Archive | June 2016


This damned malaise,


Stripping cohesive thought

Removing propriety

Shattering confidence,



Reduced to moments,


Single breaths

Repeated, repeated, repeated

Until the next diversion,

The next humiliation,

The next terror.

How could a loving God invent such torment?

Or, with our limitless free will

Did we bring it on ourselves?

Blast this wretched condition to Hell,

With all the pitiful attempts to avoid it

And all the head games played to ignore it.

Blast it all to Hell!



Did you feel it, handsome, young runner calling good morning as you floated over the path through the open space in this glorious morning sun?

Did you notice, laughing couple nodding hello as you shuffled  along the gravel walk?

And you, focused, sweating, racing woman, never losing a beat, yet still finding breath for a fast “morning!”  How about you?  Were you aware?

I plugged in as you passed.

I swallowed your smiles,

inhaled the air you exhaled,

stepped into the power vibrating in your footprints,

merged with your joie de vivre,

and thanked God for the power in community.



Well, B.B., the thrill is not gone,

but requires that I turn the desk toward the room,

the interior walls and nooks and crannies,

away from the window with all its distractions…

children riding bikes, giggling

husbands banished to their garages, puttering

strangers delivering flyers in the heat of the afternoon…

do feel free to sit on the porch

in the shade

for a moment

but do not knock,

do not disburb me,

I get to acknowledge you only when my work is done

which may not be soon.



Blasted purple eye!

I meant only to arrive,

not fly up the steps




Hail be damned!  Lilies,

despite annihilation,

thumb their bright noses




Maxwell Gavin Phinneas John

went to bed with his Nikes on

and his Monsters Inc tee, and his Comicon cap

he set his chess board on his lap

squinted and pondered  and stroked his chin

touched his nose, gave a very wide grin

then made a move ne’er before seen

in any chess game in any known scene

he jumped his knight up two over one

then moved very quickly until he was done

check mating the queen across the board

so smoothly he moved, oh my sweet Lord,

in just two more moves, yes, check mate in three

he threw out his arms and laughed with glee

Max made major history that day weeks ago

and now he is planning another great show

…stay tuned for more from our Max!


Granma  6/22/16







Ryan Elizabeth Abigail Rose

loves dressing up in her fanciest clothes.

Sometimes she chooses a bright sequinned top.

Sometimes she pulls on a hat with a flop.

Shoes made of jelly adorn her cute feet.

Small touches of lace make her look extra sweet.

But no matter what she selects to put on,

our Ryan ‘lizabeth never goes wrong.

She knows what to wear whatever the day

and wherever she goes you will hear people say,

“She is just such a cutie, and very smart, too!

She climbs every mountain in just the right shoe!”


Granma  6/21/16



Why were all the screens

on all the big houses

backing to the open space

fluttering like delicate lace curtains

in the mid-day hot breeze?

Every screen on every house.

Then it dawned on me.

The hail shredded them ALL.



Oh, Good Lord,

I suppose if the sun comes up at five, ten:ten is mid day,

an ill considered time to begin a walk

through the prairie grass stretching beyond the houses off Wildcat Reserve.

Blooming yucca and thistles just about to burst purple in the blazing sun

first catch my eye, then my legs,then my shirt – making me itch.

Show some sort of mercy,  you bastards of the high desert,

mercy on me here without a hat to act as shade and fan,

sweating in sheets,

come too far to turn back around –

six of one direction, half a dozen of the other steps home.

‘Til now, at last, after an hour and a half,

taking step after step without pausing for fear my knees will lock,

wondering how in God’s name Mark and Sheryl

have walked a thousand miles and more along the Appalachian

without their own beds to fall into at night,

I stumble through my front door into the cool, A/C controlled air

and collapse with a sparkling water on my cushioned Eastlake settee.

I’m grateful






I cannot see it, but

somewhere nearby stands a cottonwood

with rustling, sparkling leaves,

deep, spreading roots,

long, rough barked branches

and  cotton snow

drifting through the air,

sticking to bricks on the front porch,

attaching to the back umbrella,

floating atop the sprinkler water filling the morning gutters,

catching in my hair,

packing into the corners of those screens not shredded by the recent hail,

and clogging drains,

clogging nostrils,

clogging the breath of all those allergic

to the simple things of Spring.