So yesterday was Thursday. #SMDH

I can’t believe it. I. Can. Not. Believe. It.

#LMBO

Yesterday’s post , Freaky Friday was not “unintentionally released early”, although that is sometimes the case when you are preplanning.

Nah. Nope. I don’t prepare or plan ahead much anymore.

The truth is I’m just losing my damn mind.

I really thought yesterday was Friday. And you know what? No one called me out on it. Not even my (few but fabulous) fans and friends over at Facebook. Not even my family– not even the daughter that threatens me with APS at times.

I can’t help but recall some years back, when I embarked on my Indie adventures and started growing my social platforms – an error like that would have brought the hecklers and the haters out. My inbox would have been full of opinions and “constructive criticism” — which rarely helped me construct anything positive.

And I recall another me that would have been embarrassed and deleted the improperly titled post immediately. But not the me of now.

Nope. I’m going to leave that boo-boo right there because the readers that come across it in the future will probably not realize it was released on a Thursday. And because I’m okay with being human; with making mistakes and even laughing at those mistakes.

In closing let me say thank you all for being so kind as to not point out my blunder and apologize to those who set their calendar by my error.

And lastly to those that never realized I was off… welcome to the outer limits friends. 🤪

The Chest of Hope (Friday’s free for All)

IT’S JUST A SMALL BROWN wicker basket, not built to hold much –

and a bit tattered from over handling.
It’s beautiful warm browns have dulled and faded with age on the outside –

but inside the natural luster still shines.

It’s top is held in place by make-do leather ties because the first woody hasps were worn in two –

and now dangle loosely, without purpose.


What hands made the airy coffer? I wonder as I stroke the thin smooth fibers.
Was it one as handsome as the tight weaves frayed by time?


Though dust has long since claimed his finger prints – I know that he was a weaver; I imagine that he was a dream weaver…
Diligently intertwining each cane thread with my hopes in mind…


A place to store my breathing dreams so that they could be kept safe and close at hand, amassed in a beautiful fibrous reminder.
A quaint little chest of hope I will one day hand down to a child, a grandchild or perhaps even a great grandchild –
when I have used up its contents.


When I have taken the dusty lid off one last time and felt deep into the corners to make certain I haven’t left any ideas untouched…
I imagine when I offer it up to him (or her) they will look at me like I’m crazy (and I may well be) then they’ll tear the lid off, expecting to find a treasure of sorts before saying with disappointment,

“It’s just an empty old basket.”


It is then I will share with them the wishes and ideas that were stored and later born of that basket.

How they were kept safe till I could see them come to fruition.
And one more time I will imagine the handsome dark skinned man who meticulously weaved the wonderful piece…
a place to store my dreams because dreams need room to breathe.


Then I will show them how to place their own aspirations into the old auburn chest with caution to keep them safe, to nurture their hopes and give them time to mature. And if my last wish were to come true I will see them realize the birth of their visions.


*I adore woven baskets and this bit of prose was inspired by one of my favorites.

The Chest of Hope was taken from Getting me Back

A Little More Time

Hi y’all 🙋🏼‍♀️

My apologies for not blogging more but I have seriously been busy. I’m talking BiZZy!

We are just getting the house back to normal after February’s winter storm, Uri. I’m not sure why it’s (unofficially) referred to as Uri? 🧐

I did a web search and unless I overlooked a reasonable definition-I found nothing that applied to the ice storm. Feel free to educate me.

Anywho we are getting back to normal. Haller-lu-ya!!

[doing the happy dance]

So before I get busy this morning getting the yard and pond back in shape I will leave you with a #TBT.

A Little More Time was written in 1980 something, originally published in Pose Prose & Poems in 1998 and republished in the 2017 poetic memoir called Getting Me Back

A Little More Time

There’s an eagle out there soaring And my best friend is out whoring

Turning tricks of any kind

Doing anything to make a dime God forgive her for the crime

All she needs is a little more time.

On the roof three stories high

A junky cries and begs to die

Ain’t had a fix in several days Swears he can’t go on this way

Across the street a church bell chimes

Grant us please a little more time.

An old man sick and dying

Alone with no one crying

He grieves for all the pain he’s caused

For all the people that he’s lost

Outside the window painted mimes All rushing for a little more time

A woman labors down the hall

Her anguish echoes through the wall

But soon a laughter takes its place When she looks upon the baby’s face

For a moment all is sublime

As we are given a little more time

Getting Me Back ( #NPM )

Getting Me Back

Tissue thin, transparent bits and pieces by the millions I gave to you…

To be received, to be tended

or to be rendered useless as you deemed fit

old inhabitants of terra firma.

Slivers of my soul….

What did you do with these pieces of me?

Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of my spirit, where are they laid?

Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain?

Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?

Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?

Giving me away was easy….

Getting me back seems nearly impossible.

I saw a fleck of glitter this morning,

caught in an abandoned web of time.

I retrieved it ever so carefully, pulling away the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my hand till it shone bright like a minuscule star… exploding…

and I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw

in a smiling photo of me.

*The poem Getting Me Back lent its name (and guidance) in the memoir styled book of poetry. It also lured me back from the land of “bat shit crazy” 😉

Getting Me Back is available at most bookstores

As If #NPM

As If

As if your shoulder

brushing against my breast

in a crowded room

meant anything to me…

As if your smile

would thaw my frosty heart…

As if your constant assurance

could overcome my cynicism…

As if the invisible boulevard

would never rise up and beckon.

The street lamp

glows in the bleached mist

only three floors below us.

I blow streams of smoke

into the black night and hum

to the drone of the unseen road.

Be steel my bleating heart!

Be quiet! Be silent, hard steel.

As if wearing your tee-shirt made us lovers.

From Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

Fearless ( Pondering & #NPM )

I thought a lot about yesterday’s post; about the disciples and about believing and courage. And I remembered a poem written decades ago.

I do not claim to be bold and my beliefs have (more than once) been shaken.

I am not holy, hell I am not even considered a good Christian by many standards. I do not attend “church” nor belong to any denomination. I try to do as I should but y’all I sin every day. Every day! But don’t worry, me and The Lord have a relationship. We’re good. 👌🏼

I think I have always aspired to be a soldier, a Christian soldier and the poem written decades ago made me remember that.

Remember April is National Poetry Month.

Poem from Getting me Back (The Voices Within)