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A busy morning and no means of recording leaves me no way to complete a recording of myself to publish here, as I was challenged to do. I may get to that one day. In the meantime, I chose to write about ways to be brave, spontaneous, and audacious, without getting into trouble. And if you’d care to, take the challenge in the last line and tell me your motto(s). ^_^ Be Brave!!



I think everyone needs one, a motto, I mean,
to make choices easier, to make life serene.
A motto to live by, to help one decide
when choice is confusing it’s used as a guide.

For if the decision is made in advance
it’s a simpler way not to leave things to chance.
Of course, as mottos go, I think mine are best
and are easy to turn to in times that are stressed.

One is simply: “No Fear,” because it seems a shame
not to make friends, say hello, and trade names.
I think living in fear is just no way to live
Fearing to act makes me feel like a captive.

And then when I do make some foolish gaffe
It’s easier to simply confess with a laugh
rather than hiding and feeling ashamed
and worrying whether or not I’ll be blamed.

The other is “Never, Ever Argue Mad,
because that leads to anger and words that are sad.
Those words are never forgotten or retrieved
and the heart that received them forever is grieved.

Two simple mottoes, as easy as it gets,
that help me live fully without any regrets.
I challenge you to find your own motto, too,
then share your mottoes with me, if you do!



Ah, I loved this idea, though I did not take it as literally as it was presented, literal hand and fingerprints out in the world.

I Was Here by Julie Jordan Scott



I don’t like to give advice unless it is asked for.
People don’t listen to unsolicited advice,
(and rarely take the advice they do request).
I have been surprised, then, to find my influence
on other people’s hearts, like delicate fingerprints,
invisible unless dusted for.

Words I’ve spoken and forgotten often live on
inside someone’s mind.
It is a surprise (and secret treasure) to discover
that some long-ago encouragement
has blossomed into great talent or achievement.

Actions done according to conscience’s dictate
have been seen and remembered, even though
I no longer recall the time or day.
Then they are repeated back to me
by awestruck acquaintance who say
I inspired them to be that strong.

But how could I take credit for another’s
They may have seen something that
changed them, or heard words that
inspired them, yet they, and they alone,
were ready to be changed or inspired.
I was just fortunate enough to be a
catalyst of sorts at the right moment in time.

Still, does that not encourage me, in turn,
to always strive?
To always bear a light for others to find their way by?
Just as others before me
lit a spark and drew me out into
the person I am today,
whose fingerprints linger in my mind
and whose words and deeds once inspired me.


Better Late Than Never

Honestly, I think being late is rude. I am rarely late, and if I am, I am quite embarrassed and apologetic. But our modern world runs on clocks and watches and deadlines and so we are forced to grow up and have good manners and keep our promises and try not to be late. All the same, I wonder if the natural world has it right…



People invented time;
animals have no need of it.
They know when to sleep and wake.
When to eat and drink.
They know when to fly south for the winter
or snuggle into a burrow to hibernate.
They don’t need clocks to know
when it’s time to mate or give birth
or run from an enemy
or when to nuzzle their baby.

People invented time;
trees have no need of it.
They know when to sprout and grow.
Plants know when to bloom
and when to drop their seeds,
when to push out new leaves and shoots
and when to pull back,
drop leaves,
and dream.

People might do well to live
less by the incessant demands
of time
and more by the natural order
of their hearts.


AZ Monsoon

unlicensed public domain image


I know the rain is falling somewhere
because of the earthy scent.
The breeze freshens and
I inhale: bliss.

At first, living in the desert
was pure, unrelenting heat.
There seemed to be no up-side.

But then monsoons shouldered into town,
scattering lightning like angry gods,
and hurling rain randomly:
one area drenched and flooding,
and surrounding areas
left bone dry.

Rain on the caliche releases
a magical natural perfume, half earthy,
half damp, smelling of ozone and bitter salt,
earth and growing and water.
Impossible to describe, but irresistible,
at least to me,
my first realization
the desert has beauty, too.


pet·ri·chor (‘pe̩trikôr/) noun, a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather. “Other than the petrichor emanating from the rapidly drying grass, there was not a trace of evidence that it had rained at all.”

Caliche (ka-lee’-chee, or sometimes klee’-chee) is a sedimentary rock, a hardened natural cement of calcium carbonate that binds other materials—such as gravel, sand, clay, and silt. It occurs worldwide, in aridisol and mollisol soil orders—generally in arid or semiarid regions, including in . . . the High Plains of the western USA, in the Sonoran Desert . . . . Caliche is also known as hardpan, calcrete, kankar (in India), or duricrust. The term caliche is Spanish and is originally from the Latin calx, meaning lime.



Blackout poetry is not really new to me, but I have never tried it because I have a horror of destroying books. However, I found a blackout poetry generator that sort of worked out.

My attempt is Here, so you can click to go see it. OR, just read it below. It does not seem to have the same impact without the other words blacked out, though.


an omission.

We talked,
got a


Today’s poem was fun to write. I took random words from a magnetic poetry site and formed the work you see below. I loved the freshness of using words I might not usually choose, of trying to form ideas from random groupings.

Moon Shine

Rain suits me; love has no meaning here.
The forest smells of blood…
but we needed some beauty in life.

Cool summer crush. Bare skin, swim, shine.
Water-playing, moon-chanting boy,
I soar with him. Tiny moans; his fast feet.
Our petal-red lust juicy,
my breast rose to a friend.

Yet, though I see us there,
his shadow could never be he.
Retch-boiling-achy scream.
A sad cry is what language is for.

A day did not show who you are.


(Click HERE to see the original.)

Once Upon a Time…

Magical Places

Of Beginnings and Endings and Beginnings Again

Once Upon a Time is a classic beginning
to classical tales story-tellers love spinning.
It sets everyone’s mind to an earlier time,
younger and smaller, a whole other clime.
When Mother and Father would tuck one in bed,
thumbing through books from which they then read.
A nightly occurrence that soothed a child’s soul,
the calming repetition with sleep as its goal.
And how the mind wandered and how it took flight,
to fairyland towers, knight’s armor so bright,
and fairytale princesses, scoundrels and princes
and some wicked-smart animal that eas’ly convinces
our hero to try, to be daring and dauntless,
to challenge the villain, to throw down the gauntlet,
to rescue the victims of ogres or giants,
to find other heroes and make an alliance.
All of the stories we were (hopefully) told
taught us morals and ethics more precious than gold.
And if we are good parents, we do the same,
share adventurous stories with sleep as the aim.
For though they may sleep, they surely will dream
of being the hero in a fairy-tale scheme.
Of being the person whose heart, filled with good,
would stand up for right, as good people should.
And then upon waking, it might make them stronger.
It might make them think, just a little bit longer
about all their actions, about all their deeds,
and to recognize evil and where meanness leads.
It’ll make them be steady, tenacious and tough.
It will help them get through all the days that are rough.
And when in some future, well planned out life,
they’ll think about kids with their husband or wife,
and remember with fondness their tender upbringing
and stride into parenthood, full armor, sword ringing.


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