we hope our children view the world through rose-colored glasses
pray they live well, so their buckets won’t need lists
we’ll try to respect their deep-seated thoughts
and teach them to respect those who have gone before
they must always believe they’re more magical than mermaids
and understand playing dress-up is fabulous, as long as they remain young at heart
we’ll tell them it’s okay to think upside down
and they’re the apples of our eyes
and when the world gets too big, they can hide under a blanket
and that same big world is full of wonderment
we’ll let them sit in a red chair and do absolutely nothing
and tell them they don’t have to smile all the time
as long as they keep their heads above water
we’ll hope they love each other enough to hang out upside down
and sideways
but above all that they’ve learned–
love simply means standing side by side
with Caroline attending college this fall, and Max a high school junior come September, I’ve been waxing nostalgic
I published this post last year but have been thinking about it lately
damn, time wearing his ankle wings and over-priced Nikes sure does fly

Tag Archives: poetry
songs of silences
deformed putty pink
robbed of warm breath
contorted sweet necks
tar bubble eyes bulging
frail unfeathered waxy torn
foiled unsung tiny raptors
never will gush
broad kite wings against the wind
meander upon the thermals
dead
before winter’s white bone chanced a kill
stuffed down bright
spring’s dark bosom
stalks cradled
strapped with dried fall grass
gentle summer kisses will not carry
overlapping notes
sung in threes
new harmonies in pubescent throats
echoing from fresh limb to sailing cloud
undeveloped triplets all
delicate melodies
small and quieted
in the driveway
sad little chicks
stilled
baby birds
in her songs of silences
nature candidly reminds us
she is both
judge and jury
I wish this piece wasn’t here or anywhere else – but I hope it serves as a eulogy
for those baby birds – may they fly in eternal peace
art created last year for an illustrated project
gently now
humble citizens eternally petrified
warm mammoths ice entombed
broken vessels anchored deep
hard lessons in dying
peaceful silence
go gently now
gently

the old pyramid trick…inverted word triangle pointing to nowhere, or is it nowhere?
my, my, my crazy WP day with media snafus, love technology when it works:) though I must say the WP gremlins were fabulously helpful
our story must not end here
riding the heat of dawn
we insinuated our bodies within one another
I presented myself to you
a wordless story
whispered in raging lines
fertile were my curves
from which our children sprang forth
multitudes
spilling over with god given wealth
a rain of ages
carving the cradle of these infant sons and daughters
my breast milk abundant
nourishing young
influencing adult
satisfying aged
long and beautiful
as I was
as I am
beginning
to end
our story must not end here
if you suspected the Nile River, you’d be correct 🙂
heaven or hell
it’s probably a big mistake to be pressing these keys right now
there are so many things pressing inside my chest
is it possible to come out of this
as one person with one dream
when everything leading up to the dream is fantasy
the impressionists began as an anonymous group
maybe I could be unknown
a founding member of the “what the hell” group
we could laugh and never care
about anything until we have to
and at that point we’d only need worry about two options
no more than that
heaven or hell
I’d simply select
which ever one has the best wine list
and maybe a tattoo parlor
no curtain call
we weren’t destined to meet
a black bottle, a few flowery touches and
cold cubes that mimicked hot dice
rolled a bet with just enough scratch
for a room with bad lighting
our frantic hands
stripped away more than labels
our hungry mouths
fashioned words on stained cotton
our entwined legs
beat on dark motel velvet
but a new day’s integrity
revealed our imperfect forms
stale breath buried any lingering hopes
you were in it for the quick sale
I was in it for the everlasting bargain
we were at best
a performance piece
with no curtain call
of something more
this has to be something more than the dish
serving the meat my mother so tenderly cooked for us
after being on her feet all day
something more than my dad telling us his ice truck story
and how he began work at seven when he believed Staten Island was Italy
this has to be something more than my daughter
not yet realizing just how beautiful she is
or my son who embodies the compassion of a soul lived
much older than his fifteen years
or a husband who supports my artistic demons
this has to be something more than collecting these memories
like paperclips in a box and storing them
this has to be something more than an appreciation
of life
this has to be love and living each moment
of that expression
I hope you all had a wondrous weekend
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

“…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 😉







