Every red state
Has pockets
Of blue
And Every blue state
Bleeds
A little bit
Of red
The secret
Of a skilled artist
is to blend colors
Paint harmony
In this canvas
We call
Home
Every red state
Has pockets
Of blue
And Every blue state
Bleeds
A little bit
Of red
The secret
Of a skilled artist
is to blend colors
Paint harmony
In this canvas
We call
Home
Back in theDay lifeFelt better,Burdens lighter,Friendships tighter. Was life reallyBetter then?Or does timeWrite fictitiousFantasies? We reflectWith nostalgic eyes,But reality reveals whyLife was simpler;Our charges lighter. Hidden handsBore weighty burdensLightening life—Our parents’ battlesRemain unseen. Friendships faded,Weathered by time.Victims of change?Or did life’s pathsSimply diverge? We cannot returnBack to the daysThat never were.Perfect pastsDon’t exist.
“As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” — John F. Kennedy A MemorialTodaywe honor the fallenplantedin the earth,past proverbs,their sacrificessoftly heard.The soldier,sentinel at nightwhispers hopeof peaceunspoken.America was big,a kind refugefor dreams,of balanced flight,yet we now forsake the people,breaking pledges,holding…
Her Table We satafter Sunday Service.Mom’s labor:roast, mashed potatoes,homemade gravy, corn,string beans.Bread warm,salad crisp with garden-growntomatoes, cucumbers, radishes. Now, sons and daughtersbear gifts:roasted carrots,sliced ham,buttered rolls.We set her table,dishes passed hand to hand.Mom sits,her work now restingin hands she once fed.Table extends,holding spaceto feed us all. Memory Challenge Think back to a favorite memory with…
Welcome to my blog, where poetry’s the point.
A good man with a gun will some day save us, they say, but he’s seldom present, prepared or prone to act in that urgent hour.
Am I the romantic lead from the pages of check stand novels? No. I’ve sampled love, but never long enough
to savor it.