dreams so wrong

never thought
of wishes
bad memories is all

when
words
carved of wood
petrified stone
perched
on oak branches
stop
the dangling swing

push
her legs, pumping
of sprouted wing
the sun made
all the difference
in a light rest
lying in a dark tomb
of books

she turned the pages
gently, torn
worn of ages ago

remembering
the sewn sleeve
of a dress
was it hot?
cold?
most mothers know
the weatherman’s secret
so predictable
to forecast the future

her plaster-of-paris
dreams
some how, gone wrong

storm to safety

winding up
to blow over
everyone
and everything
that stands in my way…
i sense no path -forward
or backward
isolated in a forest
with overgrown fears
closing in
surrounding my feet

i change my mind -escape
and morph into another
hiding once more
an invisible ticket
expired and worn
barely readable
the conductor puts on his glasses
and hangs his head…
the fog thickens

expands

and -poof
persistence
fades as quickly
as memory
is no path
to walk
or hold hands.

(tough morning… so i wrote in hopes peace could ensue… 9/19/2018)

this is my opinion…

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

I read this article…

Is this our world?

Here is my heart reaction, in words.

This is equally tragic as 9/11. The voices of those dead in Chicago cry out for us to take action. How do we react? We dissect each tragedy and look for blame. Is there blame? On who or what? Scholars divide the problem into money, race and gender. But i say the problem is time, compassion and heart. We are too busy to listen to the kids in first grade who open up and tell about their life.

Once trust is earned, the problems surface. These children are calling out for help. 

The little child tells me he will never make his momma sad and be like his older brother. He wants to read and learn. But then he enters sixth grade and they bully him into submission. Take his backpack and books and call him shame. “Shame on you for listening to whitey! They hate you. Dont you remember?” Those words echo in his head and dig into his heart. I scream in a whisper. “I care. I am white. So what? Can you not see my heart. It beats for every death you celebrate. Every life you snuff out.”

To the kids i knew at School on Wheels. I hope someday we hug in heaven. ❤️❤️❤️ Or even better we run into each other some where in this world!

dreamworld as real as this ever was

Well, woke with a fright
fell asleep by night
music playing in my ear
led to dreams near to here

and they folded the blanket
yellow and fuzzy
criss-crossed the land
and banned me from crossing

thresholds are barred
in drowsy land
and the angels guard me
from ever talking

the residents shunned
my twirling gown
sent me to prison
with a gun -to my head

Well, woke with a fright
fell asleep by night
music playing in my ear
led to dreams near to here

personal musings unleashed

as a child i nagged my parents to stop smoking… my dad was happy to quit and exclaimed “i can smell and taste again!” what should have been a breakthrough was left a defeat, mom moping and poking around, complaining as usual… she wanted her cigarettes… not wanting to smoke alone, she subsided the habit, never lit another cig again… she also never let me forget her misery was my fault…

today i am suppose to be packing… what little we brought to our temporary apartment, so i better scoot and tape up some boxes to haul stuff over to our new house… it is our home tomorrow! it feels like a Christmas, as it hasn’t felt since i got a Barbie Townhouse from Santa in the 3rd grade… i won’t go into a diatribe about the evils of believing in nonsense (perhaps another day i will reminisce about breaking my brother’s heart and getting an ass whooping) or how Barbie and Ken evokes sexual feelings in kids… might just let that be forever…

not going to fix humanity and i have given up trying… my egotistical complex has been put to rest… now off to calm this racing heart… and pack!

tomorrow waits for no one ☀️😁

Nietzsche’s Questionnaire (reblog)

Daniel Paul Marshall’s blog... click link to read the complete post. “Nietzsche concludes book III (268-275) of The Gay Science by posing 8 questions to himself & answering them. I found, answering them as if they were philosophically incentivized Rorschach blotches, quite revealing.”

Finally posting my answers to the 8 questions… (and yours?)

What makes one heroic? Saving yourself from doubt.

In what do you believe? Myself. My ability to contradict the obvious and assert i am nothing.

What does your conscience say? To pardon, is the first act of grace.

Where are your greatest dangers? My ability to listen and hear with my eyes.

What do you love in others? A sense of humor.

Whom do you call bad? The unmistakable persistence of a man caught in a game of chance.

What do you consider most humane? The ability to live.

What is the seal of liberation? Saying goodbye despite having just said hello.