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If my life’s not a smooth flight, maybe life wants me to focus on tuning out the turbulence. Spread your light .((Evidently I’ve got a thing or two to say…)

Being Your Own Hero

At one I longed to take my first steps upright,

holding on to the table, I first had to let go.

My two scuffed knees and my inborn instincts

taught me all that I needed to know.

For weeks I strained to pull myself up on my feet,

my two wobbly knees only sat me back down.

I could see everyone else walked on their legs,

everywhere mom took me all over town.

I had no way to know, for sure, back then

that I would walk and soon after that run.

Until I did walk though, I never stopped…


The tired mother melted into her comfy recliner,

looking forward to her Sunday night shows.

The dinner was over and the dishes done too.

She’d folded four large loads of clothes.


Her alarm clock was set for 6:00 a.m.,

(then double checked.)

She’d never missed work for more than a day.

She’d paid all the bills (all except for that one).

They’d been to church and bowed their heads to pray.


She’d prayed to find peace in her racing mind,

in her household and throughout the world.

All but one child was safely tucked into bed now

My parents Roby and Carol as teenagers

You held me,

that sounds so ordinary,

but in that moment a fairy princess was endowed,

by a fairy godmother,

who transformed her life,

waved her magical wand and bowed.

Priceless jewels encrusted my royal crown,

the two glass slippers fit me like a glove.

You held me,

mysteriously, instantly,

atoms mingled and conjured love.

Lingering entwined we spun a cocoon of safety,

our future seeming unequivocally clear.

The home, children, happy life we’d share,

almost as tangible as if it was already here.

One head rested on one prince’s shoulder,

mesmerized by a spell and completely sure,

that no…

Kara McNeely : “Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff” ( I Miss You Little One.)

Thousands of old pictures in sepia tones

muck up the memory cells deep in my brain,

in them we’re young, full of laughter and love,

candlelit dinners downtown on the train.

I see musical productions that touched our hearts,

exploding fireworks raining on Disneyland.

A shot of your sister’s wedding, our first shy date,

and the first time you reached for my hand.

A collage of cruise ships, casinos and sunburns,

pairs of footprints on a park’s well worn trail,

flooded sand castles on beaches, built with our kids,

working on my golf swing, all to no avail.

I see…

I hear the screeching glass shattering car wreck

that suddenly stole your best friend’s young life.

Ancient paint on the church’s weather beaten steeple,

where we said our vows as husband and wife.

Your friend’s lunchbox, we swore it moved on it’s own,

(was it the medicine or our imagination?)

I see the vibrant stars from atop your car’s hood,

and feel the ending’s near silent resignation.

These young ghosts of you, they haunt my soul,

though who’s haunting who is never quite clear.

So calm, tender, loving, all your ghosts are

it’s almost reassuring to have them near.



There’s one in most every chat online

(it’s your reaction and attention that they seek.)

They’ll proudly profess they’re “a Christian”,

but then lie when they type or speak.

They’ll say they read the Bible a lot, yet,

their Bible’s pages appear so pristine.

They’re in church every time it is open, but,

behind closed doors they’re being mean,

to their wary spouse and nervous children,

who give them no excuse, no reason why.

Don’t tell me you’re a Christian, sir, ma’am,

do not bother, don’t even try.

If a car in front of them moves too slow,

they’ll loudly…

We are nine days before an election where millions of Americans face making a life and death decision that will irretrievably alter this country’s path for decades. There’s nothing hyperbolic about that statement ; all of 2020 has magnified how hugely our individual decisions can effect our lives.

We’ve each made hundreds of decisions every week that impacted our family’s safety throughout this raging pandemic, while we’ve witnessed previously unimaginable scenes play out across the nation, such as the huge refrigerated trucks lined up outside New York city hospitals to hold the hundreds of daily victims dying there a few…

Two willing hands, palms up, they reached out,

a raw, naive heart unguarded by doubt,

I held back nothing here in my power to give.

Thieves then broke in and ripped out my heart,

fairly shredding the safe rib cage apart,

expecting the corpse left behind to yet live.

The cavity’s silence is deafening in me now.

The canvas stays blank, I can’t decipher how,

to decode the path that will let me forget,

that my pulsing heart once held such force,

for my life’s blood to faithfully course,

now replaced by this chest full of regret.

I’ve no vacancy…

One day we’ll reminisce and reflect on

months spent inside, as shut ins shutting down.

from New York to Nashville, San Jose to Dallas,

each crowded city to each tiny town.

All worried, stressing for our families,

for our neighbors and each valued friend,

for the doctors & nurses overrun by

rotations of patients for months without end.

We kept busy with long neglected projects,

fended off growing panic each setting sun.

As numbers rose, so did prayers, by the millions.

We squirreled toilet paper away by the ton.

We watched the news as the daily numbers

of the sick…

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