A massive, lazy housefly
sat on my poetry book.
He lingered on the rhyming
words with wistful, longing look
as he browsed with bulbous eyes
and rubbed his legs with relish,
indicating that he'd found
all the metered lines delish.
I couldn’t help admiring
the bravado he displayed,
but the pathogens...
At the Orange County Highland Games in 1994, our eight-year old son participated in a Pillow Fight. Straddling a caber, he is here seen receiving the rules of engagement for the competition. He needed to cling to the pole and apply some calm strategies to defeat his opponent, which he...
As Father’s Day approaches I’ve been thinking of my own dad, deceased since 2003. I’ve been pondering what he would make of what is happening in the world these days. Staunchly, politically conservative, I think he would be very critical of all demonstrators,...
Remember when the whole world came together while sheltered in our own homes? It almost seems like a dream now, doesn’t it? We had a glimpse of a selfless unity that actually felt miraculous.
While initially we were told that we were staying home out of regard for the...
My husband arrived with Easter flowers
Plucked from our yard when the florists closed;
They sit on a gilded, oaken prayer rail,
Some bougainvillea and a faded rose.
There is no glorious romantic gesture,
Expensive or expansively bestowed
That can compare with this simple offering
He sits on the roadside
breathing ebony air,
swimming in ink
as thick as curdled milk,
blind to the passerby;
he hears everything:
all their conversations,
exclamations, furtive murmurings.
They all know who he is,
they know his father, mother,
disgraced kin. He's famous,
infamous, his beggarly aroma