Wildest Dreams

I wrote this in response to a prompt from a Facebook friend. It occurred to me that the wildest dreams from my younger days–marrying a Beatle, performing at Carnegie Hall doing God knows what, traveling to exotic places–no longer were on my dream radar.

Wildest Dreams

Sailing ‘cross oceans
Weathering storms
Standing ovations
Those were the norms
Dreams I once had
Some fulfilled
Some forgotten
Far better for certain
Than some that were not.

Wildest dreams of my
Younger self somehow
Don’t jibe
With the dreams I have now
To more than survive
To thrive and discover the
Person within under the
Protective covers of those
Who love me.


Tarzan and the TV Evangelist


Around the time I was four my family lived in Lubbock, Texas, in a two-bedroom rental house with wood floors. I remember the floors clearly because I spent a lot of time planted on my butt in front of the television set on Sunday mornings watching a) Tarzan, b) televangelists, or c) both of the above.

To say my choices in TV viewing were limited is an understatement. We only had access to three stations at the time and two of the three featured oily preachers eager to snatch pennies from a gullible preschooler’s piggy bank. I remember begging my mom to allow me to send all of my money to these showmen who seemingly worked miracles of Biblical proportions, and who would gladly work more if they just had more funding. My mom was nobody’s fool, though, and she gave me a lesson in ‘con men for Christ,’ one I’ve never forgotten: the slicker the hair, the sicker the con.


The other available station ran a Tarzan movie every Sunday morning. I loved Tarzan, Cheetah, and Jane (in that order). I could emulate the ape man’s famous yell even better than Carol Burnett in her prime. For much of my childhood my pretend play revolved around living in a treehouse high up within the canopy of the African jungle with a chimpanzee while avoiding evil hunters and rallying the wildlife to save the day, always just in the nick of time. Like Tarzan I could communicate with elephants and lions and wrestle crocodiles and snakes. I was pretty amazing for a four year old.


While Mom and Dad had the opportunity to sleep in on Sunday I rabidly flipped between Oral Roberts and Tarzan, alternately observing faked miracles and faked animal footage. Thank goodness I never got Tarzan and Oral Roberts mixed up! Of course Mom probably would have let me send money to Tarzan, and Reverend Roberts might have been quite compelling in a loincloth.

Peace, People!

Year 2: Day 100 – Something Stronger Than Love

Charlotte Cuevas

I have my teeth in this idea
that there is something stronger than love
but I don’t know what to call it
just yet.

It’s this kindredness that doesn’t need love,
doesn’t worry about the trappings of this world-
no breathless romance, no hand-holding highs,
no jealous fevers-
it’s a thing that is strong for being not love,
but which stands outside of love
and watches with a smile.

For it is not threatened by the work of the heart;
I think it’s a work of the mind,
but I’m not sure.

Because it’s not something you can think
into existence,
you sort of find it but never try to catch it,
it neither blooms nor fades with time
nor ever changes
but stands resolute in what it knows.

And it knows that love does not conquer all.
It knows that love is wonderful
but cannot erase the yearnings

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I have this
Weapon in my
A .22 caliber
Walther pistol,
Black, sleek,
Potentially deadly, an
Unexpected gift
Given by someone
Who loves me, but
Does not always
Know me.
In the middle of the
Night after
Opening this gift
I woke up in a
Cold sweat;
Shivering from the
Weight of

Now, I cannot bring
Myself to
Hold, or
Load, or
Fire, or even
Look at the
Damned thing.
It takes up
Space in my
Space that would be
Better served by
Books and
Poetry about
Peace, and
Love, and
Dragons, and
Rock and roll.



Sometimes up is down
All depends on where one’s bound
Adventure awaits

I seldom attempt haiku, but there was a challenge circulating on WordPress, and I can never pass up a good challenge. Funny thing is, I’m not exactly sure what the rules of the challenge were. It had something to do with the picture of the escalator and a haiku. I think. Is there a prize???

The double feature

Thought provoking post from a blogger I follow–notesfromanarcissist.wordpress.com

A Narcissist Writes Letters, To Himself

Mission accomplished

The main difference
between predator drones
and commercial airplanes
is the number of people involved in the flight,
and how those people react
when they hear the cries and screams
of little foreign babies.


True story

My grandmother does things her own way.
She doesn’t pull weeds, or use weed killer
instead, she lays spare lumber on top of them
until they wither and die.
It’s eco friendly,
it’s not labor intensive
& at the end of the day, no one wants to question
a ninety year old Chinese woman who
this morning
smothered some dandelions with a door.

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A Visit with the Truth Fairy

The Truth Fairy flew through
My window last night
Flittered around and
Fumbled beneath my pillow.
Startled, I awakened and
“Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t mind me,
I’m the Truth Fairy,”
The intruder said.
“I’m searching for
Veracity. So far
I am unable to find
Even a trace within the
Confines of your abode.”

“I’ve found exaggerated
Prose, and pious poetry,
Inelegant phraseology, and
Insipid verse, but
Very little in the way of
He continued.

“Oh,” I replied.
“In that case,
Perhaps you are
Looking in all the wrong
The truth is Boring,
Veracity is dull and you are
Wasting your time.