Jubilation

May 11, 1997

Mother’s Day
1997, a year of jubilation.
A son is born, he looks like his daddy,
offers annoyed looks like his grandpas,
and loves fiercely like his momma.

Family swarms, bluest of eyes smile
he wears Elmo, wants tractors
plays with cowboy Woody,
and completes with ZZ Top for coolest sunglasses.

Sat perfectly in our arms,
long limbs, this boy will be tall
best kisses given
he’d grow into the name Craig Paul

Aunts and Uncles learning, and playing house
first grandchild, those people are adoring,
offer mom and dad a chance to sneak out,
everyone making up for lost time and possible past failings

Growing appears tricky, doctors arrive
Time, we’re told, is on the tough side of fleeting,
quality of life, imperative,
Cockayne Syndrome stealing

With the right one, five years is never enough,
gift from God to teach us,
our minds swarm with lessons learned,
taking each day to move forward with many a celebration, he’s a big brother now, and his name is Mason.

Today, we remember the year 1997 as jubilation.

Mesmerized

Carillon Tones
Allegiance to principles
I’d stay forever

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Port For Dreams

A poet, who dreamed of safety,
A place for all. Welcomed,
if it were only this easy

We question with intensity
What brings you here?
A murmur felt throughout society

These too shall pass through
A cry out to the masses
Stepping over her, him, me, you

Who stays, who goes,  somebody move
Leadership I lacking, pitiful
Eventually, we all lose

A portal, a melting pot for dreams
Less different, more in common
Weakening amongst transition,  it seems

Poet to poet we ache similarly
Left to decide, no one left behind
And yet, now,  is America suffering?

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems

Anotherly

Timeless treasure,

treasured within progression,

progress the masses approved,

approving both to live simultaneously yet differently,

differs from what is reported,

reportedly, we wouldn’t possibly get along, 

alongside one another,

anotherly.

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Structure

at first, the logistics were tricky,

a desire for distance was universal, 

a commonality existed, 

so they leaned into progression.

structure set by those well informed, and steadfast,

support deemed imperative,

while overwhelmingly consistent,

whispers of beauty were allowed.

a common goal set, the trajectory – forever,

for some.

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Focused

grounded faithfully
focused beyond symbolism
What? Who? Over where?

It would appear, I am lightly distracted by a sound in the distance.

***
– Learning – 

a collection of photos and poems.

Gravity

Goodnight, Day

as simple as it seems,

nothing could have prepared us,

we’ve heard and we’ve seen,

how life gives, and we take for granted,

our daily routine.

The world appears different now and gravity settles in,

weighty, and morning merely hours ago, 

city lights slowly turning on,

soon our capital’s night will show,

function becoming imperative, however,

’tis custom for nature to start the glow.

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Indispensable

Imagine being adored.

Go ahead. 

Did you smile?

I did.

Can you believe it to be true?

It was and is still. 

The opportunity fades away for some, yet, for you –

timeless. 

Will always be so.

Beloved.

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Pinnacle – Haibun

Rain was in the forecast all week for Saturday. Nothing would have kept us from our twenty mile day, unless our beloved rule enforcers said, “No, you’re not allowed today.”

The memorials were at the top of the week’s list. Armed with an umbrella, rain coat and waterproof clothing we left the hotel on foot like adventurers. Every measure was taken, so disappointment wouldn’t take lead, in a journey surrounded by opportunities to dread every step. Another day of adding images to everyone else’s travel stories. Damp and cold air caused affirming giggles as the first few blocks were defeated. Wet. Wet. Wet. 

Rain fell upon those who looked for family names. Vietnam heros one by one and rising as we walked along the site. Many familiar names were read, piecing a name with someone from back home. Heroes. At the pinnacle, the water on my face was indistinguishable between rain drops and tears. The gravity of our country’s loss felt upon my chest. Realizing the Larrys, Garys, and Kennys of mine could have easily been on this wall, yet they weren’t, but these men were…

Prepared to stay 

Believing in born ready

Tremendous loss here

The only story I can share of my grandfather, a man my mother never got to know because she was a child when he left for war, was in paperwork from years, an entire life really, of VA hospital stays. “He” continues to escape, traveling hundreds of miles, and writing letters to locate his children. Found again in Kansas searching for his young children. His war afflictions resulted in foster care for children after their mother abandoned them. War wounded, schizophrenic, possibly, yet found daily, while hospitalized, in a small closet writing detailed notes to General MacArthur. A full life given, yet no peace found.

Korean War Vet

Stolen By The Aftermath 

Grandfather Wallace

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Nestled

Walking along neighborhoods,
nestled deeply into images of city life,
I found softness, and vibrancy.
Murmured pastels, somehow unafraid to show themselves,
and wide open.
Droves of minds walk right past their gumption.
Faces stuck to their iPhone.
My soul wept.

– Learning –

A collection of poetry and photos

Underground

metro employment

focused on multiple grids

stopping exploits change

Reunited

While on my own, I rediscovered

pieces of who I am.

My heart leapt,

my soul weakened in reverence,

towards a pursuit, I’d maybe forgotten,

or possibly, extinguished

even discarded because I was different.

Small moments,

where,

I proved to be –

a someone. Found,

amongst many.

I saw you, too.

 

– Learning –  

a collection of photos and poems.

Philosophy

With a path laid out before us, chosen,

and for us to decide, we wrestle.

Life tugs us left and then right.

