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future posts

11 Apr

Note to self.  I keep meaning to post about My Space and books.  Much to say, not enough time in the day.

reminding me of what i love

10 Apr

Because that last post was so whiney, and I don’t want it to be the first thing I see when I come here tomorrow, here’s a poem I had published a couple of years ago that makes me all mushy-gushy.  Because I’m in a mush-gush kind of mood.  

Smile Makers

A dog with its head out a car window
Ears flapping, face to the breeze
Watching the world fly by at fifty plus miles an hour.

My father hunched over a flat of annuals
Gripping the trowel, scattering the soil
Immersed in his world of gardens.

Canada geese flying in a perfect V heading south
Alighting on a glass pond, refueling for the journey
Expertly realigning while announcing their departure.

My mother’s intent face as she reads in her rocker
Sometimes laughing out loud, eyes crinkling
At some humor the author has bestowed.

The fushia and white dahlia I planted last summer
Springing from the earth, exploding in brilliant color
Captured in a photograph to admire the year long.

An elderly couple holding hands while strolling
Smiling wrinkled grins, their gray heads together
Conspirators in many years past and forever companions.

pouring out

25 Mar

Have you ever had one of those fits where you cry so hard your breath comes in heaves and your face gets all red and splotchy and feverish.  Then it escalates into a full blown panic attack where you feel like you are drowning in water but it’s not water but you can’t breathe anyway and you go in the other room so as not to wake your spouse, kid, dog or whoever you live with and you whisper-scream “f*ck” twenty times while simultaneously punching your pillow as hard as you can and throwing snotty tissues across the room because that’s the only thing you can throw that won’t make noise and even though you are having some sort of weird anxiety attack you still have enough composure not to completely trash your house.  And you realize that you can’t sleep for crying and feel the need to go write about it this very instant but you know that in the morning you will regret posting it on your very public blog because it will seem that much more crazy in the light of morning so you will probably delete it and you don’t want people to realize what a total kook you really are or think that you want sympathy.  Because that’s not what you want.  You just want to be able to go to bed each night and wake up each morning and do what you love and feel fulfilled and useful and not like time is passing you by. Is that so much to want in life?  Is that so selfish?  And yet, as you sit there with all of these thoughts doing the whirling dervish dance in your tired wiped out brain you can’t exactly pinpoint just what it is that you do want to spend your days doing and if you did figure it out for sure what if you totally suck at it anyway and that compounds the panic attack and you further realize that no matter what kind of fit you pitch in the night that you still will have to get up in the morning and do what you do.  And so you wipe your tears, take a much needed huff from your asthma inhaler and climb back into bed.


17 Nov

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Anthology
Saturday, Nov. 18
Dresden Library

I don’t think you will have to fight the crowds of literary fans to make it up to the table so come on down for a chat if you’re so inclined.

For some more great writing with a southern slant…
…ahem..sara…ahem…you should submit something here…ahem…

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