Content: life

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An exercise in what life is all about. Taking it in and then letting it go. Thoughts? Comments?

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I know what this means to me, but does it mean anything to you? Any comments or suggestions are appreciated.

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title change as it was brought to my attention by Filliam .. thanks for the reminder.. that this is indeed a Senryu not a Haiku.. as is about human nature not nature. Got a lot of catching up to do on reviewing and 'housework!!!' So wanted to post this piece while it is still in my busy little head. Only way I know how to write is spontaneously but my now you all know that. :D.. It could be July before my often-time bemused 'muse' is amused.. and wants to play.. Being up there in years makes on think about life and perhaps the closing in of time. Not morbid.. it is what it is...

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Time is a slippery snake.

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Percentages? It's all relative. All comments welcome.

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The subject matter was required by a publisher. These are things I would like to have said about me on my 80th birthday. As in my previously posted "What I Remember About Being Five Years Old" these essays were published this past year in "Write for the Fight: A Collection of Seasonal Essays" from the seasons of our lives. I won the slot with the five year old writing. Although published, it and and will be used again so am open to any remarks or critique.

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True story

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Trying to catch emotions with this. Without sameo sameo.. Perhaps a bit more originality? Or is it just a repeated overdone subject? Capturing emotions is what my writing is all about. Whether it be dark or filled with chaotic laughter. All have moments of joy and all have darkness visit. Perhaps a few lucky ones escape. I know many who these words encapsulates and whose battles I recognize easily. Sometimes it helps to know another is aware of life's battles and those who internalize everything. This is for all who know this room within. I read it out loud and seems to have a decent rhythm .. any and all feedback What I don't want is it to simply sound corny etc..

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When the Demon Lord Azreal disrupts the balance of the Nine Realms, Alex Zane and Terra Duval must wage war against the forces of Hell to save the universe.

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Book Two of the Nine Realms Series - The Guardian has died. The Plane of Magic is free, but Order and Good are still under seige. Terra pushes her people to keep fighting while trying to deal with Alex's death. This is all on a first draft basis, and I hope you all enjoy. Any and all feedback is welcome!

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Beale meets a radical islander and undergoes a life change.

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This is the second story in the grouping of short stories woven around Mad Jack's adventures in living.

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At 80 years old a man is encouraged by the spirit of a lover of Edger Allen Poe to begin a new life. Any and all comments would be appreciated for this flash fiction.

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A Vietnam vet meets an old Nazi at a wedding party.

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A man unsatisfied with life and changes made

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Once again, this is not actually a "Novel" but a rather long short story or Novella that is too long to fit into the Short Story category on this site. In fact, the story isn't even finished yet, but I have decided to publish the first part here to get it out of my site far enough to stop me fiddling with it and to impel me to get the story done. The story is still another of the "Caroline" stories told by Jim Johannson about the citizens who lived in and around the town of Caroline, Missouri. I know people will question the language, as they always do, but they must remember that these "Carolne" stories are designed to be transcriptions of Jim Johannson's audio-taped reminiscences about the town and area's citizens in the 1960s and '70s. But Jim Johannson does not appear as a character in this story. He merely narrates. Note to readers of previous "Caroline" stories: A couple of the characters in this story were mentioned in a previous story, "Between the Stalks". I changed the surname of one of the characters, though, from "Beckmeier" to "Brockmeier" to keep from offending members of the Beckmeier family that reside in that area of Missouri that served as the template for the "Caroline" stories.

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it is an ode in wine glass mode...

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Having Odin Roark as a regular reader and reviewer is a real privilege. His comments on my poems so often send me on new journeys of thought and exploration. And sometimes his inspiration switches on the creative juice. This poem is as much his as it is mine. And I hope I don't embarrass him with the thing. Thank you Odin. Comments welcome.

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I've been terribly inactive on the site for various reasons and I know I've missed some great poetry as the days have slipped by. In a couple days I'll be spending some time dedicated to reading and reviewing and generally catching up. This poem has been churning around in one version or another for a few weeks. It seems to be settled now. Comments welcome.

