I originally posted this in 2018, my words remain beneath the snow and in the clouds
Thoughts while thinking & repeating
Tag Archives: prose
I am a loyal American & this is my CREDO
After getting through the news each morning, I read the Credo taped to my studio wall. This is the America I want my children to have. This is why I protest…why I write letters…
“In a time when labels are weaponized and dissent is recast as danger, I choose to define myself—before others try to do it for me.” —James B. Greenberg
James B. Greenberg’s Credo (James Substack entry, August 5, 2025)
How I’d love others to share Mr. Greenberg’s Credo – to keep us going – to keep us fighting back – to keep us AMERICAN
Facebook’s Inane Query…
Facebook asks, “What’s on your mind?”
An inane query meant to incentivize us to keep posting as if we need reminding that our brains function with thoughts…
This morning I answered “What’s on my mind?”
with this-
Flying Squirrels
The beauty of swirling dying color against the relentless blue of earth makes furry little animals magical
I created this flying squirrel with Tombow watercolor markers (quite wonderful) and a touch of Prisma pencil (buttery color pencils) for details. The photo background was added using the Canva program (the poor artist’s Adobe)
Thank you,
am:)
God is a clock-tick, tick, tick
Despair is a fast trade commodity these days. I post these words-because I do despair-but I’m not giving up. Writing like this helps me face my fears-and once you face the monster-you see the best ways to defeat it…
onward & upward
am:)
Big Brown Eyes
Ah, back when my son was little, and each daily word and thought was ‘mom-ish’
Satellite Dish Inspired Prose
sipping coffee at 5 am while looking at a neighbor’s satellite dish (which to me resembles a sun warrior beseeching the sky for hope)
Badass
A gleaming motorcycle arrived via flatbed to our suburban ranch. Six children are warned not to touch its chrome and attitude. Dad has never ridden a motorcycle before. He tells us he’ll be back later — he’s taking the bike across the George Washington Bridge. Wearing a button-up shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, black knee socks and brown loafers, no one ever looked more badass.
this thing called New Year
reconstructed resolutions lower the ball to the ground
the ball won’t rise again till the crowds gather next year
when the lovers and the true believers return in celebration
when the partiers piss and vomit on sidewalks and in alleys
My Resolution(s)
this year I’ve gotten better at accepting multiple versions
I’ve barreled through decades and broken over waterfalls
I’m pumped to shred the rowing muscles
this year I’m shoving specific plans into my eye sockets
not the usual well-formed outtakes, no more excuses
—here—I wonder if I’m bull-shitting myself with words as I often do
or maybe, I’ve gone and done it—reshaping thoughts into tangibles
maybe I have, because this morning, facial recognition can’t recognize me
could it be this year’s resolution, this thinning skin I wake in each day more
forcing my handheld device to decide who I am?
but…my new phone requires an app update…
I remain the same (use your words, AM)…
time carries the words, the dreams, the light
she throws down faster than a gaudy ball dropping on a bombastic evening
she grinds to enjoy a loved one’s pain
she grins as voyeur to our last moments
she slows if I watch her red digital clock counting down as my soup warms
I’ve come to realize this—dreams, words
the very pace of time is up to me, to you
when these things travel swiftly, we’re doing good work
busied our worlds between seconds, minutes, hours
this morning, I placed flint sparks in my pockets
today we will do good work
we will shoot firecrackers to light the night sky
we will dirty the dark street a little to say—we were here
to see, to smell, to hear, to taste, to touch
every burning color of this moment called life
Betraying Our Kitchen Linoleum
Across many years, our kitchen linoleum withstood the battering soles of six Roselli siblings and the endless march of neighborhood children.
In our home Sundays began with morning Mass book-ended by evening pasta. Tomato sauce was gravy. Mom’s gravy hid meatballs. Our forks would battle fiercely.
My ‘best’ friend lived across the street. Every Sunday night her family ate pierogies and their cars were shiny. Her older cheerleader sister drove a beige Pontiac Firebird. I loathed the color—fast cars must be kissed by fire. I’d never eaten pierogies. I’d never been invited into my friend’s home for dinner.
One evening I was invited over for Sunday pierogies. Filled with potato and pan-fried to a golden-buttery crisp. That night, rather than my beloved dreams of flying horses, I sailed upon heavenly-winged pierogies The following morning I prayed for God’s forgiveness.
(in my childhood kitchen – a photo op – i didn’t cook back then – i can’t cook now – i’m a horrid kitchen italian)
Sometimes Angels Jump in Where Fools Fear to Tread
Three of us usually accompany her. Two of us push unwieldy shopping carts. Mom fills three carts every two weeks for nine ravenous people, one voracious dog, neighborhood visitors (back when it was quite common for neighbors to stop by) and of course, the Italians-the Italian relatives.
The store is bright. The bakery section smells of heaven. The produce aisle with its brazen display of foil-wrapped candies is my favorite. When Mom moves onto the adjacent aisle with two carts and one of our other sisters, my younger sibling and I begin stuffing our pockets.
Though Dolores and I believe these illuminated candies are ‘free’ — our better angels tell us to stow the candy deep.
Mom wouldn’t catch us for quite some time.
One of my favorite photos – Uncle Robert (Mom’s brother) always brought great gifts whenever he visited us from far-off California – this was the one visit he botched – then our smiling mother forced us to wear Uncle Rob’s gifts for a photo op. We were all quite miserable about it. Still – some of us attempted a smile…
Top row – left top right Grace, Virginia; bottom row – Robert, Vito, Dolores, me
Well, it’s official – no turning back now – 2025 here were go…!
am:)
anntogether 