Mound View Cemetery – my happy place

Mound View Cemetery

Long have I walked among the stones

They taught me how to read

I rode my bike along the roads

With Daddy guiding me


He took me up to “Dirt Bomb Hill”

We played with clods of soil

He led us to the old oak tree

Where squirrels often toil


Some days rounding the last bend

Un-pocket chosen stones

Racing, kicking them along

While beneath lay silent bones


The yard was always peace to me

Until sweet Caroline

Baptized in holy water

Drank communion wine



A Not-So-Stuffy Christmas Song

Is it just me, or do some Christmas songs just feel stuffy? We’ve heard them all our lives droned on by robed choruses with droll expressions. The words become stale in our mouths and don’t have the same punch (rum or otherwise.)

There are the fun ones of course, but they are usually about snow or Santa and not actually birthday songs. If you think about it, that’s what Christmas carols are really.

A few days ago, I went to this big Christmas shindig where we listened to carols and sang along to a few. The one that sticks in my mind is one I considered to be stuffy. The tune sounds natural with an organ (which there’s nothing wrong with organs, and sometimes it’s just the right thing, but it can also feel a bit stuffy if you know what I mean.)

The song is “O Come all Ye Faithful.”

The title’s even got a “Ye.”

Looking at the words, however, I came to the conclusion that this birthday song is one of celebration, excitement, and hype! Words like triumphant, exaltation, and adore jump out and say exactly what they mean.

Triumphant: having won the battle!

Exaltation: a feeling of elation or jubilation (e.i. SUPER HAPPY!)

Adore: to love and respect someone deeply.

This is a song to be sung with a big, sappy smile at the top of our lungs with arms outstretched! It’s a victory cheer. A birthday song.

Sometimes I like to rearrange old, familiar words to make them new and alive again in my imagination. When I do this to songs, they usually don’t rhyme anymore or go to a tune, but I see the original more vibrantly for it.

What follows is my ode to the birthday song “O Come All Ye Faithful.”


Faithful ones

We who are joyful

In our triumph!

Come to the place

Of our new king.

He is the monarch of the angels

They adore Him.

We will too.

Oh, sing, Angels

In exultation

Of the glory we now see.

Show that you adore Him.

We will sing with you.

Good morning, Jesus

We have long awaited

Your coming, dear king.

Happy vivacious woman celebrating the snow

I Found A Poem

In the recesses of my documents saved on my laptop, I discovered this bit of writing. It doesn’t have a title, but if it did, it just might be called “Sorrow.”
I’m not sharing this poem now because I am feeling particularly sorrowful, I just thought it actually sounded kind of nice.

It’s not every day you come across old writing that’s not horrible!

Well, maybe my poetry class next semester will be the true judge of that….



Time doesn’t heal

Open wounds

Scaled over

By scars


To the touch

Of words



From the pain


The brain




To feel again


Though empty

Full of memory

Of times


Glistening eyes

No amount

Of silence

Can disguise


We exist on


Of past time

Of how we

Pass time

We carry on


For our journey


We will never

Be the same

You and I

We will never

Cease to cry


But smile

Teary eyed

At the ones

We have left

To love


(Photo by my wonderful brother Ben Haws)

Fall Semester Philosophy

Questions, questions, tell me why

Every day I see the sky.

Sometimes pink, most times blue,

But she won’t tell me what to do.

Rain, rain, never far,

Tell me of the sun, my star.

Does he know the hour when

I won’t be seeing him again?

Flower, flower, while you’re here

Sing to me a song I’ll hear

Through the night while I don’t sleep

Flower, tell me, will you speak?

Mirror, mirror, in the night

Who am I without the light?

When darkness creeps hard and cold

Tell me, will my soul grow old?



Did I say that?

Some things you just don’t expect will ever come out of your mouth.

Like someone else’s hair, bitter ocean water, or a clump of grass, but mostly we don’t expect certain combinations of words to come out.

“Don’t pour milk on your head.”

“Stop licking the table.”

“We don’t play ‘bathroom’ outside.”

“We don’t eat books at nap time or ever.”

“Everybody has arm hair.”

“Did you color this other kid’s arm?”

“Stop clogging the sink with paper towels to make it overflow into the floor.”

This, of course, is not an exhaustive list. I’m sure other strange things have issued from my mouth that I have since forgotten.

What inspired all theses words?

One word:


I love them all dearly, and I can’t believe it’s been six months now that I have worked as a preschool teacher. Every day is a roller coaster of adventure full of tears, screams, hugs, and giggles. Often I come home exhausted, but I always come home with stories.

I leave you with one last word:


Snow Day

Sugar sifting through the sky

Meets the earth and turns to lye.

As it speeds without a sound

Icing coats the cold, hard ground.

Cherry noses press the glass

Crossing fingers for “no class.”

Dusty blue shadows of trees

Sway in the minty breeze.

The moment that the word is out,

Finger crossers jump and shout.

On 3 socks, 2 shirts, 1 hat,

coat, and boots from the door side mat.

Go fetch the plastic sled to play.

There’s something magical the 1st snow day.

Safe to Shore

In the writer’s group I’m connected with, I just wrote a fun little short story for a challenge.

The challenge was to play a random song from your music and write a short story inspired by it.

I just finished mine.

I present to you my short short story inspired by Rend Collective’s song “My Lighthouse”. (To listen to the song, click here.)

     In the darkness my head beats against an angled crag. Suffocating saltwater plunges into my open mouth burning and biting. I cling to the rock with cut hands coughing my lungs out. A wave beats me again scraping my nose against the rock.

I hear someone scream off to my left. My own voice is too drowned for noise.

My food is gone.

My violin is gone.

My life is gone.

I hardly fight for air. Why bother?

The water lifts me in a wave only to send me tumbling against another rock.

Someone is crying – wailing.

I float on my back, tempted to close my eyes to the inviting darkness. My watery eyes blink.

A golden light beams from somewhere.

People shout. Something about a lighthouse. Something about safety.

Water covers my head. The light quivers before my open eyes, but it grows brighter.

I smile, feeling one with the water.

     If this is how I end, then let it be.

I close my eyes.

Something forces my head above the water. Next my shoulders are held up. Firm hands pound my stomach. I erupt with water coughing and gasping. The air stings my rasping throat. Water still swirls around my waist, but someone holds me up.

Someone warm.

I keep my eyes closed. The light is so strong now, so close – I can smell it.

“There now,” a deep voice beside me says. “I will carry you safe to shore.”

The firm arms wrap around me and hold me close. The troubled sea beats against him, but I can hear a faint melody in the distance.


Violin music.

Warmth swells in my heart. My hair begins to feel dry.

The music outplays the waves now, and I hear people dancing.

“Here we are,” he says leaning down and dropping my legs.

I don’t want him to leave me. I don’t want him to let go.

I don’t even know what he looks like. His warm hands take mine.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispers. Then he twirls me around.

We dance in time with the music with wet sand under our feet. As the last note plays and the people clap, he leans down and whispers in my ear,

“Trust this promise: I will carry you safe to shore.”