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When I first joined this site, I wrote and posted a piece very dear to my heart. I have meant to revisit it and refine it to be as good as it can be. "Cool Breeze Blowing" is a love story where one party dies and I speak for that party. How he will remember and how time will heal. Well time did heal and love visited again.. only to find he will be losing his beloved to cancer .. why? To go through so much as his first partner died of ALS and now starting a new life and just moved into new home to find out his new beloved is going to die of cancer? When I gave Bill his copy of 'Cool Breeze' I whispered in his ear... "life has a wonderful surprise in store for you".. he did and now he is gong to have to go through tragedy again? Why? What do I say to him now?

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Nicklaus Fleischer dreamed of growing up to be a doctor. Few dreams, however, can remain pure under the shadow of the Reich. On his journey to become a doctor and soothe his troubled home life, Nicklaus discovers the terrible steps his nation has taken to fight a war on its own citizens. The government changes the value of 'Do No Harm', and with it, one man's dreams. This is a fictional biography set during a grim time - a tale of life, death, love, and loss that is not for the faint of heart. It is primarily aimed at adults and young adults. This is a multi-chapter piece. I would really appreciate it if grammatical and spelling issues could be pointed out. I am more interested, however, in the workings of character development and the flow of the story. All critique is appreciated, though. This story is available in its entirety at Amazon.com via Kindle! The paperback version will be available soon, as well. http://www.amazon.com/Bedside-Manner-ebook/dp/B008EYY4UQ/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1341330431&sr=1-4&keywords=bedside+manner

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Just a moment where I tried to widen my perspective. How can so many billions of human beings live such different lives on the same blue ball?

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When Dreams Are Just That When I was seven years old all I dreamed about when I grew up was playing for the Boston Red Sox. In my late teens I dreamed of being a lawyer fighting for the under dogs in life. After I got kicked out of college for being a drunken bum who never went to class most of my dreams were day to day survival and integrity filled. When I went back to school and met my soul mate and rose to the top of the student leaders at my college I dreamed of prosperity and a good life with a wife and children. Once I got a good job running and living in college resident halls and truly making a difference in thousands of people’s lives my dream became that of my wife’s when all she wanted was a house. After screwing up our finances by just plain being dumb about credit card interest we are working on that dream every day and truly believe it will come true which makes a reality. Now, I dream of being a writer and writing the next great book. But, these dreams are different at the age of fifty I am not as free to imagine such things due to age, kids going to college, and the desire just to own a home to eventually retire off into. There are too many hurdles and road blocks along with time slipping away. What effect does it have on us in our middle age when responsibility conflicts with the dreams of a person? Recently, my wife and I and some friends vacationed in Las Vegas and I found responsibility winning out. I was so aware of bills, kids, and a patient wife that I was overly careful not to gamble more than twenty dollars and even though I ended up ahead I kept telling myself that I had responsibilities and ended up watching my friends drop a few hundred dollars rather than me. I find every day some duty or work related issue that becomes the road block to writing and as the dream seems less and less likely I become more and more willing to be distracted by them. I sit here now at a computer writing for a web site where others will review my writing in hopes of becoming this generation’s James Michener but realizing that this is only a far flung hope versus a full blown dream. I have the knowledge to know that all of the odds are against this success and try to find other reasons to write. Some of these other reasons include that it is an outlet for my creative side and that it is honing my skills in case I work with a student residentially that needs help academically. But, there is that now very distant thought of success. Maybe more realistic than that lottery ticket I still buy when the jackpot gets huge so, I guess I will still write and if I get involved in a piece I will actually prioritize the effort. This is one of those times. It is clear from the reviewers of my writing about erotica, my marriage woes, and my family memories that the focus I give to my pieces of writing is one sided with the ideas and creative side being of much more emphasis than the grammar and proofreading aspects. These aspects are lost in details that are not a part of the energy driven by hope. I know that to be a better writer I need to prioritize these aspects of my writing but still unsure how grammar and creativity co-exist, yet knowing they must. I have had a really good life and feel like some sad sack, complainer when I look at my hopes and dreams from a woe is me perspective. I am a person that has to be positive in his job which sometimes can run sixty or more hours a week but find it difficult to get out of bed some days. Knowing how this sounds with millions out of work and homeless I try to remember my good fortunes but when you are on a ladder it is at times difficult to appreciate a rung in the middle. It is kind of like being a New England sports fan. Most of my life we were lucky that the Celtics were usually pretty good and forget about the Patriots, Bruins, and Red Sox. Yet over the last decade or so all of these teams have won world championships and are regularly in the playoffs of their leagues. Yet we expect success in every game and in every sport which is truly unrealistic yet, we still cheer them on shocked at every loss. I compare this to my situation because it sometimes feels like I am never satisfied. Great kids, that are very successful, a job where I annually get praised for my work , and make a decent wage but what about hopes and yes dreams? If I have learned anything in my fifty years of life is that one of the most important things that a person has to have is back burners. These back burners are where you put things that are not immediately vital sometimes known as your hopes and dreams. I say back burner so you don’t put them away where they can be forgotten. Sometimes it is just important to have the dream nearby so that each and every day there is a little something there to help you to get through all of the mundane things we all have to undertake. Winning the lottery is always one of those great conversations where everyone just kind of expresses what they would do with the money they all know they probably will never have but the smiles this talk creates is what is so valuable. Will I ever go beyond this writer’s site or ever get published probably not but just the thought of what it would mean, drives me in sessions like this to a finish. I can not predict the future but using my imagination of what could be is the essence to me of being human.

