Posts for June 23, 2019


Spiral Bound

Look at all these notebooks
lying around…
inside, observations of
constricting developmental delays
and miraculous milestones,
documented progress intermixed with
stick people, stick bugs,
mispelled words,
scribbles, doodles,
visual toddler to do lists,
random letters to important people
asking for change
to help my boy.
Notes from therapies
ABA implemented by mother, me.
Spiral bound
his history
starting at two
looking for clues
as to where his words went,
why he flapped his hands just so,
stared at spinning spots,
walked-danced on tip toe.
Spiral bound notebooks
fill his room
far from Blue’s Clues
filled with stories,
comics by his own hand,
words, whole sentences,
thoughts on God and daily life.
He is grown,
straight A student,
NHS scholar,
College bound.


I do not fear death

I talk of death

As if I’m speaking of an old friend

I accept

That one day I’ll go back

My body to the dirt

And my soul to wherever God see’s fit.

I’ll follow my chaperone.

That dying is just part of living. 


at lake Michigan

sometimes you have to dive in.


Pointillism in shades of grey

Dance with your Darknesses, invite them to tea.
Hug them warmly while the mood-music croons.
Kiss your Depression on the crown-chakra and spin it ’round.

But always take a step back. Change – up the Dance;
examine your Darknesses both for their beauty and Hold.
You, remember, are no marionette.
No solid-fog ribbons tether ankle to ankle, wrist to wrist.
During your pas-de-deux,
please do not allow your Depression to drape itself over you,
or fill your throat. It is neither armour nor nourishment.

When the hush falls, open the door.
Step back from the painting. Step out of the frame.
Expand your focus, if only for a beat. Inhale the sunshine,
the lyric, the song. The words.
Imbibe the soft air.

See the vista, the sunset or rise. The fractals that make up the macro.


What Side Were They On?

Sometimes when
Teaching about history,
Students want to know;
Now this person,
We’re studying,
Were they a good guy,
Or a bad guy?
What side were they on?  

And it’s easy,
To look at the record,
Look at the winners,
The losers,
Look at our side,
And theirs,
And tell the good guys,
From the bad.  

But if we’re honest,
With ourselves,
With our students,
And with history,
There are no
Good guys,
No bad guys,
Only people who lived.


a bit about Koschej’s hare

maybe the hare willingly broke its jaw to fit a death down its throat.
maybe it could bare to mutilate its paws and ruin its brown coat.
maybe just to snare a tiny taste of awe—something more than chaff and groats.


The Knights’ Battles

Two knights

Clanking swords

Drawing blood

Their armor

Barely staying together

They fly the same flag

Yet are enemies

Within their own kingdom

But every now then

When a swift peaceful moment

Comes through every crack of the castle

They pause and unite

But only for a few minutes.

The Queen begs for them to work it out

Because she just wants a break

And she knows they do too.

The dragon gave them hell

And the jester makes them laugh.

The sun rises in the East,

And the flowers are blooming soon.

A cleaning maid

Realizes one day

While dusting one of the knights rooms

That they aren’t just battling each other

But that they are battling themselves.

And maybe that’s why

Every late night

The maid see the knights

And the Queen

Enjoying a game of poker

While sipping tea.

They forget about their internal demons,

They forget about their external grudges.

And understand each other…



Wild and inefficient,
I rampage through life,
half rapture and half charade.
Holyhead patched over in iron,
Spiders in a lockbox, sturdy and true.
She puts a fistful of flower seeds in my aching mouth,
Watches my teeth gardenbloom a grin,
Parallel to the impishness, no armory or arms-race.
An excercise if fractal expansion.



You were never born.
So, I didn’t rock you to sleep.
I didn’t read you bedtime stories.
I didn’t give you a bicycle for your seventh birthday.
I didn’t take you to work with me.
I didn’t come to your sports events.
I didn’t come to your music recitals.
I didn’t teach you how to drive.
I wasn’t at your high school graduation.
I wasn’t at your college graduation.
I didn’t see you get married.
I didn’t baby-sit for your kids.

I also didn’t have to talk to your teacher or principal when you got into trouble.
I didn’t have to take you to therapy for your behavioral problems.
I didn’t have to pick you up when you wrecked the car.
I didn’t have to bail you out of jail.
I didn’t have to arrange an intervention to get you into rehab.

We can speculate,
We can say,
“What if?”
But we can never know for sure what would have happened
If it never had a chance to happen.


Five Seasons

I meet Summer again

With it’s shining promise of warm walks
With sun so stringent
As it heals wounds soul deep
Last Summer was different
With it’s confusion and pain
Warm walks looked more like
my face to the wind
Despite the gravity pull backwards
Fall brought a harvest of that same confusing pain
But I kept walking,
Despite my wind chapped skin
Frosty days came swiftly
Carrying with it the smell of slushy snow
Reminding me what could’ve been
Somehow, I kept walking
My Father being the source of my courage
How spring came
Dancing onto my windy path
Whispering gossip of newness
The night Spring turned to Summer
Came with a punch
As it has proven a pattern in past years
Setting me straight with hard truth
Around a kitchen table in the middle of my path
This table diverged a new path for my feet
With warmth of summer 
And that old stringent, healing sun