is dying.

My heart feels like it has been
torn into pieces.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Which is worse, being the one who is aging or the observer?

I may have made this one longer than it needs to be.
The condensed version is:Which is worse,
feeling your life slip away faster every day
or watching as someone you loves
is dying before your eyes.

Long version:

As I watch my mother sleep
I wonder
Which is worse
Feeling your life slip away from you
at a faster rate today than yesterday.
Knowing you are stuttering over a word
that you thought you knew how to say.
Knowing from the look on a face
that you just asked something
they have already told you,
probably more than once.
Knowing that you can’t fully control
bodily functions.
Knowing that you can’t do things
that make your life worth living.
Not wanting to be cared for,
And praying that you could just go to sleep
and not wake up..

Or is it worse to be the daughter, the son
watching a parent
become the needy child.
Knowing you are helpless to change the course of events,
Knowing you need to be positive on the outside
even if you are crying inside.
Knowing you need to be strong
for your parent
and for your own children,
who are watching a grandparent slip away..
All the while wondering,
Will this be me someday?
Will I be a burden on my children?
Will I cause this kind of stress?
Am I handling this the way I should?

Which is worse?
Which is more stressful?
Aging or being the witness?
Am I being selfish to even wonder?
Stress or selfish?
Neither one is what we wish for.
Both thoughts are part of the cycle of life
And a sign of the strength of love.
Ties that bind.
Create fear, worry and wonder.
Wonder that love can be so strong
And so confusing
Yet so sure.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017


They say that a poem a day
Keeps the doctor away.
The doctor of doom.
Very funny, she said
With a laptop
On a pillow in her lap.
Too hot.
Baby, it’s cold outside
So the heat is on high inside.
Add a battery to the mix
And it IS hot.

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Don't Judge Me

Do not treat me like
I am the problem,
when the real issue is you
and your attitude
And outlook on life.
You may be a son,
but you are
the sun.
The world doesn’t revolve
around you.
We each have an orbit.
Stop hinting that you and your orbit are superior.
You aren’t God
as much as you act like you think you are,
Which is odd since you worship one.
So instead of looking down your nose at me,
try looking in a mirror
and judge yourself
before you go judging me.

Saturday, December 23, 2017

Between the Lines

Very few people want to read what I write\
I’m not young
I don’t draw cool illustrations
I haven’t been discovered
and gone viral.
But I keep writing
because that is what I do
to keep sane.

Words shall set you free/.

Writing is my outlet
the painful venting thoughts
which name names
and are unfiltered,
and contain harsh assessments of my worth.
No one can read those.
Those I write for me only
in the hope that
those thoughts will exist only on paper.

I publish the things
that I think won’t hurt anyone I know.,
Maybe thats why no one reads them.

Read between the lines.
There are people hidden there.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Cold Rain

Cold rain
Too warm to snow here
Just gray
And foggy
And rainy.
Christmas in the south,
Raindrops instead of snowflakes,
Mud instead of snow drifts.

Missing my mountains,
Missing the crisp dry cold
That gave way to a bright sun and blue skies.
Somehow the north felt warm when it was 30
And the south feels cold when it’s 50.
Damp, not dry.
Better for my skin,
and hair.
Harder on my disposition.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Right thing to do?

My one year reflection.

One year ago I was packing and cleaning up.
Saying my goodbyes.
I was petrified.
I was excited.
I was about to close the door,
on people and a place I dearly loved,
To start a new chapter by going to where I knew no one,
The scenery and weather would be vastly different.
Everything would be different.
I was in turmoil and hoping, maybe even praying
that I had made a good decision.
It wasn’t an easy thing to decide or do.
And it hurt, a lot.
I figured it was probably the right thing to do
And if it didn’t work out
I would find a new path.
At least, that’s how I explained it to myself.
That no matter how it turned out
I would gain something from it,
So, therefore, it was the right thing to do.
What I knew for sure was
it felt like it  was time for me to leave,
whether I was 100% on board with it or not.
I’m still not sure if it was the right decision
But I do know that I made a new start
Job, place, people.
It may not be a perfect fit,
But it fits
well enough
for me to be happy.
And to feel like I am part of something,
a community..
To feel like
I am making a difference,
at work
and in a city where little things
Can mean a lot.
And that makes my decision right.
Even if sometimes it feels a little off
And maybe a little wrong.
I haven’t failed.
I don’t feel like I need to leave.
And that is good enough for me.
For now.