yo is a saint, bro!

in latin formality, the roman

catholic church names saints:

Augustine, Teresa, Peter, Francis,

but we protest(ants) read our

Bible as saying we’re all saints

(all who believe, anyway) yeah,

you…you…you, and me, too!

thattsa holy whole lotta sainthood

sooo y’all (all of us livin’ in da ‘hood,

that is), let’s live…gotta live alive!

live in the light of the knowledge

that we, yes, WE (you and me)

reflect the very Glory of God which

we see in dear face of Jesus Christ!!

and remember now, it’s HIS glory

(not our own) so live humble-like

‘cuz we’re just jars of clay holdin’

the most precious treasure, the

Holy Spirit…jars fired in his kiln

and offerin’ his light to dark world,

go on now, bro, let the light SHINE!!


Inspiration from sermon by Pastor Tim Ouwinga (entitled “Called to Be Saints: Humility) and 2 Corinthians 4: 6 & 7and my bro, Dale.

tattoo lady

she’s mystery, an enigma
embodies fox or cougar
pretty in her day, now age
obviously wears wrinkles

bleach blonde, made-up
tattoo on forearm of her
butterfly babies flown,
ladybug kids now grown

husband dead and gone,
she’s borne a lonely grief
so empathizes with much-
younger divorced prodigal

encounter after club hours
exchange glances, numbers
packs her sequined t-shirts
touring country in his truck

little shoes

Reminders of precious little boys

following Daddy’s footsteps

tracking through the house

leaving loveprints all over my heart.


Joining in the fun at dVerse Poets where Lillian invites us to include flavors of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in a poem…that’s NOT about ice cream 😉

Ever cool, Britannia shmoozes,
“hey, Sugar Plum, how about we go out
for some Miz Jelena’s sweet potato pie?”

“That dastardly mash for a late night snack?!”
She pauses, “but I could go for a cuppa coffee.”

“Coffee? Buzz, buzz, buzz”, he teases; (head
will feel like an urban jumble, he thinks). “Well,
change is brewing, take my arm and let’s go.”

Looking at the time, she mutters,
“Can’t believe you talk me into this
half-baked scheme at such an hour.
This is nuts!”

He pats her hand, winks and grins,
“Maybe we’ll order urban bourbon instead.
Goodbye, yellow brick road and hello Miz Jelena’s!”

how paint chips fall

Try paint chip poetry with Linda Kruschke!


i’ll no longer think the

grass is always greener

as my life will be verdant

under cumulonimbus skies

after watering the zinnias,

i will take a drive to the

local spice market to taste

a wild huckleberry sorbet

later, i‘ll read and write by

candlelight before retiring

to antique brass bed and

sleep late, when i am old


Screen Shot 2022-07-03 at 2.47.17 PM

coming out with pride

i may be confused and often uncertain
but i know i’m a BSW binary “she” woman

feel threat of whine lobby with sheer power to steer
education and culture in indoctrination queer

to flaunt “rainbow lifestyle” and banish cake bakers,
to finish off florists and expose photo takers

demand access to children to drag recruits in
destroy any churches who dare mention “sin”

i remember how, with hopes for a child,
man and woman vowed life in promises wild!

when we agreed to disagree, honest speech was still free
at birth accepted biology, sex seemed self-explanatory

people think we’re more intelligent today
let’s “follow the science” they say…yeah, okay

let real girls compete in “girls’ athletics” fairly;
and ovaried females win “Woman of Year” squarely

DSM once viewed gender disphoria as problem
maybe surgical mutilation not best way to solve ‘em

if “woke” business platforms would be truly inclusive
they’d tolerate all values, not be diversely abusive

double-X-chromosomed, i’ve got my pride too
so don’t bully grandmas who talk straight with you!

Pride is the mask of our sins. ~ Palestinian proverb


i’ve been working on this poem for awhile…seemed appropriate for “pride” month!


were you?

you both WERE in love…then

made vows before (witless) witnesses to

foot washing with ice water (frozen heart…hidden feat)

no one spoke against your onion

(later revealing layers of stink)

i was happy for you, me, all of us as our family grew by one – won!

first daughter-in-love, my friend;  later by three (really grand) babies

but marriage (on a lease)


i can’t make sense of… how? why? mutually exclusive/abusive truth?

untreated mental illness maybe, but who of us isn’t crazy?

too much loose talk creates looney ‘toons (LIVE!)

money-hungry maven (& lawyers) leave husband homeless

he’d rather be trucking anyway

any day divorce. will. be.


broken homes – bleeding hearts = shared misery

we all fail each other excruciatingly (like torn parachutes)

relationships nullified or replaced

you rejected him…

and me.


Linking to dVerse where Bjorn challenges us to meet the bar with dissonance…i get the theme if not the form.

daisy, amaze me

weave a daisy chain

no matter how petals fall

i know He loves me

Image and inspiration by Dee Min

II. imbalance of power

“Many stories which are not on paper are written in the bodies and minds of women.“ – Amrita Pritam

in our weakness we find strength

to be a woman is to weep
love hurts because our hearts love deep
and for love’s sake, women lose sleep

to love and nurture is part of our nature

monthly cycle of cramps and blood
hormonal emotions of changing mood
endometriosis, cervical or breast cancer too

even childbearing brings tears of joy and grief

belly stretch marks, skin tags and bags
age and gravity means beauty sags
hot flash sweats feel like dishrag

have women not bourn and mourned enough?

must we also suffer the shame of porn,
abuse, rape, abortion, sexual scorn,
abandoned by lovers in the morn?

godly women clothe themselves in dignity and honor


Linking to dVerse Poets where Punam introduces us to poetry of Amrita Pritam.

I. balance of powers

“I am my beloved’s and he is mine…he browses among the lilies.” – Song of Songs

like graceful gazelle, newlywed
lover grazes among the lilies that
bloom from his beloved’s garden:
raven hair, sun-ripened skin, full lips;
he browses the delicacies of twinned
breasts, curving hips, generous thighs;
she sighs…as her lover’s tender touch
grows evermore insistent and intense…


A quadrille of 44 words on theme of “browse” at dVerse Poets

10th anniversary on WP

I began blogging on WordPress in 2012!

Thank you, WordPressnow may we go back to Classic?!

red, white, and blue tears

america bleeds while dying
when emphasize issues of race
hate’s evil violence makes its case

all patriot hearts are sighing
where has our love of country gone?
can’t we together build safe home?

people with power caught lying
and president without a spine
tempts dictators to cross the line

foolish to send taxes flying
inflate the price of groceries, gas
baby formula may not last

while vulnerable still crying
abortions mean workers are few
and immigrants need gateway through

america bleeds while dying
all patriot hearts are sighing
people with power caught lying
foolish to send taxes flying
while vulnerable still crying


A constanza is two poems in one. The final stanza is the original poem expanded into 5 three-line stanzas in iambic tetrameter (8 syllables, 4 feet).  Rhyme scheme: a/b/b a/c/c, and so on. Thanks to Bjorn at dVerse Poets for an interesting challenge.

I don’t want to get into political arguments but my heart breaks for my country!

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