look at my past

the past of my father

the past my mother

methodist england wales

catholic germany

small towns

southern illinois

man marries

and goes into the air force

the woman

no one talked about

didn’t wait

he marries again

a catholic girl

her father would not have it

the family disowned her

my mother

how could they

when i was young

we visited her mother

her father in a wheelchair




grandma gave me

butter and sugar on bread

she had a german accent

she was sweeter than pie

a love note

(thirty four years and july means blueberries)

divorce and your new life in marriage did not erase our past.
though it changed the future.

our memories. the goodness that was also ours.
i remember everything

cheers from across the room
i will never run out of kisses
i love you written on my back with your finger

bow nights
biscuits and cornbread
denny road boys
running to the phone with only a towel
christmas carols
driving icy roads
the year of the flood and Casey
taking Sydney everywhere
my mental depression
missing being loved
wondering why you stopped loving me
not being what you wanted or needed
still loving you
building a house
work then wine making
kids and school
grocery shopping
hand-washing dishes
your friends

i am not glad to be rid of you
but i am grateful that you are happy

i would like to see you now and then

if i could visit i would love to
i know that she would not understand
wives rarely do
thinking they will lose love

but i know she will never loose your love and respect
she never did

too bad she doesn’t realize this

i have my dreams

people find sin in loving more than one person…
there is the two headed monster called jealousy and fear

i try to ignore this terrible monster
because it is not love

life is very amazing
and quite strange

ego and others
me and we
money and greed



What to call my self

daisies at springbrook . nmd

How do you think about yourself? I am a person, in accordance with other people, out of my own personality, and from things that I find to be interesting. Quite late in life, fairly lately that is, I found that I don’t necessarily have any control over what people think of me, no matter what I do. Just imagine. But mostly there are very few that even think of me at all.

I am thinking that people need to label and sort to be able to communicate. But labels can be a general thing. And labels are as different as each perspective.


i pick it up
look at it
check for the message
write thoughts
there is music
and books to hear
write thoughts
i could look
at this all
of my life
it is my life line
with no line
an invisible connection
my fingers touch
the glass
it lights up
my light my companion
i look at it
everything else
a blur

the gift

The gift of enough

in the hill country of texas

a place of God’s people

but only a few were


my room mate

going through divorce

used most of the

space in the room

her belongings

strategically thrown


and in

our own sweet

and miserable

sadness we were


i felt


and alone

there, as well as

at home

i came

to do art

for… something

there i was

in the art studio

at night

the lights went out

i knew

i had to walk through the

stunted growth of trees

in the dark

i remember

the candles

i saw that day

in the next building

in the now darkened

and colourless center

why did i

look in that drawer

earlier that day

i don’t remember

but i remembered the matches

i made my way there

the door unlocked

i lit a candle

held it up

above my head

to see


to take a step

maybe two


it….. was

a frighteningly




in the woods

a whisper

to my heart

when i was listening

it saw me through

and i suppose

i want to believe

to have hope

within everything

in moments of our time…