I was raised a preacher’s kid. I remember sitting in the front pew as a young girl, listening to my father give eulogies at funerals. His sermons told the stories of all kinds of people—their hopes, dreams and accomplishments. They filled me with a sense of completion, and even joy. I suppose my poems are mini eulogies for people who have touched me—both living and dead. For me, writing poems is cathartic. It allows me to create a work of art out of something that may have been painful or hard to understand at the time. Poetry gives meaning to the inscrutable.
Herding Cats! That's what subbing for Kindergarten is like. And today there was one boy who refused to do a single worksheet. He just sat there and stuck all his crayons between his fingers. When I asked him to start working, he calmly ripped his worksheet in half....
Columbine Nursery Rhyme Oh, Johnny brought a gun to school His teacher cried, “You are a fool! I also have a gun,” she said And shot dear Johnny in the head. Then little kids cried out with glee “We love a school-wide shooting spree! There's really nothing now to fear...
This poem I shared at last month's Open Mic Night at Dagney's. If you enjoy hearing poetry from all ages, and all walks of life, I invite you to come out next First Friday at 6:00 pm at the downtown Dagney's ( Eye and 19th I believe). The casual event lasts about an...
Four statuesque Sisters stroll in the cafe Ebony elegant In slim jeans, boots and backpacks One's t-shirt reads “Act like a lady Think like a boss” In bold white letters On a black background They order four grande frappuccinos Drape themselves around two...
I notice them sitting in the corner
One man is wearing a lime green helmet
And a red t shirt
His face is pinched
And his chin slips away
Resting on his chest
As he slumbers…
I’m just the lowly substitute.
I struggle to establish control
Over a flock of fluttering finches
Who sense there is a new hand in their cage
Upsetting the air.
They swoop and peck
At each other
Pushing the boundaries…