09 January 2015


My, then, totally cute,
love- of- my- life boyfriend
gave me his old and my first car,
a cream colored VW Beetle.
He had moved to NYC
and I was finishing college
in Boston traveling 
to home, school, work.
That car held his scent 
and showed me his intent.
It was the scene of other firsts as well
but that's for another poem altogether.
He came to visit one weekend
and admired my legs in my mini skirt
as I swung them into the drivers seat.
It's what I remember most
about that car- the jolt
of being in the driver's seat
for the very first time.

I went on to marry that man 41 years ago and we've owned many cars since but talk frequently and fondly of our first car... Posted for Herotomost at Real Toads who asked us to write about our first car. 

05 January 2015

Bone Quiet

It's strange
to be without
marking inside
and out, defense 
made impossible
Din arrives 
not just by ear
but surrounds
each bone. 
I thought 
quiet would reign,
the death silence,
but wind's
fierce incursion 
blunts bones 
with no skin 
to hold it out. 
blur any sense 
of safe containment;
after gone 
comes noise.

A Flash 55 in my bone poems series for Kerry at http://www.withrealtoads.blogspot.com.

16 December 2014

Holiday Travels

I'm in Orlando, Florida for a stretch of time with the grands alone- yes! Then my daughter and her husband join us in Jacksonville at my sis-in-law's for Christmas and New Years- double yes! I'll write when I can but major family fun is job one.

Happy Holidays to you all, hope your family time is fun too!

12 December 2014

Clean Your Bones and Catch Some R & R

Bones are surprisigly 
difficult to keep clean,
turns out white wasn't 
the best choice for beings
without skin. A search
brought me years ago 
to a distant island spa 
for bones- a pink lake
surrounded by a rim
of sand for scraping feet
and a dense woodland
of paperbark trees 
against which to rub.
Salt crusts cover
the shoreline and whiten 
stained bones. 

The flattering pink color
might come from 
(that don't harm) 
or might arise from a dye,
but we choose not to use 
that word, what with it being 
a spa. Pink draws 
the ladies though. They carry
home clear pink water
in necklace amulets
that catch the interest
of friends and spread
the word. Bones
worldwide come. 

The bright pink
lends an appropriate
other- worldly air, the pratical
aspects of bone care
are tended to while
peer to peer contact
is facilitated. A whole 
package solution.

For Hannah at Real Toads who has us writing about Lake Hillier, a bubble gum pink lake that sparked  this (much) lighter tone in my bone poems series.

10 December 2014

Bone Whisperer

Winter solstice, 
short nights 
and cold in our bones,
we gather in the dell 
among the alders
to greet our newest member.
Fear wreaths her head 
as she feints left to run,
so I am called 
to calm her and explain 
the bone scrum we form. 
She doesn't know 
our ways,
the comfort 
we derive
from bone on bone,
but she brings 
the latest news,
other nights
so recently hers,
perhaps she brushed 
a loved one 
lost to us
and carries 
their faint scent.
We have orchards
of hunger
for all she has.

Posted for Mama Zen at the Garden who asked to use homophones in our poem. I used feint and faint. I also found words in another prompt and used dell, alders, wreaths, and orchards but didn't write down the source and now can't find it again. If anyone can tell me I'd be grateful. This is another in my bone poems series. 

07 December 2014

Bone's End

By the end
all I sought
was peace,
pain dove so deep
that disease and suffering 
fused to bone.
Bone's meant to
hold up and not be
source of final fall.
Can bones be haunted?
I was at this failure
so fundamental.
Death came
as sweet escape,
swift descent 
to the ground of all being.

From the bone poems' series, a Flash 55 for Marian at the Garden. I took the photo of a dolmen (portal tomb) in County Clare, Ireland.

06 December 2014

This is My Brick

"We pave the sunlit path toward justice toether, brick by brick. This is my brick."
Tim Cook, CEO of Apple

If Tim Cook's brick is his announcement of being gay and the support that that might give someone else, what is my brick? I was going to say apart from raising a daughter to be a thriving woman, mother and environmentalist. But maybe Kelly is my brick even if her outcome is in her hands now. From the moment of her birth, when she first looked around in her old soul kind of way and I breathed in the scent of her, I was utterly and hopelessly in love with her. Her announcement when she was barely three and disagreed with something I said that I should think my thoughts and she would think her thoughts put me on alert that mothering Kelly would have its challenges. 

I can't take credit for her since she was so inner directed from the beginning, such her own force of nature not looking for much direction from me. But being her mother was deeply satisfying, great fun and a unique source of growth for me as a woman. Still is. It's her birthday today. (For the next month and a half until my birthday, my Dad is 98, I'm 68, Kelly is 38 and my granddaughter, Kamala, is 8.) I used to marvel when she was young because she wouldn't hesitate to tell someone what she thought or give them advice even if they were older. She had that clear thinking and confidence. It was the beginning manifestation of her wisdom.

If we're paving a sunlit path toward justice together then my daughter is a vital brick in that path. The justice of saving the rain forest, the justice of interracial harmony, the justice of attachment parenting and educating children based on their interests and inner drives. Plus, she plays a wicked game of Scrabble. I only began her trajectory but she has flown far and true and built a life based on her values. I admire her for that and feel grateful to be her mother. I'm glad we've done the (occasionally) hard work needed to change and solidify our relationship as adults. I love that we're friends and part of each other's lives. Happy Birthday, Sweetheart, I'm really glad you were born.

05 December 2014

Unwitting Evangelists

Some folks live in negative territory every day, 
live on the wrongside of the demographic altogether. 
Errors of brain wiring force them into a granularity 
of vision that would terrify the likes of us. 
They struggle, with unyielding integrity, 
to leverage what right functioning they have 
and build some kind of strategic staircase to normality. 
Aberrant fears drill down into vulnerable minds 
feeding back godawful beliefs they can't quite shake, 
shame cascading over it all as if crazy 
wasn't enough to cope with. It's like some sinister 
reduction in force of brain's powers.

In this space, getting ducks in a row 
becomes an effort in grounding. They try to capture 
their colleagues, stakeholders who must come 
to the party, like Alice to the mad hatter, in another 
effort to keep their doors open, to make
their thinking 360 degrees once again. At the close of play,
though, the paradigm rarely shifts, hallucinations,
like low hanging fruit, pre-prepare them 
for the idea showers that never end. Brain storms abound.
They yearn to be platform atheists to their version 
of holistic cradle-to-grave disorder. Instead, 
they're product evangelists even as it loops back on them

and drives others away. Challenges- 
how to conversate, how to sprinkle magic 
over bizarre behaviors, how to touch base offline, 
overwhelm them while answers steer clear. 
Going forward means being lost in a maze on no one's radar
at the end of the day, actioning damaged from the get-go.

Tony Maude has us writing biz-speak, jargon and buzzwords over at the pub. After 36 years working with the seriously and persistently mentally ill, these phrases, silly in a business setting, became a way to better speak the mentally ill's remarkably difficult story. They have my respect.