Hidden Hunger

Credit: belleofthelibrary.com

Her toes tickled the sand

Her face baked in the August sun

Her ears deafened by the roar of the ocean

Her sunglasses shielded her eyes from the surf’s glare

as she tried to ignore the deep, grinding hollowed out hunger in her gut

She could not conjure up her family’s next meal

No magic wand of money would be appearing any time soon

The stash in the basement was null and void

The fridge a wide open expanse of empty

And what else would be waiting at home? 

Just the cause of the family’s famine in the first place

The one who dared touch the last remnants of fruit left for his children

Whose anger ignited at being denied those rock bottom bits 

She rested in the stillness with her dull endless ache

Becoming more numb by the minute

The tide washing her pain away



“It’s something we’d all gotten used to, that hollowness in the veins, the nagging feeling there was always just a bit too much air behind your ribs.”

~Andre’ Dubus III (from his memoir “Townie”)

A Grifter’s Rap

Credit: gatesofpower.com

Would you ever really know if your beloved strayed?

Or would you believe that you’ve been duplicitously played?

His absences explained so charmingly

As you played your role so willingly

You hang on long for the children’s sake

As you think he still loves you

Those vows he would not break

But he did so again and again

Not always with another

But with the click of a pen

When at last he made the ultimate exit

That last gasp to leave

You thought it was with money

That he did deceive

To fall in with another was too hard to believe

Looking back on it now-it was so long ago

All those scenes so intense 

And his emotions: a mere pretense 

You realize SHE was his reason for love’s final blow

But no matter now, this memory is like vapor

A mischievous muse’s attempt at a silly old caper

The mind goes awry

No need to know why

He’s nothing but a blip in your mind’s eye

First Images

Credit: aromaofislam.com

At first glance, a meeting by chance

Warming up on sweltering day in the tropical summer

Later, an initial re-aquaintance

in the post race cooling waters

Effortless conversation deeper than the liquid that floated around us

Soothing our heat

A natural ebb and flow

Sunlight’s spark on a newly forming shore

A long run twelve hours hence

My skin bubbled and blistered

Unaccustomed to the equatorial temps

My hair matted with sweat

My mouth sticky- white from thirst

You lingered

Is that when our hearts first burst?


An attempt to capture a moment or two in time when the seeds of new love take hold without the pair fully knowing it is happening.  Snippets of memory nearly six years old that still make me smile.

Sweet Summit


Air: A clean briskness as we commenced our ascent

The rugged and roughed terrain slick with mud

and granite waterfalls

and thick, melting snow

We bushwack our way off the trail

Avoiding the micro glaciers that are sure to plant us on our face

The breath and sweat from our exertions is soon evident

I slip my crampons on

Each step closer to the rock face warmth

Trail anointed by silver cairns and orange blazes

The subalpine space is 360 degrees wide open

A tristate view

Higher peaks still holding onto the fourth season

Yet their lower elevation cousins a blanket of purple-brown

We lunch by the lookout

A trinity already risen

Celebrating another resurrection

 A luscious Easter Feast


My sons and I climbed a mountain on this Easter Day. This inscription was on the Lookout tower at the summit. Poetry at 3511 feet! (photos taken with my phone)


Why I Run

Credit: davegetzschman.photoshelter.com

I run for no specific reason

I run because I like to feel the morning air on my face

The dark nip of winter

The welcoming breeze of spring

The heat of summer

and the tri-colored relief of  autumn

I run to  feel the aches

as I first shuffle my feet

and the sweet release as I enter my stride

 I run to see the changes in my world reveal themselves bit by bit

I run to listen to the day’s first stirrings

and the night’s final slumber

to hear the coyotes’ howls

the red tail’s hunt

the snort of  deer

and the yip of the fox 

I run to peek at Venus, my morning star in the east

I run to watch the moon’s final rise at the first mile

and the sun’s first with one to go

I run to breathe, to think (or not)

I run because I want to feel alive

and take in my daily dose of peace

The Mighty Fall

Øyvind Gregersen

Øyvind Gregersen


The mighty warrior of freedom had grown weary

Her values trampled upon

Pieces of her principles pulled away

Her mirror image tarnished by corporate forces

Waving their claim as ‘people too’

as an excuse to influence the laws of the land

Rights to vote

Rights to assemble

Rights to privacy

Rights of access narrowed

under the guise of false frauds, false gods and false enemies

Created through the soft wars on color, orientation and women and the poor

 Leaving us all with the question: What does freedom mean to you?



Ms. Kellie Elmore gave us quite the provocative image prompt this week:

Use the image at the following link as your inspiration. I can’t wait to read the responses to this one! http://1x.com/photo/45546/

Well, I never like to get too opinionated about issues given that we lack a civil discourse these days. I am a woman of strong convictions based on my life experiences.  Five decades worth certainly means something! But my beliefs are mine and I do not expect to share the same ones or to convince others that I am right.  Actually, the image reminded me of  a book I once read that has stayed with me for a long time. Margaret Atwood’s  “The Handmaid’s Tale” was written in 1985 and I read it shortly after it was published.  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Handmaid%27s_Tale). I highly recommend it.

What Can I Tell You?

Credit: tinybuddha.com

I cannot tell you that it will not hurt

That the psychic pain will sear you

burn you to your very core

I cannot tell you that your body will become a wasteland

that you will look like a refugee from the worst of domestic wars

That you will feel like a starved prisoner

trapped in a situation for which you have no control

I cannot tell you that you will not worry

That every movement will be fraught with fear about your future

That you will be staring down that black hole of endless bills and debt

I cannot tell you that you will not be angry

Foaming and raging at the actions and constant manipulations of the other

That his need for control will feel like another constraint and strangulation


I can tell you that the pain will fold itself into the dark corners of your heart

That your body once again will be fertile ground

I can tell you that you will become a citizen of your own nation

a freed captive with a belly full of self-protecting ammunition

I can tell you that every advance will be fueled by your freedom

That the once endless abyss of scarcity will overflow with abundance

 I can tell you that your resentment will replaced by indifference 

that you will be the mistress of your own destiny

and the  queen of your own kingdom