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How do you feel, as a reader, about a poet quoting another poet as an introduction to a new poem? I did it again here. It seems that when an inspiring group of lines sends me to the keyboard I should at least tell the reader where the idea came from. Comments welcome.

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Wynn Reid is running away from a dangerous situation and has "accidently" ended up in a small South Dakota town that has a unique and frightening problem that it can't run away from. When individuals and communities have to deal with fearful situations does it bring out the best or worst of our character and humanity?

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The story revolves around a clueless bipolar part time muse named John and his somewhat dysfunctional relationship with his best friend Chloe. They both love each other, they know they were meant for each other, but somehow life always got in the way. It is written from the eyes of John and it centers around his need to get over his own issues, find himself, his voice and eventually his true love while avoiding the pitfalls of his mental condition and his self defense mechanism of withdrawing into seclusion when things go awry. It is about my vision of true love. The type of feedback I am looking for is grammer related stuff mostly. I love telling stories and I think my writing style is pretty good, but I realize my structure and grammar are probably not up to par with professional writers. I would also love to know if the story is a good read. I have been writing for a long time but this is the first real time I ever submitted anything for others to read and review.

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--WARNING!-- Japanese anime and manga based. May at times look abit too fast and not beliveable. I promise I will work on that. Atarashi Sekai {meaning new world in japanese} is about Gotoh and Miyu, a young couple, who are forced out of their universe as it was destroyed by mysterious force that can create and control black-holes. The young lovers now have to constantly move between parallel worlds and find a way to solve their problem or everything in existance will be gone... Are they truly up to the task? ---IMPORTENT!--- This novel will be revised as I write it and get comments.

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This is one of my poems I have written.

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I have Depression. Sometimes I do my best writing when I'm down. This is one of those pieces.

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A poem about the sadness of life and the regrets of anger. Each poem I write has something to do with the moment in which it was written. This one was written in about fifteen minutes after the event of outburst anger when four unbelievable events came together at the same time hitting me with hopelessness. So most of my poems are of a personal reflection nature and mainly invoked by my emotional state at the time of writing. I'm just trying to put out a set of different poems from different states of mind to see what it invokes in the reader...

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POORLY title.. Having trouble with 'service' here so lets hope it stays on long enough to post.... Not sure I am up to par on this piece as struggling a bit with reading/reviewing/and perhaps writing. BUT.. determined to get caught up! I always do... Any and all criticism is welcome and appreciated. Likes.. dislikes.. how ones learns

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This piece was pulled from some line fragments written years ago in an old notebook. Some recent poetic postings on this site brought that notebook to mind and here we are. Comments welcome.

