The Chosen Ones

Some grow near us,
Sprouting from the same tree,
Spending their lives twisting and twining in the same garden.

Others blow in from far away,
Tossed about and pushed along
By the unpredictable winds of circumstance.

But once those foreign roots
Find the soil of a kindred heart,
They take hold, dig in, thrive
Like they’ve found the place they were always meant to grow.

Hurricane Oscar

Storm’s a-brewin’
It’s comin’ this way

Ominous clouds
In the sky today.

Waves are a-crashin’
Briny and thick

Wind’s picking up
So evacuate quick!

It’s about to get ugly!
Take heed! You’ve been warned!

He’s headed this way!
He’s clearly been scorned!

Stay out of his path
‘Til the thrashing subsides

It won’t be long now
‘Til he’s spent and decides

Everything’s fine.
Wanna shoot some hoops???

Birthday Haiku for Papa Jer

And because of you,
Everything is possible.
Chris. These boys. This life.

Moms Don’t Take Sick Days

When a mom’s feeling sick
Fighting the ick
Everyone still needs to eat!

After cookies are tossed,
Clothes still need to be washed.
So, soldier up! Back on your feet!

As you shake off that sneeze…
Grab the sports gear and keys…
And deliver your kid to the game…

Take heart in knowing
As you make your brave showing
There’s another mom doing the same.

What I Hate Most

In the morning, you took cupcakes to school
Topped with pics of your lovely face
Smiling, holding up fingers
Of how old you are now.

In the afternoon soiled on the ground
Discarded by the parking lot
A picture of your lovely face
Smiling, holding up fingers
Of how old you are now
With scribbled devil horns and mustache.

I hid that pic inside my pocket
Next to my sinking heart
And wept a little knowing
The truth of being a human kid.

I remembered the girl
Inside of me
Who was called “Two Ton Titanic Tall Titties”
For being too tall and developed
For 4th grade.

I remembered the girl
With the beautiful name
That seemed foreign and funny
To my hillbilly ears

That name that I mocked aloud with my hillbilly friend
Until I could see in the blazing eyes on her sad face
That she was NOT out of ear shot.
She heard. She knew.

No apology could make her forget
That I was as ugly as everyone else.

What I hate most is knowing
That you will experience and perpetuate ugliness.

Will get punched and punch back.
Your hearts will be broken.
You will feel unwanted and disliked.
And you will feel the heat and shame
Of being mean, being wrong.

No attempt to wrap you in cotton and kisses
Will protect you from your own humanity.


Exhibit A (the first in many such exhibits): The laundry that was barely finished and haphazardly hung and closed inside our laundry closet just moments before we were expecting company…

Everything’s done
But nothing’s done well.

I’m hearing, “It’s FINE!”
But inside I can tell.

My usual crispness
Is going to hell.

Everything’s done
But nothing’s done well.

Little Florist

Little Florist:
How did you know
That every flower in this bouquet is my favorite,
That everything touched by your perfect fingers is magical,
That THIS is what I needed today,
That YOU are the most extraordinary centerpiece
And the mere sight of you makes me want to weep with joy?

Like You

No one tells a tale like you
Creates art like you
Tells a joke like you

No one does a dance like you
Plays a lick like you
Sings a song like you




No one is a man like you
Is a dad like you
Picks a wife like you


And I’m glad that you picked me.

Unfinished Dollhouse

My childhood was
An unfinished dollhouse
A beautifully-appointed almost dream house
With never finished staircase to the top floor…

A life-sized doll
With permanent golden pigtails
Which were oddly glued and would never quite behave…

A red-headed, blue eye-shadowed Barbie
That never felt quite as good
As her more expensive, prettier counterparts.


I wish you were a record
That I could play again and again.
A happy tune to whistle
When my soul is wearing thin.
I wish you were a sweater
That I could wear when I am cold,
Softness wrapped around me
When I’m feeling weak and old.
I wish I were a pillow
Billowy on your beds,
A place for you to rest and dream
To lay your perfect heads.