Yep. Nothing like being homeless. Ask any homeless person.
What? You don’t talk to homeless people? Why not?
Because it’s too difficult a thing for you? All the fun they’re having living in tents in a parking lot in downtown Phoenix, Arizona in the summer is too much love and wonderfulness for you?
Me either. But if Laser Away doesn’t stop charging me for services I never received, I could end up there in all that glamourous fun.
I just wanted to feel better.
My best friend died. The business we had just launched was working. It wasn’t a big…
A summer like Sunday Mornings
I spent in his arms
Comfortable, at ease
No pressure to move on
Lazy days of fun and laughter
It was so easy to love him
Like a slow-moving river
and I could not wait to swim
Sun kisses on the skin
my freckles were named
But the summer has a way of ending
and so did the flame
Between us, love faded
and we went our separate ways
over the years and months and weeks, you forget
But then there are the days
A song, a scent, to bring a smile to my face
The book is available on Amazon, in ebook, paperback, and hardcover formats. I found the way the artwork ‘moves’ in my e-reader to be interesting, especially because Bingz is an ambassador of movement too. I’m mesmerized by the movement of body and silk in her Instagram videos. …
Saris and a Single Malt by Sweta Srivastava Vikram made its way to my hands in a serendipitous manner. It’s been nearly 11 years since I last spoke with this talented author about her work. When she reached out to me to share her latest story, A Piece of Peace, we had a lot to catch up on.
In A Piece of Peace, Sweta shares the experience of losing control of her health and the brush with death it took for her to look deeper into the meaning of words shared with her by a woman whose life experiences put…
Poetry is not an easy thing to edit. It feels like you’re giving an opinion about someone’s emotions. Which seems wrong in so many ways.
Poetry is emotion in letters. Each mark is a tiny piece of something larger that makes up a part of something I am not yet a part of, not until I string together those pieces and they connect with something inside of me. I get it. I feel it.
But it doesn’t mean I’m going to change it.
I had the opportunity to ‘edit’ Robin Klammer’s first offering of poems and essays,
Her words resonated…
For nearly two years my elbow hurt so much I could not put my crossed arms on a table without instigating a sharp sting radiating into my shoulder and hand, so painful my hands stayed in my lap most of the time. I couldn’t lean in on conversations, or put my arm on a desk to write or type.
Then one evening at dinner I was asked, “do you think you carry a lot of anger?”
Hand to God: In less than two seconds, I picked my arm up off the table, straightened it — something cracked — and when…
I’ve been working on a non-fiction ‘this part of my journey’ memoir. During this morning's edits, a chapter I’d written nearly a year ago struck a different chord. It went from being the middle of a sad story to what feels like the beginnings of a mystery.
I read the short chapter again. Most of my chapters are short, filled with short sentences. I like a story that moves quickly, and short paragraphs are easier, and faster, to read.
Filling Her Shoes
There are only so many people you can tell your story to, the continuous one, and…
I wonder about the words I hear
Explaining exactly what they do
Frogs sit in pots
the chaos becomes an unrecognizable coup
Words are used to distract
drop to knees and cry oh the robbery
Keep your eyes and ears over here
Please do not know your history!
God must want this too
Or we would not be here today
Making the world perfect for some
And able to look the other way
Snatched like the snakes’ spine
pulled from the meat by the vulture
Avoiding every uncomfortable Truth
Has become the culture
The frog will leave the warming water
I’ve spent the last year with my nose, and ears, in books. Lots of books. What started as a casual hobby turned into something big — a goal of reading 200 books in a year.
Next on my list: How to Argue With a Racist. What Our Genes Do (and Don’t) Say About Human Difference, by Adam Rutherford.
The Rainbow Bridge is going to be busy
It wasn’t planned this way. It’s just the way it worked out.
Twenty-one years ago the horses came into my life. One by one, they found their way to the little clan being created. Three of them, each with a purpose and many lessons to teach.
One passed a while ago. His death was sudden and unexpected and left a huge hole in my heart.
The other two have carried on, in my mind, if but for nothing else, to make sure I was going to be okay before they said…