Randomness happens
Although every time it does
I am still perplexed…

When I read your words my thoughts cascade in couplets: 
You’ve got me tuned into Phillies games on our little red  

transistor and seeing forsythia budding and blooming 
at the porch’s corner of my first home. I learned  

my phonics there, but couldn’t yet have deciphered  
“sun’s yellow lust.” That came later. And often left me  

blue like the sky you dream of spending days with. 
So now that I’m an old grandma just listening  

to the birds, the whippoorwill’s absence conjures 
an island of white space for me, both Dears of yours.  

There’s so much more to say; my hippocampus 
is firing full speed ahead like your Chevy Nova  

with its honking and hooting and seats complete 
with you, your weekend girls and me. 

i witnessed her arrival with nothing
she came as such a surprise
holding everything
in shades of blue
with those melancholy blue green eyes

she saw things with her own way of seeing
fighting clutching
trying to keep her smile from falling to the floor

and i could tell even then
she didn’t really want to try
oh it all came as such a surprise

i could’ve picked it back up for her
that naive heart sore melancholy smile

i should’ve stood closer to her
put my hand on her shoulder
touched her cheek
found someone to help her with all those years
those monstrous storming years
when her smile first began its vanishing
from her sweet face

in that room alone that night trying
to stop feeling anything at all
i went to the window
to concentrate on the stars
to cover the mirrors
and bid my own smile to fall
from my face
to the floor

four years
this space has been my own
it serves me well, I remain content
I remember wanting to be here, long before I was
a lovely illustration reminding me
hope can morph into reality
these walls have witnessed my own metamorphosis
change, albeit slow
back to who I once was

The mountains still remember us,
Though mines have quieted their song,
They cradle every winding creek
That carried us this far along.

The ridges wear the morning mist
Like shawls our grandmothers once spun,
While every sunrise whispers low,
“Child, your finest days will come.”

The hands that hauled the coal below,
That built with sweat, with faith, with pride,
Have planted something stronger still—
A hope no hardship could divide.

The schoolhouse lights burn late at dusk,
Young dreamers map tomorrow’s sky.
Some leave to learn the wider world,
Some stay to teach the mountains why.

Old storefront windows bloom again,
With books and crafts and laughter shared.
A fiddle rings on Friday nights,
And strangers leave as kin who cared.

The forests climb reclaimed old slopes,
Where scarred earth slowly learns to heal.
Elk roam where tipples once stood tall,
And wildflowers soften rusted steel.

The rivers run a little clearer,
The children cast their lines once more.
Their future is not found elsewhere—
It’s growing at their very door.

For wealth is more than seams of coal,
Or fortunes buried underground.
It’s every neighbor lending hands
When storms and sorrow come around.

It lives inside the church bells’ echo,
The firehouse siren in the night,
The farmer turning fresh-cut hay,
The porch lamp burning warm and bright.

So let the doubters shake their heads
And say these hills have had their day.
The mountains smile with patient hearts—
They’ve always found another way.

For Eastern Kentucky rises
Not by forgetting where it’s been,
But by carrying its stories
As seeds upon the mountain wind.

And someday children yet unborn
Will walk these hollows, proud and free,
Not speaking of what once was lost,
But all their home was meant to be.

Flamingos make me smile!
It all started when I walked in my
son’s apartment a couple of years ago
and was confronted by a five foot pink flamingo
He said that flamingos were just like
him, “tall, skinny, and bright”
I totally agreed!  That flamingo
made me smile each time we encountered
each other, sometimes with me tripping on it
Since his death, flamingos have found me
often and always make me smile!  Friends leave stuffed,
metal, plastic, paper, any type of flamingos
in a variety of colors and sizes for me
And I have found them in the most unlikely places
and often bring them home with me
and I usually take something flamingo themed
when I visit the cemetary to leave 
I think they will always touch my heart,
because he will always hold a HUGE chunk of my
heart even in his absence on earth and presence
in heaven.  I will see you again, my love, and while
I won’t have a flamingo for you, I imagine the beauty
in heaven will be comparable to flamingos!
In the meantime, I love you and I will always think
of you when a flamingo crosses my path!

After Belcourt’s “Bildungssonett”  

Words save me, their ideas, their music.  I can harbor
something or nothing, days or nights, always
attentive to my needs, my wants.  I’m past
the grammar of grief and into expansive longing
for a different landscape, a range of hope.
Let new words burst from me in this country
where love is not hidden, at this river of healing,
where writing is not likely to go poof.  

I need a refuge from trying, from giving my all,
a dry place to loiter, not to struggle, where memories can rain
onto the page.  Everything can be thanked, in time, all told
as new stories, love letters that plunge deep.
Ruptures can be mended, late or soon.  We can climb
into that long horizon, the ground of our expanded selves.

I’ve been ARMY 
for years,
but Tampa was
my first live
concert

First stop and 
first night 
in America
for the 
‘Arirang’ tour

We had good seats,
joined by more than
60,000 other
screaming fans

The production value
was very high–the
sound was mixed
perfectly

Members
took the stage
to ‘Hooligan’
and I, frankly,
lost my mind

Seven of 
the finest
people you
could ever 
hope to meet
(j-hope is my bias,
but I love them all),
surrounded by
top dancers,
astounding pyrotechnics
and lighting,
and the most
professional crew
I’ve even seen
in a live 
production

During the show,
while the men were
taking a brief break
between sets,
they showed the audience
on the big screen so 
ARMY could see one another–

And there I was, 
with my little sign

You see, BTS
is an acronym for 
‘Bangtan Sonyeondan’
(translated as 
‘Bulletproof Boyscouts’)
and for
‘Beyond The Scene’

My sign indicated
that BTS, for me, also
stands for

Beauty
Truth
Strength

The undeniable
magic of music–
its ability 
to capture us all,
whether the words
are in my language 
or not (this is the
same reason 
Maria Callas can
destroy me
singing Italian opera)

It was more than a concert–
it was a coming together
of 60,000 hearts to 
recognize and celebrate
the many things that
bind us together

For we are, in truth,
one family
under the sun

in a darkened room
meant for gathering kinfolk
while Davey bathes him.

Predicting The Weather

I was thinking of weather predictions,

Which I had learned so long ago,

Some are worth remembering,

While some should be let go.

A red sky at morning,

Is often a sign of rain,

While morning grass not touched by dew,

Will most likely mean the same.

I haven’t found cattle reliable,

Just because they all lie down,

Perhaps it’s a group rumination,

In the stillness they have found.

But when the leaves all show their bottoms,

With the lifting of the wind,

We can be sure that bad weather,

Is coming through, my friend.

Of course I like the rhyming ones,

“Rain before seven,”

Rhymes with the couplet,

“Will quit by eleven.” 

I find myself at night,

Glancing at the moon,

And if there is a ring around it,

I know rain will come soon. 

Of course in childish belief,

I’d count the stars the ring contained,

With a notion it would be that many days,

Before it would have rained.

When smoke rises straight up from the chimney,

A lovely day I can expect,

But when the smoke hugs the ground,

A wet, damp, day I would project.

All these prophecies from childhood,

I’ve collected here together,

But of course we know their accuracy,

Will depend upon the weather.