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The chase and executing of Bin Laden.

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Breaking my own rule of double posting but the last was a 'woe is me' and I am not really like that... so... this is about a tulip.. outside my living room window, I have been watching for two days. NO >> not straight! Yesterday the sun was brilliant and warm.. Ms.. tulip opened her arms wide embracing the warmth.. today it is cloudy and she has wrapped her petal close... So.. I write

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Observations from somewhere important. :) Sorry Ron.. Couldn't resist.. I think with this piece it rather speaks for itself or it doesn't.

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Some recent reading here on the site and in a collection by Robert Pinsky prompted this rumination. Comments welcomed.

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There are many reasons for writing poetry. This may be one of the more common. Comments welcome.

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Almost every winter up in my North Country woods there's a brief break in the long winter action and we get a few warm days that remind us of the promise of spring. This one tries to get hold of those times. Comments welcome.

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Another poem from an old notebook that I re-thought and re-worked. Comments welcome, as always.

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any feedback welcomed

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This was written some time ago and recent events prompted me to re-work it and make a few changes. Comments welcome.

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A child is discarded, left to die in a dumpster.

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Some time ago, as I was traveling, I met a fellow walking the same suburban nature walk that I was following. We stopped and chatted. I've tried to capture his tone and outlook in this poem. Comments welcome.

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Everyone in NY makes of life what is available. "Need” delivers differently than “want.” Too few know that.

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Regardless of the years, the simple gifts come as a result of living one's life, not just putting up with its insistence.

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Hello . . . this is a song I wrote. It's as close to poetry that I'll probably ever get. Please let me know what you think. Any comments welcome.

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Just more thoughts. Pondering of an older heart. Practicing opening up mind to thoughts. Hoping words find a home Any and all comments appreciated. Most what thoughts the words provoke or don't provoke!

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Accept my humble offering.

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This was an idea my mother had some years back.

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This piece is made up of four separate poems, all written at nearly the same time, connected in some mysterious way. I suppose. Comments are welcome.

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A simple theme.

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I wrote this back in my twenties, but even now, two decades later, it still remains one of my favorites. This site is the first to see it. Initial reaction is what I'm looking for, please. To all of the poetry experts, any suggestions for cleaning it up would be much appreciated. Thanks!

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SHADOW WOLF SERIES: Remembrance (Cameron&Sophia), The Three Kingdoms (Aedan&Kathleen-no longer Bianca), Cursed (Ian&Kirrah). BOOK 1: Remembrance: Sophia considers her life pretty much normal, that is until she befriends a gigantic wolf, who happens to push her down a waterfall. Technically, the fall wasn’t so bad and she would have forgiven her four legged friend, but when she emerges from the water, she finds herself several hundred years in the past, in Scotland of all places, abandoned by the wolf. Lucky for her, she is rescued by a handsome Scotsman, or so the arrogant lout says. Really, what’s wrong with the man? One minute he drives her mad with his kisses, the next he accuses her of being a witch. Cameron’s nights are plagued by dreams of a spirit, begging him to remember something long forgotten, and his days are tormented by a lovely stranger, who very well could be a spy from the enemy clan. What is a laird to do? Keeping the lass will only anger his mistress and cause him great distraction at the time of war, but the thought of sending her away leaves him barren. When Sophia saves his life, he learns that maybe there is more to life than empty passion and the sound of clashing steel.

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To quote Edgar Allan Poe - Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream? I don't fully understand why I am so fascinated by the concept of multiple realities, but find myself returning again to the subject. Since its first posting, this story has been dismantled and and reconstructed. Hopefully its flow and comprehension has improved. Your comments are invited and appreciated.

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Some mildly spiritual musing as I thought about how great it would be if prayer was an immediate and viable solution to the maladies of life. And in some ways I suppose it is. Comments welcome.

