Simply trying to survive.
Medium saved me after the 2016 U.S. presidential election. I don’t recall how I found this community. Perhaps, it found me. When all felt desperately hopeless, this became my home and refuge.
Nearly four years later, I own two publications: Weeds & Wildflowers and R.E.A.D.I.N.G. WAR. Weeds & Wildflowers has been the recipient of my attention while R.E.A.D.I.N.G. WAR has languished, but I plan to change that soon. I’m also an editor for SnapShots and House of Haiku.
By trade, I am a contract bookkeeper, a career that serves me well but is losing its luster. …
lock the door / toss the key
The house of white is empty of orange,
my gratitude is overflowing,
but let’s make sure that shit don’t happen again.
Congressional ReTrumplicans didn’t do their job,
leaving us with future fears —
got to make that January adios a forever adieu.
“To God” is not literal, She’d never let you near,
but there is no “to devil” goodbye . . .
until now — au diable, DT.
Leaving you in the past, hoping you stay —
play golf, cheat on taxes, stiff contractors,
just stay the hell out of government.
Find your…
Photo-a-Day Challenge
a week of variations
Our shadowy winter continued last week with more gloom and more cold. Day-after-day, a little light here or there, but not much until Friday. Then, the sun returned and laughed in our faces,
I’ve been to Cancun!
(Yes, that’s a Ted Cruz reference — sorry!)
Again, I hope we’ve left temperatures in the 30s behind us. Again, I hope spring is really, truly here.
And I am grateful I don’t live in Texas — because of the horrific winter storm there, because of their inadequate utility infrastructure, because of Ted Cruz and whoever that governor is who slings blame everywhere…
a poem not about milk
Most of my shots are when walking, Sherry, and I have a fierce Lhasa Apso by my side who lives to chase squirrels!
Those on our patio have screen between themselves and the dog and 2 cats who watch them feed on peanuts and sunflowers seeds.
a one-line poem
Shortform Theme / Falling in Love
my adopted daughter story
You were 16 looking 12
maturity stunted by cruelty
Homeless but for a couch
in an apartment not yours
Scared as the proverbial rabbit
skittering away in shadows
Frightened of me, the one who
would one day give you a home
Not that day but one day after nights
haunted by your dark eyes
You were beautiful in your sadness
luminescent in your fear
You were the daughter I didn’t know
I needed or wanted or would have
You were my future when we both
fled our pasts
You were my hope when we both
held so little
We entered…
Dennett
I was always a writer but lived in a bookkeeper’s body before I found Medium and broke free — well, almost. Working to work less and write more.
