One Thing Leads to Another

The poetry chapbook is available.  The novel is in the proof, critique, and edit stage.  Things are starting to come together!

Amazon.com link

Clouded

Stephen's rock-shaped clouds
inhale and exhale
hurl across blue skies
as breezes panic
set off
constricting condensation
flesh deflation
saintly metamorphosis into shallow hills

Snake-like floatations
pronounce life
as celestial cemeteries
where restless limbs
and bones
tremble with every gust
until gravestones transform
one by one
a heart
a kidney
a lung
escorted past heaven's gate
readying to voice
wisdom
from Jonah's
whale-shaped cloud

I am the daughter of a legend

I am the daughter of a legend,
the daughter of a man who has touched lives across a spectrum of age and miles and time— 

an uncle and brother who my relatives adore,
a coach who is still remembered and respected by many middle-aged men,
a parishioner whose church members expect to see at early Mass,
a neighbor whose block members depend on for a wave or jovial remark,
a patron whose spot is saved for his weekly ritual,
a loyal friend to those with whom he is in contact and also to those for whom he prays each day,
an entertainer for all who know his wit. 
He is a husband who has stood the test of time (58 years to be exact) with faith and devotion;
he is a father (and father-in-law) of children who have reciprocated his dedication;
he is a grandfather who is loved dearly by those who have witnessed his family leadership. 
He is a legend. 
He is blessed as well as a blessing.

Dad, I can’t explain what an honor it is to be your daughter.  God did not plan to take you just yet, and I am grateful.  I am grateful to have you around for another Father’s Day, for another Sunday, for another Day of any kind.  Throughout this ordeal I have learned so much about you, about our family, and about myself.  I have learned about selflessness and sacrifice, and what great joy those attributes can bring to ones heart.  You are facing your fears with courage and tenacity, and even a sense of humor at times.  I love you for all that you are, all that you believe, and all that you have taught me.  I love you for being a legend without ever trying.

For you, a prayer, the Memorare:
REMEMBER, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided. Inspired with this confidence, I fly to thee, O Virgin of virgins, my Mother; to thee do I come; before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
O, Blessed Mother, continue to watch over my dad and be his strength.  Help him to follow the path our Lord has intended, and help us, his family and friends, to do what we need to do in order for him to live with grace and faith. 

Amen.

Stay Strong

Stay Strong, my friend
Stay Strong

assumes that once I was
assumes that now I am
assumes I've got it in me to believe in what I stand

Stay Strong, my friend
Stay Strong

deep down I know it's true
deep down I know it's there
deep down the pearl aches for the shell
to lift, to say, "she's here"
but strength is more than heads held high
and strength is more than pride
internal and external peace
live freely, side by side
when I am strong

So, I'll listen to your words, my friend
There's strength to carry on
I'll find my way
I'll stay, my friend
I'm staying— staying strong.

Can I have your attention?

A message to my future graduates:
I’ve had your attention for a while now, but after you walk down that aisle, your attention will never again exist for me.  So, I’m taking this opportunity to grab it one last time.

You are a blessing.  If you don’t know it already, I want you to know it right here, right now.  I need you to look at me... all eyes and ears on me... you are a BLESSING.  Do you understand how much I mean that?  Truly? 

You see, during this past year, my job became a breath of fresh air while I’ve dealt with grief and disbelief, bewildered by the depths of depression experienced by mid-life crises. Above and beyond marital stresses and health issues and financial woes—problems bound to burden mid-lifers—I’ve known of four people who not only thought about suicide but succumbed to it.  What is happening?  Is it the culture?  Why such desperation where the only option is to take one's life?  Depression can run so very deep, and my heart pains for those who suffer. There are no easy answers. Only questions to an epidemic that has a ripple effect on those left behind as the mourning and reaction, the loss and sorrow, continue to fester.  I wish I had words of enlightenment, some kind of inspirational commentary.  I don't.  But I do have your attention one last time, so I need to use this moment to say something, and here it is:  you are a blessing; you make me alive; you make me smile, make my days worthwhile, and I’ll repeat it over and over again until you get it, until I've drilled it into your minds and you believe it.  YOU are a blessing. My God, what blessings you are!

