These are the days of extravagance
Want and wanting, desire and desiring
Dim in a rearview mirror, malfunctioning
Objects of desire may appear smaller than they once were
Plenty erupts into abundance
Do not misread the meaning
(Grab and consult Webster if you must, Google it)

For I have looked the giver in her eyes
And touched her coal black skin, said no
And thank you a million times
Refused the gift to a fault
Desire to give out of what she had, burned between our hands
And history rewrote itself

The force with which she gave was mighty
And I was weakened by her might
Turnips and sweet potatoes, an olive branch
Apples for the pie ( she told me to bake)
My no’s were extravagant
Her yeses like steel

Church on the sidewalk
History in the remaking
A sliver of time which doesn’t make sense
Extravagant generosity of a stranger
Left me forever changed

She wore frailty as a badge of her living
My life of never-needing, never-wanting
Rose up like a geyser of guilt
Oh how rich the gift of a giver who has little

Blessed are the poor
Extravagance is a turnip the size of her heart

I walk with a limp, burdened by a heavy load
Shame of a hoarder
Heavy-ladened by the richness of
The gift
In search of the needy
Schooled on the side of the road by the one who
She the Samaritan
I, the ditch dweller

Apples woven, again
Into a story of love

Laughter, The Joy of Giddy

Today is Day 6 in the Series, Postcards From Me (#write31days).


To catch up and read the series in its entirety click here or go to the link at the top of my homepage. Welcome. You bring Joy. This challenge and journey are better with sojourners along for the ride.


laughing sister

My poetry asked for a three day weekend. I said since you work so hard…. you deserve it. Take a little vacay. Just please come back tomorrow. Because I am doing this series and you are a big part of it. Don’t leave me hanging. Don’t abandon a girl in her time of need. So that leaves me with prose. Prose today again. Tomorrow poetry. Or a hybrid blend. I love surprises and hope you do too. Come back tomorrow, won’t you and journey through this October series with me.

Subscribe & walk through the entire 31 day series. Just like laughter, it is free. And follow along on Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, Google plus and Facebook. The cruise director in the right sidebar should direct you where to go.


I am beginning to think that if I have one small regret, it would be I should have laughed more. So I am making up for lost laughter. And the timing is good. Very good. Because I do not know how we would wage these little mini battles with Dementia if it were not for laughter. It is saving us. A lifesaver for our souls. A healing gift from The Creator. Lord have mercy, laughter is good for the places touched by pain.

She throws the door open and waves the bag of dog bones, thrilled at the photograph of the dog on the front. It looks like one of hers and that delights her, turns her inside out with joy. Laughing and smiling and finding joy in a micro-moment. Like the packaging of dog treats.

Joy and laughter are a balm to this family battling Dementia.

Laughter bales the water out of our sinking boat. Buoys us. Anchors us to safety. And elevates our spirits.

We sit in front of a blazing fire. Warmed by each other, the routine of a daily reading from some of our favorite writers. And the cackling wood and flame. Now is the time to start the day well. Now is the time to begin rooted in The Word and in quiet reflection.

We read the words of Anne Lamott, along with Brennan Manning, Oswald Chambers and more. But it is Anne who turns up the fire in our belly’s with hardy belly laughs. The room is turned on its head. We are overtaken by side-splitting cackles. Though laughter is contagious, repeating the phrases which sent us into an hysterical tailspin, well something may get lost in the translation. So I won’t.

But you know the ways your funny bone gets tickled. And how the slightest of nuanced phrases and simple word choices can bring levity to the dark moments. For, indeed, we were discussing some heavy topics, when laughter entered our hearts. Like sickness and pain and divorce. It is not that they are funny. No. It is that the soul balm of laughter and a playfulness in the midst of pain brought a lightness which we needed. Cried out for. Thirsted for.

May laughter and silliness, play and light- heartedness seep into your day. Soothe the hurt. And be a balm to the aches and pains of your heart.

Thank you for joining me for Day Six. You are a treasure.