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Yes... there will be more but too much on my mind to follow up right now. Although, perhaps it says it all? Today is truly all we have and perhaps not even that long. Live in moment more? This is one of those little pieces that one simply grabs a pencil and throws down before the words escape. Especially an old mind like mine! I had forgot it was even here as had no title even. Stumbled across it this morning so here it is. Very brief so sorry about the fifty word limit!!! haaaaa

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Adjustments made

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On this site there is a serious thinker and author who constantly challenges us to dig deep into the nature of humanity and the cosmos. He has given me many hours spent in the contemplation of these mysteries. This little poem is the shallow outcome of some of that heavy thinking. Thank you O.R. Comments welcome.

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This is a subject that has haunted me since I was a small girl with two uncles in the Korean War. One who slept with a gun under his pillow so we had to be careful waking him. He would break out in a sweat and moan. Most likely reliving. Which is worse? Dying on a battlefield or the walking dying who live each day on the battlefield they left so long ago. What are the 'trues reasons man goes off to battle?' I would thing they are varied but I would venture they had no clue what they were getting into. Nor did they truly understand who and why they were killing. To question your government was simply not done. Those who did lived in fear and isolation. I have seen the walking dead. On street corners, silent in wheel chairs unable to meat the eyes of the onlookers. For what will he or she see? Disgust? Pity? Any true understanding how devastated these souls are and how for some, death would have been kinder. There is no way I can understand nor fully see into the heart and life of one at war. I can't. But I do recognize the horror when I see it reflected and the total lack of life in blank staring eyes who long ago gave up the will to get anyone to understand.

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I write a lot about trees. I identify so much of my life with trees and memories. They were my haven and still are.They are magic ... They have been honored and they have been defiled My tribute to trees. I would imagine most on this site have their own memories both good and perhaps bad. Willow switches hurt like hell! Favorite means of punishment on me but I never blamed the TREE... My Tree! As always ... any feedback is greatly appreciated

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This suicide poem of a Samurai is an attempt to underscore the cultural differences between western culture and eastern culture. The west is largely Christian. In Japan Christians amount to less than 3%. The culture is largely agnostic--Buddhism and Shintoism are the primary 'religions' although they are more philosophies than religions.//Imagine not believing in a supreme being and contemplating the end of your life as an absolute ending, by your own hand?//This poem is the creation of the author's imagination and is not at all authentic. I'm not Japanese but I've lived in Japan for nineteen years over a thirty five year period from the mid fifties to the late eighties. I graduated from a Japanese grade school in 1964.//The Japanese have a deep sense of honor. They are particularly sensitive to anything that reflects negatively on themselves, their family or their company. Most suicides in Japan are over issues of honor.//Personally, I'll never forget receiving a hand delivered wedding invitation on Monday, only to have it have it retrieved the following Monday, because the father of the bride opposed the marriage, and executed his wife, son and daughter with a Samurai sword, and then took his own life. The groom was the President of a large Japanese distribution company.//This poem, and many other cultural differences and nuances, are what inspired me to write the novel Executive Samurai.

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Max was not entirely perfect; his office was a disaster zone. LOL! I don't know how he got anything done in all the papered chaos. I used to tease him laughingly that one day he was going to die and leave me to deal with his office...Max got the last laugh. While sorting through the morass in the early hours of this morning when I couldn't sleep, I found a folder under a pile of books on his desk. In the folder I found little things he had kept: ticket stubs to the opera, receipts from especially romantic dinners out...dated on my birthday or our anniversary, a few photos of us together taken by a stranger he had asked...and this. I had forgotten I had even written this poem...my first to Max. I mailed it to him during the first absence we had to endure after we had fallen in love. He kept it all these years...As I read it i realized the unknown of tomorrow can become the reality of today...the known of yesterday fades into memory...there is only today. i can not control time, but i can choose to be present in each of the moments i have. time lived moment by moment is life lived to the fullest...time lived moment to moment with each moment filled with love is, for me, life lived to the max!

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Finding an old forgotten poem is sometimes like finding lost treasure. This one was buried for eight years. I decided to post it unedited. Comments are appreciated.

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I don’t know if there's an afterlife, but it would be nice to fly away.

