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Guilty Secret

Don’t tell me you don’t need time alone sometimes. We all do. Sometimes a person has to strategize to get what they need without any grief.

Reality Contest

Guilty Secret

“What are you doing?”
he calls from downstairs.

“Watching Project Runway,”
I call, as I turn up the volume on the show.

I hear a groan as he mutters something
to himself, then he says, “Enjoy that.”

And I smile to myself.

In my house of boys and men, none will
disturb me if one of those silly shows is on.
You know the ones.
The dancing shows,
the hairstyle shows,
the makeup shows.

And while I am alone,
not really paying much attention to the TV,
I have cherished time to myself,
to read, to put on a facial masque,
to paint my toenails,
or text my friends.

It’s my secret.
And now, it’s yours too.


Another Chapter

Another Chapter

A tale of an impenitant bibliophile. If you love books as I do, you will understand. <3

Girl Reading by Franz Eybl, 1850

Girl Reading by Franz Eybl, 1850

Another Chapter

Age eleven and it’s far too late to be up.
Reading by the light of a half-dead flashlight,
but the words stream by.
I will stop at the end of this chapter!
Waking brings bleary eyes and creased face
from sleeping on the book.
Unrepentant, sleepy day at school follows.

Age sixteen and it’s far too late to be up.
Reading by the bedside lamp, quickly switched off
at the sound of feet on the stairs.
I will stop at the end of this chapter!
Waking is difficult, but satisfied hands
cling to the book all the way to the bus stop.

Age twenty-three and it’s far too late to be up.
Reading in the rocking chair to the dim night light,
pretending to wait for the baby to wake.
I will stop at the end of this chapter!
Waking with baby’s cries moments later it seems.
Unremorseful as ever, I tell him what happened
in the story while he slept.

Age thirty-five, and three children, various ages,
are up reading and it’s far too late to be up.
The telltale sound of lamps switched off
at the sound of feet on the stairs. I smile.
“It’s too late to be up, boys. Go to sleep!”
They will stop at the end of the chapter, surely.
And I’ve a book waiting for me.



Reading Jester


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


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