With my hands

I hold your future.

On my face

you read the truth.

My voice

billows down

the echoing hall,

and yet I

whisper all

day long.

One second

I cast fear

into your

very soul.

The next second

peace & relief

into your

anxious heart.

You look

to me

for telling

hour relationship-

s.O, what


have I?

Much over

you, yet

none at


I only

tell the






Waste is a complex


understood as a verb,

an adjective, and

a noun.

Wasting wasted waste

is not impossible.

To waste is to



and dismiss.

A wasted day

is a day lost forever.

A waste is seen

as useless

and is



Waste most times is

wasted instead of

refurbished or

repurposed to utilize

its full potential.

One man’s waste

is another man’s


To one man, waste

is a frowned upon noun.

To another man a

disturbing verb.











people are never a waste.

Dandelions and Freckles

Dandelions are like freckles,

Scattered and dotted and clean,

Spots against pale softness,

Blooms golden against the green.

Some do not like their freckles

Others their bright yellow weeds.

Where did this notion come from?

Tell me who planted those seeds?

What flower can sprout any season?

What face is not unique?

I am willing to hear your reason

Though your argument may be weak.

What boring grass yard looks worse

When spread with bright yellow lace?

As salt enhances a meal

So freckles adorn a face.

To me both are sacred,

The speckles and petals alike.

So why not embrace those freckles?

Dandelions, what’s not to like?


Loss and a Cat Named Frisky

Last night, April 9th 2015

How do I write to comprehend what is happening to my cat? I have work to do, but I can’t leave her alone.

I’m as trapped as she is. We’ve known for a year there’s something wrong with that thyroid and little heart.

I keep glancing to make sure the fur is rising and falling with breath.

I’ve brought her water, but she won’t drink out of pride – or something less noble.

I rub behind her ear the way she likes, and she purrs, squeezing her eyes and almost smiling. Then she flicks her ear, typical cat.

She’s curled up on the floor, but not all the way like normal.

I’ve heard cats like to hide alone when they know they are going to die. So I’m not leaving. I can’t even read these words or breathe through my nose, but I’m not leaving her alone.

Dad’s asleep. Mom’s at work.

A big thunder clap made her eyes flair open. But she’s safe from outside – but I can’t save her from her inside.

I’ve had blasted awful thoughts about her big bag of food, kittens, vets, needles, fur, and a hole in the ground out back.

Then I kick myself because she’s right here with her paw tucked beside her chin & her tail is curled up.

I stroke the head again, & she turns her head, opening her paw like she does when she flips on her back to curve in a big arch

– but she stops –

wide eyed. She can’t do it.

— Friday, April 10th 2015

I remember how she used to chase me on the stairs. A sneak attack of needles in my legs.

She’d chase me through the house in a one-sided game of tag.

Every year we’d take a picture of her laying on my school work.

An annual tradition – that I will miss.

The liver. It did it.

And that blasted needle too.

While on the phone I gripped the metal can rack at work.

I’ve had a year to “prepare”.

You just can’t do that. I don’t care who tells you so.

I numbed over. Taking orders for hot dogs and scoops of frozen custard.

With a smile and a hello, I had to respond, “ok” when asked, “Hi, how are you?”

But not really “ok”.

I’m just going through the motions; $3.50 is your change.

Have a nice day,

And no, I can’t really have one too now.

The “feels” arise

When I see her clumps of hair stuck to the carpet.

That old melted bead thing

I made in 6th grade

Of her. Black and white, spotted,

With green eyes and a white tip on her tail.

I told her good-bye before work

But I thought it was, “See you later”.

But that’s how life

and death


How do you say good-bye

To someone who’s been in the family

For 14 years?

She was the smartest of the kittens,

the prettiest cat


Stanislavski and Wonderology

I am currently reading “An Actor Prepares” by Constantin (or Konstantin) Stanislavski for a college paper. On page 87, I came across a passage that illustrates the essence of Wonderology beautifully:

“How can we teach unobservant people to notice what nature and life are trying to show them? First of all they must be taught to look at, to listen to, and to hear what is beautiful. Such habits elevate their minds and arouse feelings which will leave deep traces in their emotion memories.

Nothing in life is more beautiful than nature, and it should be the object of constant observation. To begin with, take a little flower, or a petal from it, or a spider web, or a design made by frost on the window pane. Try to express in words what it is in these things that gives pleasure. Such an effort causes you to observe the object more closely, more effectively, in order to appreciate it and define its qualities.

And do not shun the darker side of nature. Look for it in marshes, in the slime of the sea, amid plagues of insects, and remember that hidden behind these phenomena there is beauty, just as in loveliness there is unloveliness. What is truly beautiful had nothing to fear from disfigurement. Indeed, disfigurement often emphasizes and sets off beauty in higher relief.” ~ Stanislavski

Stanislavski, Constantin. An Actor Prepares. New York: Theatre Arts, 1948. Print.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

His bones cracked

His skin ripped

His screams curdled

Blood. For me.

He cried for me.

He died for me

The pride of me.

Lies. Eyes. Mouth. Hands. Mind. Words. Lust. Hate. Jealousy. Judgement. Gluttony. Procrastination. Abuse. Abortion. Pouting. Whining. Taunting. Joking. Craving. Hoarding. Seething. Yelling. Sneering. Kicking. Screaming. Sniffing proud-nose-in-air. Adultery. Disobedience. Greed. Idolatry. Narcissism. Blasphemy. Laziness. Murder. Dishonor. Fornication. Pornography. Pride.

He took the pain

for my free reign.

I am bound

No more, why

Do I hang

On to what I

Should not.

My eyes, blind,

Can see right

Through myself

With a glass

From Him. The

Wine. The Bread.

Thorns stuck

Inside His head

Beaten in with

A stick. The

Sickness of sin

Turned Him in,

But did not read

Between the lines.

He wrote my story

With His glory

Intertwined with Mine.

I may thank Him before eating

My hamburger with cheese.

I’m a good person

“Thank you” & “Please.”

I never do cuss…

Out loud – but in my head.

I talk about Him…

Profaning His name.

I know I’m loved

So why not splurge?

Because with His

Blood the world purged.

Globular scarlet

Staining the ground,

Drowned out the

Sound of laughter from

Your lame pun.

His gravelly throat

Screamed, clouds covered

The sun. Blood, sweat, tears

All mingled in one.

Sweat through eyes

Blood through scalp

Tears through wounds.

Skin carved away

With 9 tails to

Roast on the spit

Of a Cross.

He wouldn’t stay

Up by Himself so they

Tacked Him up

Pinned Him down.

His palms splintered

With the wood.

They didn’t bother

To sharpen the nails,

Just tried to decide

Which end would

Drive faster through

Flesh into wood?

He thought of my


Your puns.

Her mouth.

He pondered them all.

“Forgive them,


They know not what

they do.”

He took the blame

Pain, blood, nails

Tails – 9 whips

With shattered shards

Of glass woven into

His back.

He died. Of pride.

Not His, but Mine.

I killed Him, but

He’s not dead.

He went through Hell

For us to tell

The rest of the story.

He didn’t stay away

Just for three days

Then He rose with

The sun. The Son.

He died for me,

Cried for me. The pride of

Me. Now lives.

How can I not give

What He asks of me?