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I entered this poem in Poethood's Change of Scenery contest. It was one of three that I entered and we should find out the contest's winners and who will be published in the book that will come out of the contest next week. It is one of the longer poems I have written and, so far, the only sestina.

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On a recent morning I was sitting near the river with coffee in hand earnestly trying to study a book by Heidegger and these lines came into my head. Comments welcome.

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Quite a number of years ago I learned that some of the most relevant lessons of life can be found in the minds of those who have lived through a whole lot of years. And from those lessons come fodder for the work of a writer. This little poem tries to honor that principle. Comments welcome.

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i wrote this when thinking about a friend who's just found out her brother only has a few weeks to live...he's only 53

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Thanks to Mr. Harold Bloom poetry critic and author for this idea. He quite likely wouldn't like this little poem but that's okay. I sometimes disagree with him as well.

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Jake Wilson lives a life very much to himself. He seems content enough. He is close with his sister, Michelle. And his best-friend Alex is a pickup artist that tries to bring the best (or worst) out of Jake. And he has a decent enough job, which he only hates most of the time. Everything seems to be fine until a series of events leads Jake to question who he is. He meets the girl of his dreams, Chelsea. He receives a concussion. His ex-girlfriend, Rebekah, comes back into his life. His estranged father dies. And Jake's life spins out of control. But after receiving the concussion, Jake begins to see the masks he wears, and he begins to feel a burning in his stomach. It is at this moment that Jake begins the strenuous journey of self-discovery.

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I'd better explain a couple of things which may have you scratching your head. Muti = Af for medicine, poison, etc etc. Sun-downer = a drink (or 3) imbibed at about the time the sun’s going down, being 5:30 – 6:30 around these parts. I look forward to comments.

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Correne Johnson, 18, is all the things most women never want to be: Overweight, illiterate and unloved. And she is being molested by her Aunts fiance. She uses her addiction to the Oprah Winfrey show and Oprah's TV wisdom's to challenge her Oppressor. These actions could either end her life or save her.

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Just days ago, Madelyn Jacobs thought not getting into any of her top three colleges or snagging the guy who serenaded the summer stars were the biggest nightmares in her life. That was before being raped by her best friend’s boyfriend. That was before being put in a coma by the jealous bitch when she misinterpreted the scene. That was before trying to function after waking up all broken and torn, only to have a demon or something bust into her bedroom and tag her as The Keeper of some freakin’ list.



When the first person of ten dies in her presence, that’s way weird. The second time, it’s bloodcurdling. She can't avoid people, she tries. She can't run, she tries. An unseen hand always ushers her to the next demise, randomly shows her the list, in windows, in mirrors, on scraps of paper, even behind closed lids, and makes her feel more powerless than ever. And the sweet singer she loves now stands at number seven. As tattered as she is, can she find a way to break the curse before others die and the lover of her heart is gone forever?



*Strong language

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One of those pieces that simply fill my mind without trying. In a way a story about myself and many other abused children whether it physical/sexual or emotional starvation. I beat the odds as do many as children are also warriors in their own right. They fight back.. as I did. Many sadly don't as the mountain too steep. Not meant to be a 'feel sorry' piece but more an eyeopening piece about offering encouragement over stifling it. Any and all feedback ... mostly emotional pull of the piece.

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All feedback welcomed

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Observations of living for over a half century. Well over may I add! Using an altered Haiku format. Definitely not in best writing form but sick or not ... a writer writes!! Critical commentary always welcomed as here to better my writing.

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All feedback welcomed

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This little poem has been percolating in one form or another for a couple of years. Easter seemed like an appropriate day for it to appear. Comments welcome.

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Doing a little carpentry this weekend. Comments welcome.

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I just did some tweakin' and would love any feedback or suggestions on this poem. I had the most trouble with the second stanza, but kinda think I like it now, maybe; I'm going for a staccato, choppy sound with 'are plucked or hewn', so I'm wondering if that works or not. Your help is always appreciated. :)

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Out of all the poems I have wrote, this one is the most personal. I was weeding out some work when I revisited this. As artists, we have a hunger to be heard. We stumble around like clumsy Jesters..