Experience breeds new thoughts; opportunities abound.

We touch, and its impact changes us.

What is is as hard as concrete, yet many believe in its fluidity. Leaving many to question reality.

Challenging our spirit.

Does life call us, or do we call upon life?

The beauty, I believe, settles upon how well we listen.

-Learning-

a collection of photos and poems.

Juncture

Humility overwhelms women like me.

When the feeling arises,

power and heat settle on my cheekbones,

a blushing arrives, and they’ll all know it.

My eyes weaken and bashfully divert theirs.

Kick a rock and draw a heart with my toe,

as I take in the moment.

Jointure –

And then, when I, Momma, regain composure,

I’m fiercely proud looking toward my son’s window.

I ponder what he has learned here and if he will use it for good. Always.



– Learning – 

a collection of photos and poems

Metropolis

There is a saying on my phone’s lock screen which reads:
Have you seen today’s beauty?
It was put there years ago by a friend. Probably my best friend.
I wondered if I’d see beauty in D.C.
A city full of concrete and noise,
I considered rock concerts from my past,
welcome to the jungle.
I imagined where everyone who accompanied
and passed me down the sidewalk, was going.
I read their faces as best I could. I thought I’d see stress, overload, and even concern. I did.
But I also saw joy, friendship, health, and love amongst the lights and stone.
I must have questioned if I would …
The sky was blue most days, what’s not to celebrate?
People find companionship with one another over similarities,
the obvious return is doing life together.
Accepting what our hearts and bodies need is universal, and so we work to treat them well.
We’re more alike than we are different, I’m sure
someone important came up with the saying.
But we are different, and embracing this is key.

– Learning –

A collection of photos and poems from D.C.

This This

My 50th birthday is here. I’ve a hard time believing it, but I’ve accepted its arrival. There isn’t much I need, rarely anything, but as birthdays do, they often introduce the question, and so I ponder the idea tonight.

Still nothing.

After a week in D.C. and time to breathe, I’ve come to the realization I need nothing, and for this, I am eternally grateful. 

What I want is something entirely different. Those around me can not give me this this I want, so much more goes into it.

*** This This

This this I want isn’t found, it’s given.

This this I want isn’t fair, it’s surprising.

This this I want isn’t impractical, it’s the opposite of.

This this I want isn’t mine, and I’ve gotten used to this…

This this I want isn’t close, but it’s out there somewhere.

The District

Law school decisions

East Coast versus the Midwest

Top ranked future

Prince Oscar

Eight years ago I packed up two children, our pug and a plant named Maxine. (a plant I received from friends in 1992 when my grandmother passed away) We moved from Texas  to Nebraska in the middle of a divorce. We had nothing. Nothing. Later, finding out even the car I was left to drive away with by my ex-husband no longer had insurance – unbeknownst to me until after we arrived. So when I say nothing, I mean it.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom.

We lived with my brother and his family for 5 months as we waited for a rental property to become available. Until the divorce was final – we had to rent. Sadly, this home we finally found didn’t allow dogs.
My heart broke. The kids’ hearts broke.

My mother, who lived three hours from us, took Prince Oscar the pug into her home. He brightened her world right up as ours darkened even further.

Grateful Oscar had my mom and my mom him. I continue to feel as though I let him down by giving him away and not fighting harder to find a place for him too. 

Today, Prince Oscar went to heaven.

I don’t know that I deserve to grieve.
Yet, I do.

I love you, Oscar. My Pug Prince.

2024

Nostalgia

I took a drive a couple of days ago. I was in the mood for nostalgia. Snow days had come up in about every conversation I’d had in town, and I got to thinking. I thought about growing up on Hickory and wanted a picture of days gone by. Not sure why Hickory Street popped into my thoughts, but maybe it was the 16 inches of snow we received last week and the “squall”  we’d experienced on Thursday. (Ya, think?!?)

Every child in the area had gone down this hill, which seemed bigger than it appears, if they were willing to hoof it from across the way.  The “way” being the last and newest neighborhood on the edge of town. The hill spanned for about half a city block. The use of city to help describe a distance leaves me amused.  Hickory was a gravel road. This hill, for all intents and purposes, was in the country.

A well traveled road it would seem to us at the time but short of the mailman, families up the road and man who lived further to the east it was a quiet route – not taken by many or at all on winter days.  This allowed for tunnels, igloos and ramps to be built on and for the hill. Often times we’d trade in wet gloves for socks out of the clean laundry basket mom left sitting on the deep freeze. She’d hollar at us to use the old bread bags. The ones collected all year to wrap around mittens. In an instant handmade winter gear became water proof, but boy did it make packing snow difficult and an even slower process.

The hill taught friends, my siblings and I a lot about team work. Our creativity and manpower steamed forward by the hour. Nothing kept us from returning to a group project after lunch if our mothers would allow it.

My mind’s eye sees the hill and the narrow walkway at the top by the barbed wire fence. We’d  created a walking path at the top in an effort to travel from one house to the other during non wintery months, and everyone knew it was there. It was handy.  Back and forth we’d go all day long changing the location of play. It was a lot like a highway and we had created it all on our own. This path kept us safely off the road. 

On snow days, we’d plop our sleds on to the path. It was there under the snow somewhere, and we would pile on with the nose headed south. Everyone gripping the friend’s legs behind them as a way to hold on we’dcount down 3 – 2 – 1 – .
And then down, we’d go.