Life Purpose

I look with purpose toward the second half of my life.  I am moving forward.

Charles Angrand Mother and Child

Charles Angrand, Mother and Child, French

I love kids.  They possess everything that is stripped away by age.  As I get older, I rather feel a spent bloom and then as sure as I smell coffee, I perk up.  Those roasted beans are buried dreams, brown fertilizer. I find myself spurred on to make solid decisions regarding my mission.

Granted, I have been at this precipice before gazing at the world atop the metaphoric mountain peak (a cloud of whipped cream on my coffee).  I have set multiple goals, become discouraged, encountered set-backs and even given up.  It has been 6 years of college with a gap of 2 years working with preschoolers. That particular job showed me how much I like teaching, but discovered how much more I love counseling and social work.  I enjoy forming relationships with the disadvantaged and particularly homeless youth.

I tutor with School on Wheels and the impact those children leave with me is beyond compare.  When they smile, I swoon, and when they cry, I am right beside them.  I am a part of their invisible community and feel familiar with their wanting to speak.  As I speak for them I speak for me, albeit on different planes of experience.

Recently, awareness of the number of people in Indianapolis who cannot read, through IndyReads, brought a new endeavor. Eventually I want to incorporate all three of my loves into one.  Homelessness, reading and writing, to reach the creative soul we each embody.  We need a purpose in life.

To be continued…

Pardon Me

Routine Disruption

Dearest, I hope you find happiness every day of your life.  When sadness comes, which it will, remember this day of triumph.  You made it through good times.  You made it through bad times.  Always M.


poetry in the mundane
things to do
grocery shop, the fridge is bare
and the cats need to be neutered
no time for kittens
or space.
the world keeps on spinning,
they found a new moon
and the hair and nails keep growing
the weeds overtaking
life -i tangled in the mess
attempting to make order
chaos surrounds and my only desire
to sit here and conspire.

Poems to form, the mundane.

2 research papers due by Wednesday
then statistics start
my math brain departs
my husband sits by my side
this our time, the world stops
the poetry made in our eyes.

Mundane poems
not for everyone
only for the disorganized.
I suppose I should start
before it is too late
see -my chest stops rising…

i pass the baton
and who ever shall read these lists
let us be clear
my children do not like broccoli.


Authors Note:  I was hesitant to post this as it is spun from a very dark time.   I hope it causes no alarm for those who have been in a similar place or potential harm to those suffering as I write.  Be well.

Life, a puzzle, is her mind.

A storm brewed -ruminations,
day and night.
Knives to handle,
braced -the base of her neck.

Longing gaze
towards the kitchen window,
no coverings found
to hide -hollow eyes.

A braided rope
seductively slithered
around and through,
she thought to flee -no such place exists.

Like a gazelle, a lion in pursuit, she beat the odds. Survived.

The finality of the situation was not met with fanfare. No ticket-tape parade or confetti-induced speech. The affects were invisible to all but the discerning. Those who saw the glow in her sacred eyes met the mountains summit; those who reached, swore they touched the sky.

seeking and finding

It is wonderful some of us are happy.
The rest live in pain.

What we fail to realize, in order to feel well,
are the tragedies that continue in the name of peace.

What we hold onto, despite the horrors,
behaviors ingrained and never changed.

What if we found beauty in all things
even those we retreat from in shock?

There is no condemnation in circumstances. If we step back and criticize ourselves, learn something about our humanness, we would recognize, no matter our beliefs, we fail to measure up in love. Love of all. An opportunity exists to stop and pause, consider what it means to be alive. A moment to realize, it is us that needs to heal.

Those who walk in a path of wisdom,
Those who face themselves in the mirror,
Those who are willing to consider they are wrong,
They are the ones who win.

The story of the woman at the well is an inspirational tale. Everyone turned away from her ugliness and Jesus turned towards her with great compassion. He listened. Love wins hearts and hope spurns us on. How many people are lost in this world? Who will we choose to listen and hear? We are meant to share the good and the bad. We must never turn away in fear.

We often walk through darkness to realize what is light. The beauty of life is disguised. The moon shines, but what does it hide? The wow moments catch our breath. Blessings, time to refresh so we can face the absurdity. For me they are mountains and oceans and feeling the sun on my face. The dark moments highlight human compassion, show us people are real.

“Some stories have to be written because no one would believe the absurdity of it all.”

“Insanity is everyone expecting you not to fall apart when you find out everything you believed in was a lie.”
“The most introspective of souls are often those that have been hurt the most.”
–Sharon L. Adler
Then, after three days they found Jesus in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teachers, both listening to them and asking them questions. Luke 2:46
We all are afraid of something. Be well, J



earthen days
shattering occurrences
life bursts forth
fizzles to day-to-day survival
few fantastical hours between
fireworks and the beauty fizzles
memories wane
cut away the rotten
clichéd ties to their birthed names.

We are moments

Thank you to everyone for your kind thoughts and words last night. Of course it was a spontaneous heartfelt reaction (mixed with “not too” much rum). My son was hit by a car in the exact location, in front of our house. People drive too fast on our street. A neighborhood should feel comforting, not torn by mindless people. I was not going to post this week, too hurt to focus, but the sooner I hop back on the horse, the sooner I move forward. Again, thank you for allowing me “my space” to vent. And I apologize to anyone put off by my need to be so emotional. I think they call it emotive. It is me. I hope you understand. The beat goes on…

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

The Church has an excellent appetite.
She has swallowed whole countries and the question
Has never risen of indigestion.
Only the Church . . . can take
Ill-gotten goods without stomach-ache!  Faust

The sins of the body, corrupted by power, leaves a bad taste in the foreigner’s mouth. Sacred moments, meant to pass along, white carnations of innocence.

Some day
flesh and blood fellowship
will return. Some day.

The stage will be set
rise to greet, a tendril
tender smiles of peace
no withered leaves
or snapped branches.

Guests will curtsy
dine upon the invitation
breathe the flowering fragrance
white carnations
a breath of fresh air.

I imagine, if possible
heaven here on earth;
The harvest festival takes root.

Messes surround me presently. Not all of my own making. I expected perfection from myself, a competitive nature from birth, until I realized utopia is set aside for such a time we are ready to appreciate beauty.

I do find beauty where none exists, buried in soil. The dirtiest temple can always be cleaned. We learn by dedication to keep pure the rusting kettles in case we thirst for tea. We learn by example, those who fight battles in dark corners, lest they perish unseen.

Some of us would rather not peer into dark hearts, confess thoughts that pass through. We who find it easier to find fault, damm others, rather than patiently change, no matter the distance.

Life remains hopeless.
Divided lives, damnation thrives.
It hurts when we are stolen.
Precious hearts dangling by frayed threads.

The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy.
My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life. (Jesus) John 10:10

Bird Lessons

oblivion and sanity
eyes shut, sinking.
conjure strength
in the blue jay squawking,
he never gives up.

who knows of the blue jay’s nest?gratitude weaved in layers,
understand what matters exists in the spaces between.
Hope eternal resides at home.

We are the dust of former things. Rising. Seeking. Finding. Knowing. Being. Showing the world we are alive. This is the cycle of life.