i pray,
Father, forgive me for my sins.
i pray,
Father, thank you for these blessings.
i pray,
Father, let me be my best self today.
i pray,
Father, please protect the ones i love.
i pray,
Father, guide us through these times.
i pray,
Father, my words are inadequate.
i pray,
Father, my tears will say what i cannot.
i pray,
Father, I ask these things in the name of Jesus Christ, your son.
amen.
My Monday has been a most unproductive day. Laundry has gone undone, dishes have been ignored. Heck, I haven’t even showered yet! I blame it all on the British Open. Normally it would have been over and done with yesterday, but rain delays messed with the schedule.
The final groups should be finishing their rounds soon, so I might be able to at least shower and make the bed before Studly Doright gets home from work this afternoon. Except, the leaders’ scores are tight and there is a very real danger of a playoff!
Thank goodness Studly is a golfer and won’t think ill of me for watching the Open all day. In fact, he’ll probably high five me.
Walking St. Andrews
on golf’s
most hallowed ground
men strive for the
claret jug
battling nature’s
elements
and unimaginable
pressures.
accompanied by
ghosts of
Bobby Jones and
Tom Morris,
wide-eyed
amateurs and
stone cold
professionals
stride historic
fairways on their
way to cross
Swilcan Burn Bridge
at St. Andrews
hoping finally
to lift
the jug
joining the most
elite of
fraternities.
Shine!
Speak up!
Don’t let your
Light go
Unnoticed.
There will be
Those who try
To take away your
Essence;
Those who cannot
See your worth.
Ignore them.
Listen to that
Voice, that
Incredible voice
Telling you,
Girl, you are
Incredible!
you were not included
in my grandparents
outdated Encyclopedia
Britannica and I
left you off my
solar system mobile.
my teacher deducted
twenty points and
embarrassed me in
front of the class.
see, karma does rule
our universe.
i want those twenty
points back now.
an apology would
be nice, too.
bikini
clad body
lounging
by the
pool.
it’s
one o four
in the shade
even the bees
are quiet.
humidity
smothers
activity
summer garden
wilting blooms
trickling sweat
puddles.
lazy
heated
days
of
s
u
m
m
e
r
in florida, weeds
exceed all expectations
pulling them becomes
counter productive
for every one i extract
two more seem to emerge
a green hydra battling
for survival when all
i want is a bouquet.
oh hercules where are
you these days?
Peace, people!
He smiled
I ducked my head.
he spoke
i can’t remember
what he said.
it was probably
just hello or
maybe a simple hi.
whatever it was
opened up a whole
new world in the
blink of an eye.
love starts that way,
you know
when you least
expect it.
it’s real all the
same and sometimes
lasts forever.
on rotary dial phones
zeroes caused existential angst
why, oh why did it take so long
to call a favored friend?
our own first number as a
married pair, 935-5000, swell,
we were stuck in zero hell.
remember party lines? so romantic did they seem,
and lettered exchange names: YUkon-9, PEnnsylvania-7, BUtterfield-8
before area codes took their place.
sentimentality aside, one fact stands alone:
no motorists died whilst talking on
a rotary telephone.
she sees the flag of the south as a symbol of her heritage;
i see it as a symbol of racism and slavery.
she sees freedom of religion as a Christian ideal;
i see it as freedom for everyone, excepting none.
she sees life in blacks and whites;
i see it in colors of the rainbow.
we are friends, but occasionally our words grow heated, our beliefs clash.
i despise conflict, but i refuse to run from it.
Peace, people.
round, sweet
pink, firmly soft
easy on the eyes
heaven on the lips
let me fill myself with
your summer scent
with all the beauty
you possess.
Peach, people!
Praying for Eyebrowz 