the great indoors

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my treasured mitt

I still enjoy throwing a ball and swinging a bat. I go to the batting cages occasionally with my big son and we challenge each other. This pic from my high school softball days. Still have my beautiful first baseman mitt and yes, I treasure it. As a lefty, back then – it was difficult to find. 😘

my pink dog

dear God
I seem to have lost my faith
the pixie-haired girl stuck
to a weathered pink dog with stale bubblegum
has stumbled too low
to be found in my dreams
her memories as diaphanous as Christmas spirit
present only if you’re willing to believe
Lord, somewhere while seeking gold
my pick-axe and pan rusted
jewels of this earth
fake gems plastered in false promises
my pink pup disintegrated long ago
nothing to grab onto now
no faith to embrace
no shield to burnish
stamped with the devil’s pitchfork
locked inside life’s eternal circle
the sign of peace
we alight here in this place
our time measured in a fish eye blink
lays out no global welcome mat
too many starving toes crowding “welcome”
and the rubber rainbow has discolored
beneath this vast azure roof
no one shares a meal together
I’m gonna tell you something, Lord
despite this miraculous ability to hate
that we’ve been granted
my greatest fear
is the moment
I believe these words
I’ve just written
the pink dog is still tucked away safely inside my heart

My Charlie

My Charlie

 

faith and a full cup

I believe in quiet miracles of love
selflessness of the human heart
the breadth of compassion
the faith of Heaven above
tucked in floating clouds
and the people below
colors of rainbows
both on this side
and the other
I believe
one day
we will

fully realize
our humanity
and peace
will settle
across the land

duck apple
“…Faith is believing in something when commonsense tells you not to…”
–from the movie, Miracle on 34th Street

To those who celebrate, Happy Easter
To those who don’t, have a lovely weekend

art titled, “Friends” – created at nine years of age, when I had much shorter hair and much longer sleeps 😉

flurries

I never cared before
things going down that should be up
things going up that should be down
none of this ever mattered
and I don’t think it does now
I think what’s bothering me
is
how much blur there is behind me
I wish I would’ve recorded
paper, photos, journals
more
there are flurries of images
like snow, I recall them
they land on my tongue then melt
there are distinct memories
not necessarily good
taking up too much space
I count five decades plus
seven-hundred-thirty days
I get worried looks sometimes
from the young kiddies when I substitute teach
What year were you born?
I never hesitate, 1963 with a smile
as they need reassurance their old temp-teacher won’t melt like the
West Witch
or the snowflakes
I laugh remembering
the feeling coiling around ‘those’ old people
anyone beyond eighteen as I recall
gosh, I feel so young in my head
and inside my heart where it’s warm
maybe it’s okay if the snowflakes melt
better old and warm than aged and cold

for now…

I’m blessed to still have both parents
my dad often jokes
“…just wait ’til you’re 83…”

Aged Smile

Aged Smile

born a few months ago, previously published

 

The Land of Little

My Friends,

Long ago
in the land of little
a big girl smiled
she worked small movements
she moved in tight steps
she managed
to be small
in the land of little

Long ago
in the land of little
trotted a pony
the big girl smiled
life was pretty ponies
and giant dreams
stepping up
she was asked
to step down
too big
for the little pony

big enough
to hide the tears

big enough
to have
smaller dreams
in the land of little
mistyMay you dream of galloping on a prancing pony with smooth, satin grass underfoot…

Shetland Pony painted when I was little 🙂