Processing loss

This walk is a stumble
Each step I trip
Over heartache
Of memories and wants
Knowing yet remembering
Each klutzy moment
Brings a fresh memory
As a whisper
A Breath of the past
My future is before me
My past clings
Causing another stumble
Yet I rise




Each day was an adventure

petticoats filling and obscuring

twirl and swoop with a hoop

laced up dresses, button shoes

lace, cotton, silk of a lady

Men tipped a hat

kissing a hand

saying howdy mam

Doors opened, you first dear

men walked to the left

protecting women from projectiles

From horse to buggy

soon automobile

Gentler times

don’t seem real

Gone with the wind

Scrub on hands and knees

dishes washed by hand

always wear a wedding band

Loss at an early age

Baby bunting didn’t save

Less interference from the capital

turn the other cheek

They believed still

Old fashion values at its core

yet man and woman wanted more

Looking for more convenience

trading each idea one step at a time

fast forward to the present day

Have values faded away?

Can we mix the old with the new?

Or is it no longer our purview?

Each dialogue seems more off putting

Polar opposite is part of the footing

Sifting sand slides us under

How have we put all good asunder?

Melancholy thoughts of the good ol days

Will always be our romantic phrase

Progress takes and gives I fear

Anger management we need to adhere

No mutual respect is in effect

Politically correct is what they collect

Each issue being part and parcel

leaving citizens with barely a morsel

Fear and resentment is now the norm

Neighborhood watches need to be formed

Within the mix, there seems to be a fix

either side cannot confide

What is the answer that should form?

holding those in power to a higher standard

Raising our children in a genteel manner

Love thy neighbor is not a religious cause

It should be renewed with applause

Trust, integrity become a cornerstone

No longer shrug the atlas deceit

Promises always shall we keep

A man’s word is his name

This we should never feign

Let’s bring back the good ol days

My Website

Series of five Poems

I wrote these poems 2 years ago. I decided to pull them out of the archives today. In June I will become a grandmother for the first time. Remembering these poems I felt it would be appropriate. Here is the link. Glad I am here If you do not want to comment on the site just leave he a like or dislike to let me know you peeked in. Thanks

A Choir Sings Poem


A Choir sings

A choir sings in chorus of

what the song it believes

is it peace and love

or more nefarious strings

each chord to bring together

in peace or discord

Misogyny is a chorus sung

yet those who yield to its force

will one day sing a braver song

Moving on being a choice

no need for song of strife

nor that of woos to me

My strength is within

there words can never reach

Only songs of strength

Peace and love

Will my chorus be

For within each

who choose a better way

can this world be

filled with peace and love

Joy awaits to all who hear thee

Clandestine are they

Clandestine are they:

Some whom we my know

Show up to tell us so

Warning us from so and so

How is it they feel

I am not able

To understand this complexity?

Do I not have wisdom?

Is it I am naive?

Or is it lack of respect?

Is this a friend or foe?

Who shows up to tell of so and so?

Is this important to know?

Seems they speak

Of things they know,

Things they believe I don’t know.

Truly I see

Who this person can be

The one telling me of so and so.

I am wise enough,

I am not naive,

They show me lack of respect.

This is not a true friend,

Only one who wallows in misery,

which invites company.

I shall step away from so and so

Who told me so

About another so and so.

Trust is earned,

Not whispered truths of another,

Mired in the mud of gossip.

Revenge, and words do occur

I step away

From the fray of words bitter.

Life is filled with those

Who whisper about so and so.

They are the ones I don’t want to know.

Sculpture or welded poem

Sculpture or Welded (Poem)

Being one of firsts sculpted his stature

First president born in United States

Focused on farming not power

Laid foundations for role of President

Yet this does not tell us of the man

Who welded in our patriotic hearts!

Still reminiscing of the gifts he left behind

Selling his property not his citizens

He would only sell to industry

Who willingly would hire freed slaves;

Yet to this day we still beckon this same song

Where have we gone wrong?

Could it be as a Man our first President?

Determined right from wrong

This was welded firmly in his heart

Heart of flesh not of steal or might

No fabrication does this entail

Only that of truth will avail

To this country not a mere sculpture

But tenants of heart built on

A true foundation of faith

Where power and truth arise,

His missives were lengthy to ensure

His heart was shown with clarity,

Has this been the pattern of many:

Who follow in this office?

Our lives would show the clarity

Not welded promises which corrode.

Let us bring back the majesty

Of this persons sculpture

Not of man but of his soul

So we all may be free.

Shards Poem

Once broken it becomes a shard

This can be obscured by flashy color

Yet the edges are jagged

No real form, yet can cut deep

Every whole can break into pieces

One single moment will define

What shape the pieces leave behind

When all the pieces are gathered

Will some decide what does it matter?

Only to discard the gathered pieces

Or will an artist of the soul

Come along and place each piece together

Not to recreate the whole that was broken.

Lovingly and carefully bring each piece

Into a pattern of something new

A beautiful new whole of design

Which love and gentle words can create.

Pieces of us left

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Seasons wear on

Wearing down the color

Yet if we stop

Take another look

There are reflection’s

Of seasons past

Little remnants

Of what was

Deliberately left

To identify

It’s existence

Never letting us

Forget a piece

Of us will be left

Once our season

Has ended

Be aware of

The piece of yourself

Left behind