Tuesday, April 9, 2019


What happens to "me"
When the soul is free

To wander from the constraints
Of perceived reality

Physicality permeates reality
Which is nullified by fatality

Nature harvests her feasts
Flesh and bone satiate the beasts

Circle of life continues to spin
But have "I" reached my end?

Monday, April 8, 2019

Of The Beholder

Eyes are shallow and judgmental organs
Two gelatinous orbs
Making snap judgments without context or history

What do your eyes whisper to you when you look at me?

Whatever they whisper
My own eyes judge my reflexion with a harshness of which yours are incapable

They roll in my head
(Because that's what eyes do)
Discontented with the image before them

And these bitchy little orbs
Insinuate to my soft, gullible brain
That I am not enough

Not thin enough
Not stylish enough
Not pretty enough

And my brain believes what it is told

So I hang my head
No longer willing to offend my eyes with the disappointment before them

That's when my heart whispers to my brain
Softly yet insistently

Trying enough
Valued enough
Loved enough

And my brain believes what it is told

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Reign of 1

Stoke the fires of ethnic hate
Is it human fate
To propagate the same mistake
Over and over again
Endless cycle of us against them

99 to 1
Seems the odds are in our favor
But dead presidents speak louder
Than a puppet in power
The 1 savor the fruits
Of the 99's labor
Golden parachutes stitched from pilfered pensions
Block out the sun

Darkness covers
99 shutters
Welcome to the reign of 1

Monday, August 3, 2015

Why You No Post Yesterday?

My husband's gallbladder "maked" stones and had to go! Hence no blog post yesterday. He is home and recuperating well. Thanks to all our family and friends who gave so much support and love through Gallbladder Extraction 2015.

Monday, July 27, 2015

Bibliophile's Journal

The Writing Life by Annie Dillard

A book of short stories written by a writer for writers about writing. I love how she doesn't romanticize the writing process but lets you know that it is lonely and difficult, a love/hate relationship, but that it is also exhilarating and intoxicating when the writing flows. I felt such a sense of relief that the frustration, procrastination and hopelessness I feel at times is "normal" and a part of the labor of love for writers. Tough love to nurture, no matter who you are.

"Who will teach me to write?...The page, the page, that eternal blankness, the blankness of eternity which you cover slowly, affirming time's scrawl as a right and your daring as necessity; the page, which you cover woodenly, ruining it, but asserting your freedom and power to act, acknowledging that you ruin everything you touch but touching it nevertheless, because acting is better than being here in mere opacity; the page, which you cover slowly with the crabbed thread of your gut; the page in the purity of its possibilities..."

Sunday, July 26, 2015


A favorite question when we were growing up was, "If you could have any superpower what would it be?"

As a kid I went for the popular choices that most kids wanted: being able to fly, invisibility, super strength, mind reading.

As an adult I see the serious flaws in these popular superpowers.

I hate heights so flight would terrify me.

I already have issues of feeling "invisible" in social settings so that would be a moot power.

I have no desire to know the inner thoughts of people around me! There are some seriously stupid and sick people in the world. Donald Trump already spouts out ridiculous statements. Can you imagine what he keeps to himself? Ewwww.

Having super strength would mean I would be the go-to every time somebody moved and I loathe moving.

Now that I have some introspection as an adult yet still have the loves of a teen geek I know what my perfect superpower would be.

I would be able to speak any language.

On the surface this seems boring and not "super" in the least. But let me explain and I think you will agree that this would be a coveted super power.

The obvious is being able to speak any human language on Earth.

Translating for me would be literal from one language to another. Languages are so much more than words. There are whole dimensions of nuance, slang, sarcasm, body language in conjunction with the spoken language and regional idiosyncrasies. Misunderstandings would dwindle and trust would rise. Fear of the unknown would be replaced by an understanding that people are basically the same when it comes to their wants and needs. I would be able to unravel the ramblings of political speech and call bullshit on 99% of what is said by politicians. Maybe a truly honest and ethical person would be elected!

Languages in the animal kingdom are as vast and diverse as the animals that live on land, sea and air. No longer would we wonder what a behavior means. I would be able to explain and advocate for the lives we least understand. Maybe humans would finally be able to live in harmony with animals. The one drawback I foresee is having to become a vegetarian because I couldn't have a conversation with my food source knowing what awaits them.....mmmmmm, bacon. I would so miss you.

Math, the language of science, has eluded me my whole life. I would finally be able to comprehend the language that is unlocking the mysteries of our universe and bringing us closer to understanding the big question, "Why?" Or I would understand that the further we fall down the rabbit hole the deeper it becomes.

Then there's the technical language of programming. I could write code that would change the way we interact with each other, endeavoring to bring people closer in an ever isolating world of computer technology. Or I could just write code for Skyrim and be my son's hero.

If an alien race decided to land on the third rock from the sun I would be the person to greet them with a smile, arms open wide in welcome and whisper, "Run! We still haven't go out shit together here on Earth. Just ask the animals!"

Monday, July 20, 2015

Bibliophile's Journal

Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

In 1855, Walt Whitman published — at his own expense — the first edition of Leaves of Grass, a visionary volume of twelve poems. Showing the influence of a uniquely American form of mysticism known as Transcendentalism, which eschewed the general society and culture of the time, the writing is distinguished by an explosively innovative free verse style and previously unmentionable subject matter. Exalting nature, celebrating the human body, and praising the senses and sexual love, the monumental work was condemned as "immoral." Whitman continued evolving Leaves of Grass despite the controversy, growing his influential work decades after its first appearance by adding new poems with each new printing.

O You Whom I Often and Silently Come

O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, 
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.