Observations
Nothing clears out the left lane faster
than a cop going 8 over.
Nothing clears out an online form faster
than submitting without one spot filled.
Nothing clears out the break room faster
than Jim from Accounting with a story to tell.
Nothing clears out the left lane faster
than a cop going 8 over.
Nothing clears out an online form faster
than submitting without one spot filled.
Nothing clears out the break room faster
than Jim from Accounting with a story to tell.
Blessed are the caretakers,
For their strength be replenished daily.
Blessed are the stressed,
For they are not alone in the fight.
Blessed are the potty trained children,
For they finally save the household money.
Blessed are the overstimulated,
For they shall soon be comforted.
Blessed are those who must restrain themselves,
For bad behavior doesn’t last always.
Blessed are those who see a mirror of themselves,
For this should promote introspection.
Blessed are the ones who persevere,
For this builds stamina and long suffering.
Blessed are the growing pains of brats and their attitudes,
For on the other side is joy and peace.
A plain Barlow pocketknife,
ever in his pocket,
not a collector’s piece,
pristine as the day it was bought,
but a tool, as beaten up as an old hammer
or screwdriver used for prying things apart,
outer casing cracked,
nicks in the blade,
oily crud in the cracks.
Never a collector,
things without utility
of little value,
never bought fine art
or fine china or items to display –
but a tool like a plain old Barlow knife.
That was worth keeping.
good morning, how are you, how have you been
well doc, there’s this weird thing right here on my skin
I know I have a habit of assuming the worst
but can you confirm I’m not under some curse?
it’s just that this rash only shows up sometimes
often when I’ve stepped a toe out of line
and this here on my finger, could it be an ulcer
of course I have not been picking, my good sir
I checked with The Internet and they said I’m dying
but could you take a sample to test if I’m fine?
you tell me I have nothing to worry about
so I move on and begin some light research on gout.
I feel like I am in a love/hate relationship with my body
I am a grieving mom, having lost my son a year ago
and I found 22 pounds, which makes me feel icky!
None of my clothes fit and I am getting ready to start
a new job-which is a very good thing for me!
Part of grieving that I have discovered about myself,
I will focus on the negative more often,
which is a big change from my optimist personality.
This may be my new norm, but I hope not.
Dark thoughts have been visiting since my son left,
thoughts that I would rather be in heaven than on earth.
However, God has been close by my side and showed me
that I needed help for this and stayed by my side while I got it!
So, I have been trying new things with my diet and exercise,
and my poetry has been such an amazing way to express my
grieving journey and all the life hiccups that pop up along the way.
I am still overweight though,and am trying to love my body again.
Even with the extra weight. I have been doing yoga, walking,
and moving again and I am buying bigger clothes since I am changing
jobs and can’t wear weight hiding scrubs as often.
So, loving yourself is a journey, but you need to find acceptance for
where you are at every level. I am loving my poetry writing, healthy
eating, and exercising self more than the bulky overweight self,
but I am indeed working on it. I am also loving that I am a child of
God and he is with me in EVERYTHING, and is cheering me on with
my new healthy focus and starting my new job.
One bell
clapper strikes the half hour
Two bells first hour
78% copper 22% tin cast
Three bells
yoke & cannons swing the sound
Four bells shift half done
Waves through the fog
Five bells
Curved sound bow strong
Six bells 3 hours
before the mast in darkness
Seven bells
unfathomable through the fog
Eight bells shift’s done
settled to the murky bottom
silent waves shift the bell
restless
This purple bruise between us –
fault does not explain it
Trading sorry for forgiveness
doesn’t change a thing
it only ties a ribbon into a bow
knots a rope into a lasso
turns the surprise of separation
into a faux memorial
lends a semblance of dignity to
selfishness – both sides
Like tennis elbow needs a rest
to rejoin body’s wholeness
the bruise between was in mind –
it never touched our soul
My grandpa never talks of Burma,
finds it hard to describe without
a poet’s tongue. Or he feels
the need to keep that past past.
He falls in love with traveling,
a basement full of souvenirs and
board games to keep us grandkids busy.
After the funeral, I am too young to
understand such keepsakes, sequined
sombrero, embroidered kimonos. I
dream he’s finally ready to tell me
what it’s like to go places so he gets
out the Risk board and put pieces
on places he’s been. He starts to talk
about the war he joined, when his voice
is stolen again by the stroke that
crushed him. And he tries
and he tries, but the words don’t come
I wake up telling him, Don’t worry.
I’ll get there.
My watch died.
