Posts for 2025 (page 5)

They said every piece has its place—
but I never clicked in quite right.
Edges just shy of snug,
colors a shade too light.

I watched the picture take shape
while I lingered near the lid,
not missing, not mistaken,
just… waiting to be amid.

They whispered, “Must be from another box,”
but I never took offense.
Because deep down, I believed
I held a quiet sense.

Maybe I’m not part of their scene—
a farmhouse or sky so wide.
Maybe I’m from a future frame,
a puzzle not yet tired.

Because who says wholeness
can only look one way?
I might be the start of something new—
a sunrise on its way.

So I’ll rest with patience,
not lost, just not yet placed—
a piece that doesn’t finish the picture,
but starts one full of grace.

It passed me or maybe I passed it.

A silver capsule

sliding through the mid-morning haze,

tucked into the slow lane,

shining like it remembered what we forgot.

A Streamline.

Not just a trailer, but something round and gleaming

like memory, like possibility on wheels.

I don’t camp. Not willingly.

I fear wild animals,

sweat easily,

require coffee before kindness.

I like real beds,

hot water that doesn’t involve propane,

and cookware that never knew the taste of sandy bacon grease.

I don’t belong in that trailer.

And yet—

I ached for it.

For the way it held its shape against the wind.

For how it seemed to carry a whole country’s

once-upon-a-time in its polished skin.

There is something about that curve that calls to us.

A softness made aerodynamic.

A future you can hitch to.

The promise of motion without consequence.

We all want that.

We want to go

without leaving anyone behind.

To be sleek, unburdened,

full of beans and gasoline and a clean map.

The Streamline knows this.

It’s a cathedral of chrome

for the American spirit—

hopeful, mobile, always westbound.

But I know—

we don’t fit inside as well as we once thought.

Freedom costs more now.

Gas is expensive,

the world is hotter,

and the road isn’t so open when you’re scared to break down.

Still—

when I saw it glide beside me,

I felt something rise from a part of me older than sense.

Something that said:

move,

start over,

shine anyway.

It passed me, or I passed it.

But part of me is still trailing behind—

following that glint of longing

down the middle of the country,

toward a place

that probably never was—

but still feels like home.

                    Bit off                         more
               than       I can chew. Unless,     in
             chewing,                                       less
             there                                                 is
              to do.                                           Jaw
               clenched,                         mandibles
                 resolved.                                Bite
                           by          bite       the
                                         elep
                                         hant
                                          dis
                                           sol
                                             ve
                                               s.

Diamond-hued dragonfly deftly
                                                          landed
                                                                       on my steady hand
There it remained for several
                                                    minutes

Becalmed messenger from beyond
                        gently reminding me to be

Loved one comes from spiritual realm
                says live your life with
                     joy and light
Listen: life is fast and fleeting
                live each day like it
                      were your last

Dearly beloved dragonfly
                dutifully draws quadruple
dynamically designed wings
               darts                            dizzyingly
                                                                         disappears

It’s sure a sight how things have changed,

From when I was a boy,

But remembering the things we did,

Bring me so much joy.

Why, I was just a thinkin’,

In a lazy, mindful way,

Of things in youth that we did,

On this kind of day.

Back then things were different,

One difference I will share,

We hadn’t yet been softened,

With all this conditioned air.

Sure, it’s mighty hot out there,

As anyone can tell,

When I ‘s a lad we used to say,

“Hotter ‘n the gates o’ hell!”

But we didn’t let that stop us,

We just took the heat in stride,

And we could all be found,

Down by the creek’s side.

In cut off jeans we waded,

Or swam where it was deep,

In those days the best entertainment,

Was found on the cheap.

We hadn’t money for a cooler,

Had we even known the price,

But a nearby pool of spring fed water,

Seemed as cold as ice.

Glass bottles of soda,

And maybe a melon “borrowed” from the field,

Were laid in the cooling waters,

While we had time to kill.

After the wading and the swimming,

In the mountain glade,

We picnicked in solitude,

By the creek side neath the shade.

Braggin’ and a boastin’,

As we loitered by the creek,

Us boys never imaged,

This would become a memory we would seek.

Today it seems almost mythical,

Those days seem so sublime,

The days of youthful innocence,

Another world, another time.

Even after all this tragedy

Hunger, death, and worse

A spark of something rare

Through it all

This remains

They won’t take this from us

Pride in who we are

Hope in our heart

Being in community

They can’t take this from us

Because this is love

And love is stronger than any hate

The kind of love

They want to make it seem rare

But it’s not

It’s everywhere

In the bass of the music at our bars

In kisses shared between lovers and strangers

In our stories we pass down

And in every step

Our very existence

Is what love is

And love, my dear

Is what they fear most

Both my dad and my husband began a frenetic flurry
of adventures,trips, family get togethers before…
they even knew they had a death sentence.
As if the body knew time was running out.
their zest wore us out keeping up with their pace
Dad had two years to fight his cancer leaving us at 73.
Jim had two weeks to fight his cancer leaving us at 68.
Wish I had one more day to love on them.

Sunday morning streets
Squirrels and birds surround me
Ample company. 

dreamer awakens
with poetry on her breath
abracadabra