I often find myself thinking about age these days. It often comes in the form of calculating how old my parents were when I was in various stages of life. As I walked down a street in my city last week, I passed the house where my dad moved when he separated from my mom. I was surprised to realize he was only 52 years old then. Of course, it was a long time ago, but he seemed old, even then. I am 50, so nearly that old myself. As I walked in my hiking shoes with a backpack containing a laptop on my back, I didn’t feel or look that old.  Continue reading ““Mid-Life””

Road-Trip Cinquains

My boys and I left today on a trip to visit my dad in S.C. I miss the opportunity to write with all that time on the road, but I can still create as I drive. Today I formulated some poems, scratching them down on a notepad on my lap with one hand. They aren’t very legible on the paper, of course, but since they came from my brain, I can still decipher them.

I was recently introduced to cinquains, a poetry form, on Fanstory.com. One version is a stanza composed of 5 lines, consisting of 2-4-6-8-2 syllables with no rhyme scheme. Other versions include rhyme schemes, but the ones I have written thus far do not. Here are the ones from today. They are each separate poems.

fingers counting
syllables for poems
needing to have the exact count

girls’ night
mother, daughter
watch Dancing With the Stars
fascinated by stars’ dancing

I smile
hearing my boys
laughing in the back seat
I savor the moment of joy
a gift

wanting freedom
wanting escape from doubts
striving instead to know I am

two, four, six, eight
followed by a two
each line carefully counted out



Mom’s Accident, Pieces of My Heart

I have struggled to write about what is on my my heart and mind in this place, concerning Mom’s wreck. Sometimes my heart speaks best through poetry. Here are three poems that address facets of this. The second poem mentions blood, so be forewarned, if that is an issue for you.


At the scene of the wreck
they would not let me
                               to her.
Kept back
where I could not see.
My view was the
bottom of the van.

#####A WALL#####
Was this really happening?
Continue reading “Mom’s Accident, Pieces of My Heart”