Ode to dVerse

Appearing unbidden
Though soft, welcoming, sweet.
Open doors…unhidden,
Beckoning from the street.
Like a bright, warming cool day,
Friends greet and support,
Uplift and urge to play;
They’re the long-haul sort.

Never a cloud or a coarse word,
Even, accepting, but by rules are lead.
Abide and check yourself, preferred;
Relax, join in, and add to the thread.
Your fears will be put to rest.
You will be held with encouragement.
Feel free to share your zest,
Your authentic engagement.

Much like a steadfast lover
(Whose partner may come and go),
Or a devoted mother
Whose affection overflows.
A fluxing group that ebbs and flows
Like the tides…and the moon.
But always will find, though,
Spirit, life, truth…a boon.

Claudia invites us to share an ode as dVerse celebrates its third anniversary. Congratulations everyone! http://dversepoets.com/2014/07/15/3-year-anniversary-celebrating-poets/

In The Beginning

In the beginning there was the word
and the word was good. It tickled
and played with my imagination and
more of them strung together
and became cohesive…hey, I’m a poet!
Those poems seemed to flow pretty
easily in those heady, early days…
My angst, humor, pain and spirituality
flowed from brain to pen in seeming
effortlessness…I had so much to share.
The energy of other poets spurred me on
and I shared and read and wept and laughed
and joined together…took some space…
time to breathe, grew and changed.
Came back, still changing, sorting my thoughts
and those words are taking on new patterns, new
feelings, new growth…new friends have appeared.
It’s give and take…you gotta give, encourage others
as they encourage you and give of their time to
help you evolve, develop, become…and change again.
Transmutable…a poet is just like life.

Anthony Desmond is our host at dVerse Poets tonight and asks us to write on our evolution as writers. I haven’t had a very long career of writing…less than three years but I have learned so much during this short period of time and continue to grow and learn with much of that knowledge coming from prompts through dVerse…thank you! http://dversepoets.com/2014/03/04/poetics-poetically-evolving/

Small Stone # 6

Hearing is failing.
I couldn’t hear her.
Mortified, embarrassed
ashamed, feeling
deeply separate;
hot tears fell
as I shared
with a friend.

I’m projecting fear…

Small Stone # 6 for our Mindful Writing Challenge at Writing Our Way Home: http://www.writingourwayhome.com/search?updated-min=2013-01-01T00:00:00Z&updated-max=2014-01-01T00:00:00Z&max-results=5


I’m re-posting a favorite poem of mine that supports the choice to help others who are being unfairly prosecuted across the globe.  A serious plight for many who simply speak out against their government’s intolerance and tyranny of their people.  Many are imprisoned or killed for simply standing up and voicing an opinion. I am a member of Amnesty International.

Gayle ~ 

Don’t speak up and see what transpires when you don’t add your voice to atrocities seen. 

Don’t speak out when outraged and incensed, then the outrage will be that your silence was kept.

Prisoners of conscience don’t have a say, their rights have been taken and many enslaved.

There’s many held captive, tortured and raped– stand up against these injustices before it’s too late.

Our lives are filled with everyday scenes where societies are crumbling but we won’t hear the screams.

Too many turn a blind eye and ears deafened by choice, what a shame, what a tragedy– what is our unease?

People worldwide are needlessly dying, by the tainted hands of corruption. We can stop it; we can help through all of us uniting.

Speak out, join forces with all others who care and write letters of protest opposing all tyranny.

Open your eyes, don’t look away– your compassion is desperately needed. So unlock your heart and don’t delay, join Amnesty International–before the end of this day.

http://www.amnesty.org/ Brian Miller over at dVerse Poets asks us to write on our choices:  http://dversepoets.com/2012/06/09/poetics-its-a-matter-of-choice/

Tree of Life

The tree of life

Has roots so sturdy

A steady base

Supporting all

A trunk is needed

To sustain each branch

Of myriad sizes

Each one a must


Tiny twigs

A limb becomes

Forking out

Diverging solid

Different directions

Taken by all

Freedom to grow

Brings strength to the whole

Though some may falter

And break away

The remaining bough

Makes up the altar

Each one relying

Through years of strife

Bearing what comes

Sustaining life

Though winds may blow

And trials lay waste

The tree stands firm

With yielding grace

It reaches high

Elevating itself

Fearless, bold, self-assured

Honorable, dignified and blessed

Goodbye Dad, Or Is It Hello?

My Dad died about five years ago.  Four out of my five siblings and I were in attendance as well as our mother and a few other family members.

He wanted to come home from the hospital more than anything to spend his last moments there but he was feeling some apprehension.  Finally, after my mother gently told him, “Wade, you’re dying”, he agreed to be unhooked from life support and come home one last time.  Even still, his controlling personality was in fine form as he ordered us to make sure there was some Campbell’s tomato soup for him when he got there and to go get some puzzle books at the neighborhood Walgreens drugstore.

Hospice was there for support if we needed them.

He never ate that soup or did those puzzles.  He lasted about a day, and as one of my sisters and I happened to notice a change in his breathing, we quickly called everyone to his bedside as he drew his last breath.  We then held hands, said a prayer and chanted for his soul to be free of any earthly attachments.  It was something I’ll never forget.  It felt peaceful and natural.  I am proud of the “sendoff” we had for him.

However, I think he still may be hanging around.  Shortly after he died, I started having an interesting experience.  As I am laying down getting ready to go to sleep at night, I have the sensation that my cat has jumped on the bed and is walking across it; however, when I put the light on to remove her, (I don’t let her sleep in the bedroom at night) she is not there.  I have even spoken out loud to her in the darkness, knowing that she has hidden under the bed waiting for the light to go out before she leaps out, –“Sita, how did you get in here?”  It absolutely feels like there is something “pouncing” on the bed and then “stepping” across it. This has happened repeatedly to me, only and just as I am snuggling in to sleep at night.  I had a strong feeling that it was “Dad” when it started happening and I feel no fear during these episodes.

Now, having shared this with my Mom and brothers and sisters, I have found that two others are having the same exact experience.

Hi Dad!

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