With large, cold, graceful

hands that reach for me,

my enemy pursues.

I can hear pants,

rapid footfalls

behind me.

Run to the rooftop,

Jesus calls from the next rooftop-

“Come over here!”

my stomach a fist,

My mind screams “hesitate!”

Is this my visual cliff,

or will I gain superpowers and spring

one building to another?

No time for questions.

I jump.

Vague remembrance of

Peter walking on the water-

‘Don’t look down, just look at Jesus”

magnetic pull screams for me to

look down,

conflict funnel dances in my midsection,

then I am across,

clutching His hand.


We Are Fragile Things

Nesbit and Gibley

Yes, our people have done the greatest things.
They’ve explored the deepest trenches,
Climbed the highest mountains,
Even travelled to the moon and back.

But we can be fragile things,
Broken by folly and fault,
Taken by tide and turbulence,
Wrought by death and accident.

And we can be mended,
Healed by truth and trust,
Bandaged by season and time,
Recovered by friends and family.

We are fragile things
Broken by loss and fixed with love.

Kintsugi (also known as kintsukuroi) is the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer dusted with gold or silver. You may have seen these bowls or vases and they have these beautiful veins of colour across them, where the pottery has been put back together.

This art inspired this piece. I love the idea that something strong, like a bowl or vase, can be broken quite easily, and while one might toss it aside, the other fixes it, and does so…

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All About Healthy Choices


We live in a world dominated by powerful people and large industries. We search for our roles within this behemoth structure to create a life that satisfies our everyday needs. Most people believe they are such small entities within these massive conglomerations, they are unable to influence or affect outcomes. This overwhelming attitude reduces many people’s vision of LIFE to mere SURVIVAL.


What would happen if we focused on our individual lives based on the ethics and morals we chose to live by? Would that provide a better perspective about ourselves including our wants and our needs. By reducing the focus to “ONE,” would it become more realistic to believe a better quality of life could be achievable? Would it become easier to establish new patterns of healthier living?

Does a healthy breakfast require significantly more time than…

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Quote For The Day 15…


Today’s ‘Quote For The Day’ is…

“Try to be like Water,

Because it slips through Fingers,

but hold up a Ship.”


‘Try to be like water, Because it slips through fingers’ means try be flexible. So that, you could be able to change shape depending on any surface or situation.
‘but hold up a ship’ means be strong enough to handle a difficult situation.

So, the entire quote means-  “Try to become able to handle any situation.”

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Part 1

The last year of Mom’s life, in spite of aggressive treatment, the cancer wove its way up from her lungs to her throat.

Earlier on in treatment, my ears cupped her words like my fingers cupped the fragrant baby blue coffee cup I sipped from.  Initially, I would gush  out things, information from Zoey’s latest tea party to the creative writing course i was enrolled in.  As time went on, I asked her what Daddy’s and her song had been in college, how she had felt when I had a positive pregnancy test only six weeks after my honeymoon, what her iced pumpkin cookie recipe entailed.  The floodgates of speech were easily opened when she was presented with even a simple question.  Her faded blue eyes would mist over any time she would recall something about my dad.

One new aspect to her personality was the hats she  wore.  Even before her hair started to fall out, she took some money from savings, and got herself several hats.  Now, before getting sick, she never picked up the habit of wearing hats like dad always did, or my sister with her Fedoras, or me with my feminine hats with styles form the 40’s and 50’s.  She got a beautiful straw sun hat that she wore all year long when it was bright outside.  It ended up turning her already pale skin into the milky, ivory of old china.  To look less pale, she would often tap her lips with a deep rose lip gloss, and slick on some blush in a similar color.  She had given up eye makeup by the time her lashes fell out.

In spite of the smile she continued to beam, our family could see the shake in her hand, and the sweat that would break out at even a leisurely stroll.  Sometimes, grief would rise up in me, and I would exit to the bathroom, trying to dam up the waterfall threatening to come out.

When she got tired, she would sit on our beige vinyl chairs and run her toes back and forth in the baby pool  I had left there when my daughter was four.


As it Comes


in death,
laughing skeletons
rattle, sobbing is scarce
among bleached white
sticks stuck in inches of
half climbing, half sitting;
memories in the ether
will not disturb such ruin
but mists wander
soullessly on the sun baked mud
where imprints of warring fists,
seized up with time,
lie on arid soil – mulch for spent
shells and ironclad machinery,
rusted, stuck, cold –
benumbed like the bare bones in shallow
graves still laughing, still unaware
in death.

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