“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”
Well I did it, and actually, I quite like it. I’ve been Facing the Book for a while now, blogging here and there, and Pinterest has been my bestie through thick and thin. But the Twitterverse has eluded me for some time. Fell into that “Oh don’t make me learn something new” category. I figure by the time I master it, there will be something new to tackle. Wish me luck! @scribbleglitch is where you can find me. I think it’s time to stalk YouTube videos…
I don’t believe that walking in the rain will cause you to catch a cold, but you can tell a storm is coming when the leaves turn over.
I used to think that Alaska was an island because it is always shown on a map as disconnected and floating.
A woman’s body is her own, unless she is wearing the wrong clothes.
Your dryer doesn’t eat the socks, the dog does.
I don’t believe in our government, or Monsanto, or big banks, but we do have to eat, pay taxes, and put our money somewhere.
Children shouldn’t spend all day playing video games. But when would I get my quiet time?
I believed a woman’s place was in the home, until I met my mother.
I don’t think ghosts are real, but does that then mean my loved ones in death didn’t go anywhere but in the ground?
I believe the world is flat and we need to shake things up once in a while.
I was once told that African American people have an extra ligament in their leg that makes them better sports players. I believed that for a long time.
Sex is bad, very, very bad, unless you like it, then it’s worse than bad.
Irregardless is a word, it just doesn’t mean what you think it does.
I thought my father knew everything, until he died from lung cancer in the middle of a bankruptcy and home foreclosure. He also smoked two packs a day for 50 years and investing his personal finances in a company he didn’t own, to try to keep it afloat.
Beware of strangers, until you get to know them, then keep them at arm’s length.
I believed in love, until my heart was broken. Now I know that love is just a lot of hard work.
Darwin was right. Or was he?
I was raised without faith, therefore I believed nothing, until I changed my mind.
We are all energy. We cannot be created or destroyed, but we can change.
Hot lemonade with whiskey and honey will cure almost anything.
I thought I was weak until within the space of three years I held the hand of my father, and then of my mother, while I fed them their full doses of morphine at exactly the prescribed interval until they took their last breaths.
Kindness fixes anything that a hot lemonade can’t.
I’ve been away for a while. I love blogging but this kind of felt like this was morphing into a poetry-only type of blog and I didn’t know what to do with it. I just didn’t have time to spend on writing poetry as often as I was wanting to and it was taking all of my limited time and creative energy away from writing the novel I hope to finish soon. I also had concerns about putting all of my poetry out there, and then not being able to publish it elsewhere. I was stuck. Ok, let’s be more honest here…I was ADDing all over the place. I have been writing, and I have been blogging over at a parenting site,(I know right?), and I’m just going to open this up to whatever the hell I feel like writing and when. I’m hoping that it stays interesting. For now, here is this beautiful picture of a sunset. Much Love!!
Officially published! Here’s the link to my poem in the Fredericksburg Literary Review.
The old woman who lives next door is mad.
What’s driving her nuts
are the hungry squirrels
who live beyond her backyard gait.
They eat, and eat, and eat, the precious fruit
that grows on her trees.
They’re vexing her ease
and slowly stealing her reason.
I’ve observed her early unhinged mornings
a rattling rake
“Get out!” Get out!” as if they cared.
I have gaped through the fence and seen her eat
green and unripe
melons so rodents would starve.
In the end it was poison that did them in,
though they kicked and twitched
and put up a fight.
Her garden’s gone still and quiet.
Nowadays she’s seen on her back porch swing
on hot summer days
enjoying her yield
with a smirk on her face, spitting pits.
head heavy-hung in restless rest
late night blue light filters my mind for me
glazed eyes tune the world outside
into others’ human lives
and their picture window plights
mothers imploring plead mercy
as they cry for blood-soaked children they fear
a discarded sacrificed feast
for hungry tyranny
ever breeds corpses and war
I hide my heart to keep my mind
in cold vigil I chase Sandman’s cover
wide awake in soul-breaking shame
my own apathy
creates dreams of self-reproach
Calling all poets (and storytellers)… Don’t be shy!!
For years this grainy photo has held a memory of you and me. A snapped shot as we walked across the open meadow, late morning, hand in hand. The wind had just begun to stir enough to set the trees to gossiping as you let go and I stepped out on my own. You remained within my reach though, I didn’t want to loosen my hold. As I grounded on earth, the soft blades bent beneath my chubby bare feet. Often your attentions were not for me, so I absorbed the moment, took in every part of it to covet in my heart. Together alone, we wandered. We talked about the wildflowers and of streams, and even the bees grew hushed and listened. The whispering Whitebark pine peeked in and out of shadow, back when the trees weren’t sick, and neither were we. A brilliant blue Steller’s Jay reminded us to slow our pace and gracefully took wing. The echo was magnificent as his call bounced around the quiet wooded plateau. The overwhelming scent of pine still speaks of home in my soul. Rocks pushed up through the grass, or the meadow grew around them, I don’t know which, but when I pressed my cheek against their rough faces they received me with delicious warmth. A different kind of heat came from getting this close to the sun, and when it kissed the top of my head and wrapped me, it converged with my skin like a father’s embrace. I missed it dearly when it became clouded but I didn’t thunder, didn’t want to spoil that day. There were always clouds in the Sierra. Their shifting shapes of vapor played among the granite peaks and traced the passes below that we would reluctantly follow home. We walked to escape the pressures of this human life, you and me, or more simply put, we just walked. In my mind I have always pictured this day with you alone. In reality, just the photo remains of an uncommitted memory.
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