I wonder where you’ll be in five years, which college or employer is being blessed with your presence.  Wherever you are, I hope you look in the mirror and see what I see today... a blessing. 
Fifteen years from now you might be settling down with a career and/or family... more people in this crazy world to embrace you as an integral person in their lives.  Those people will be blessed, and if they don’t understand that, feel free to contact me, so I can share my message with them... you are a BLESSING.
And thirty-five years from now?  Well, you’ll be middle-aged, facing challenges that might seem too overwhelming to bear.  And when you cross a bridge that’s creaking and swaying, readying itself to break and lose strength, I hope you remember my words from the last time I had your attention...

YOU ARE A BLESSING, AND I THANK GOD FOR YOU!

The Whistle

Lines—

As far as the book's editing process goes... well, it's going, but I'm determined to have the umpteenth draft in a satisfactory state before heading to the "Deep Revision" writing workshop in June.  Fingers crossed!

One optimistic point is this:  I think I might have a new title for the novel-in-progress.  LINES—
As this is Poetry Month, I worked a poem to highlight some of the lines that are addressed in the story.  (I guess this could be called a poem-in-progress!)

We’re holding still our thoughts on faith,

and biting tongues for chief estates,

denying selves of destined mates—

Will these straight lines create our fate?

Some drawn, some veiled, but all’s at stake

when those we sever make us ache,

when those we heed suppress our sake—

Which line will stir our souls awake?

Demanding truths to be exposed,

we’ll risk the cuts by men opposed—

Will we then live our passion’s prose?

Without the crossing, no one knows.

THE FRIENDLY LOUNGE

a corner counter and a stool

that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool

What they say about this place is true.
“You are a stranger here but once,” because of the interesting crew
and the patrons’ charm and chatter over a sip or two
and the music themed walls, background sounds, books to view,
and no matter the talented barista (my name they always knew)
or the decadent, local brew—
that’s all it took, really, just
a corner counter and a stool


** Thanks, Rob (and Debbie, Lee, and Dan), for one of the most productive and enjoyable summers a teacher/coffee drinker/writer could ask for!

The MADRIGAL format

-----------------------------------------------------------

RAIN DROPS

They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

The nightingale is friend and sets me free
to weather days of clouds and changing hues.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.

When morning comes, your image fades.  I wean
my thoughts and wash away your voice, renewed.
And then I am reminded by the dew.
They patter, these rain drops, on leaves still green
with summer’s breath, recalling dreams of you.
But then, again, the sun and snow do, too.

----------------------------------------------------------

SEEN

The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen.

The husband, dad, and son who had been called,
who answered with a conscience proud and clean.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green.

Crossing enemy lines, the chaos stalled.
He heard his baby cry across the sea,
the fatherless who honors land that’s free.
The dirt is dug; the box is slowly hauled
to this, his resting place where grass is green,
and though the flag will fly, his life’s unseen

to all but those who honor land that’s free.

-----------------------------------------------------------

TIME

The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

Sons grow—already five-seven, five-nine—
these teens, who kiss me still before they race.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face.

What happened to the future that was mine?
You chisel away at such a quick pace,
and as you pass, I pray I age with grace.
The pages turn to when I’m in my prime.
I sigh.  Reality is hard to face
when knowing you’re gone and can’t be replaced.

--------------------------------------------------------

LIVIA:  MY HEROINE

Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.

Your character became my shining star.
Your conflicts kept me from much needed sleep.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.

Still flawed, it's true, but I will leave you marred.
It's what we learned about ourselves, you see;
a perfect world was never guaranteed.
Together we discovered who we are.
And yet, dear friend, it's time to set you free.
I need to live beyond our history.
---------------------------------------------------------

Stars on Land

A sonnet originally written for my main characters, Livia and Will.


How bright my world could be, if in your hand
I place my own! But fear will fiercely pound,
as quickly as my heart upon the sound
of words so dear from lips I understand.

Your shimmer leads to grief as fine as sand.
And if the lights connect across the ground,
the constellation Truth will then be found.
I can not stand too close to stars on land.

Without a glow, what then will come of night?
How can I find my way through streets so dim?
If not with you beside me as I tread—
companion to my soul, my eyes for sight—
there is no sun or moon; the path is grim.
Our fingers touch; the stars inflame ahead.