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maybe it's the time of year, time for poetic pondering, i dunno...the dimming glow...just like the twilight...looking back on a love that felt so right but had nowhere to go...

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AS ALWAYS, YOUR FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED.

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Thoughts of not being. Death and dying.. reconciliation to truth. Letting words come into focus and put down without thought.

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I try to encourage any and all feedback. I realize this poem is cryptic, so here is the meaning of this poem for those who are interested: My mother died last year, so I was the one grieving in this poem. My wife and I decided to have a third child after my Mom's death. I didn't actually want the third child until I lost my mother, which changed my mind. It seems that I have been to several funerals of relatives and friends lately and it forced me to think of my own mortality and how short life is. My decision to have another child was born out of my grief for my mother and my realization that children are the only way to extend oneself into the future. My wife and baby boy are both fine. Little Noah Elisha was one day old when I wrote this poem. Tanka is defined as follows: "Haiku is always written in 3 lines. Tanka has an additional 2 lines of 7 syllables each with a line space after the Haiku section." Also, I am following the Japanese traditional rule that long vowells count as two syllables, or onji.

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Poem about life also the use of allegories in expression in poetry or any writing. Hope is to get readers who hesitate reviewing poetry to take a leap in faith as there is no wrong way to review if you say how a work 'feels' 'provokes' or if it doesn't. Still good feedback and can help enrich one's own writing. Poetry is not my favorite genre. I don't even own a book of poetry except for my mothers. Only poetry I read in on this site. I write it as do not feel confident in other genres. I too am learning to try though. To stretch oneself is to grow and stay flexible.

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daily life can be a philosophical journey

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Does duty preclude a young girl coming of age? Where is the line drawn between common sense and public opinion? Feedback welcome

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Just having fun.. hopefully a tad of wisdom thrown in. Observations made about living. Choices.. Any and all feedback welcomed except for those who think it stinks.. ha... keep it to yourself. ONLY KIDDING

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Observation from years of living and observing. This is not always the case as many 'willing hearts' are never snatched up by another. But once in awhile... love comes calling. Technically help is always needed but top priority is always the 'vision and feelings' evoked. Can always 'fix' the technical but if emotionally void it is useless

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A brief free verse look at today.

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A story about loss and gain.

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This was originally a lyric to a song I worte. I did a little cut and paste to make it look somewhat like a poem. As most of you know, I am a very poor poet. But sometimes the muse insists at the risk of her going on extended vaction if I do not comply. A little Psychology 101 mixed with a little humor. It's meant to be a little bit of fun. It suffers significantly from a technical POV. But my very best poetry is pretty bad. Hope you enjoy it.

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Just a sort of dark humorous reminder to keep things in perspective. Any an all sharing is welcome.

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Are you kidding... call 911 for God's sake... she finally cracked up!!!

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True story of a conversation I had one afternoon with a very sweet, but oh so innocent, former student. Enjoy! :)

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What are we to make of life when it takes so many forms?

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This is a story about a small college baseball that wins a game but there is more to it than that!

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Life in the South circles and swarms me.

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This piece is presented solely to encourage thought. The questions asked-I suspect, have been asked since the emergence of conscience, thinking mankind. Obviously there are no definitive answers to these questions. However, as death is truly the only inevitable, universal experience that all creation experiences, perhaps it's worth asking these and many other questions. If nothing else realizing that your questions are shared is of value, isn't it? At least that is the motivation that prompted this poem. It is the last in a series of five poems that started with 'Why God?'

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I was thinking about the holiday season, and this little ditty popped into my head. Hope you like it.

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This was written as I pondered the magnitude of my situation. My husband and I are both in our 60's, and got married in August, 2005; he after 30 years divorced, myself after 15 years. We met on-line; it was love at first e-mail, and was a long distance courtship, of sorts! He had just had surgery for cancer; I was a full-time missionary in D.C.The wedding was the wedding of my dreams! But, because of his health situation(there is no cancer!), things are moving a lot more slowly than I would like! We still can't be very active, but hope to travel a lot...whenever!!! This is the first time I have done this; your feedback is truly welcome!

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