Joining Laura Boggess at The Wellspring

I am enjoying Laura’s New Book, Playdates With God, available on Amazon. Every page I’ve read has touched me and left me with a sweetness. It is simply a beautiful, delightful read. I hope to do a giveaway before the end of October of the book. Stay tuned for more on this.


The Piano


The Piano

If white is joy and unbridled grace
Laid out in broken pieces

Waiting to be played

Ivories laying in a long reflective  line
Where I see my own dim
And shadowed
A sea of
Cracked and smoothly worn
Puzzle pieces
Waiting to be played
Mixed and written into
A harmonious melody
Of amazing grace

And black is pain
And cruelty

Life holds a concert
Every day
There on the stage

As I choose
Where to send my fingers
Up and down
These slippery keys
Laced with a mix of
Boldness and timidity

I muse
And whisper to myself
Self, What part I am to play?

Learning still
How to make it
Sounds from those who
Bang out  cruelty
Notes mixed with dissonance
And pain
Choosing to wreck havoc, injure
Again, again
And still again
Repetition of an unwanted verse
I hear her weary, worn out
Wracked by years of
Fill in your blanks
With her, a sister
It is amplified
Years of it
Grant this one peace
How could she possibly bear it
Any more
He beats her with his words

I sit rigid on the backless bench
Consider how to
Write a song
Blending it, her sadness into beauty
Sounds of rich tones, flat and sharp
With chorus heavy on redemption
In each refrain

Take the cries of despair and pain
And news of cruelty
Coming through
The telephone
Loud and clear
A sister beat down by
Blends into the second verse
Sounds of disappointment from  one
Who hoped with childlike
For joy to  come merrily
She’d roll along

Every single note
Woven into redemption’s song

We wait
Sitting upright
Straight and tall
Fingers curved, rounded
From waiting longer, just a little longer
Come thou font of every blessing
Will come
And wipe the tear
But until then we need the song
Of hope
To wipe the tears

Play the keys of faith
Loud for thee and me

The notes are faint but grow louder every day
There is a hallelujah chorus
Arriving on the wind

We write a ballad
Paired  with another saint
To pen a lovely
Hope-filled song, a duet

White is joy and unbridled grace
Compose your song of waiting
And make it beautiful
Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
Make music from this
Broken heart of mine


photo credit: Wikimedia – Wikipedia -Creative Commons


Joining Laura

The Other Half Of The Glass, The One That Is Half Full


I watched the frenzied Monarchs
Flying, flitting hurriedly
From behind my steering wheel

And later on my porch
And in between

As if they were
Wait, how strange
Following after me

Pursuers of one
In dire need
Of learning
And settling

One very old

And it seemed
That either
They were flying
From the pain
And darkness
Going at full throttled speed

Or racing
Toward the joy
Starving to ingest

Afraid it might

And leave them craving
Joy’s intoxicating

As if in a state of panic
An alcoholic in need of
Bouncing between every
Shade of
And blues
From there
Hop-scotching toward
Sweet marigold 
And sunburst
Summer colors, blended and
Attracting them
Like their cousins moths
Flying toward a flame

Heading full-speed
Toward another hillside
Filled with

To him the glass
Is more than full
It is abundant, overflowing
And he
The Monarch
Is rejoicing in the banquet
His epic summer feast

And I thank him for the lesson learned
As though he could really
My whispers of humble gratitude

And as he flies away
He leaves me alone to dream
By both brilliant day and inky night

To the sound of a sad
Whistle, from a passing train
Whose tune sounds
Like one written by Willie Nelson
Or Johnny Cash
Or another deep thinker singer
Who tries to say
No, Oh No
It wasn’t full, your glass
No not at all
After all

I go with joy
I go with gladness
I go with gratitude

And go in peace
Gripping my half full glass

For the one who tipped the vote
And settled this
For once and all
Was a pair of hummingbids
Dancing a pas de deux

Whose nectar dripped from
With sweet gladness
As though

My joy

Overflowing, sweetly


Joining Laura Boggess