You reside on protective winds,
Waves she won’t honestly understand; and been denied.
Bringing peace to bruised souls deemed worth saving.
Left early to her own devices,
She questions helpful hands
Prefers avoiding disappointment, yet failed.
Forced to believe she’s meant to be alone,
Soul searching required, and left to wonder
Why life is the way it is.


when springtime disappoints
and autumn refuses to speak,
paint a word picture; create poetry.
write of summertimes lost,
oh, how does it go:
lemons and lemonade…something.
or maybe,
winter’s production of an early snow:
verdant and virgin frost,
yes, two Vs – funny.
take me to where optimists dream
and abandon me there, leave me be.

Awareness Sublime

today I walked into the post office.
just inside the door that never locks,
and the silver trim protectively surrounding her,
i saw it.
up against the corner swept weekly,
probably daily in the winter,
almost already behind me,
was a lone white plastic sack.
the contents inside
dwindled down to one cucumber
someone’s summer bounty,
now one of yours,
left, possibly given, presumably abandoned.
I flicked the envelopes into the slot,
turned two keys looking for more requirements,
thankful there wasn’t a spinning combination lock anymore.
somebody take her home, I thought, as I pushed the door open to leave,
and listened as it shut.

I’m Not An Italian Poetess


Typical Monday, it seems. Tried making lunch, while writing my feelings. Epic fail ensues, as thoughts continue to pursue my mind. Forcing me so easily to forget the time.

Poet’s are always lyrical, definitely this one, it seems. I can’t get past writing this as poetry. Stick a knife in my side. Please, won’t you abide? My friends, don’t write and bake, unless burned pizza is all you’re willing to take. My wishes sincere, once again, don’t do both while planning to eat, you won’t win.

Thankful I have a few other attributes that keep you coming around. Like maybe my smile or even my frowns. Tears shower plenty upon these walls, oh God, stop her before she continues to pitfall.

Laughter begins, oh look, a grin! Yep, tis possible, she’s drunk again. No, my friends, it isn’t so. I’m just handling a Monday, so far as this one goes…

Loyal followers, stay with me, please. This is only going to hurt for a minute. Slap happy grins is how I’ll spin it, you’ll see.

She’ll never be an Italian chef
and poetess, too
just look at what
wandering thoughts
can do…

Writer’s multitasking summer,
kitchen’s a wreck,
lovely ideas interrupt
baking, for endless possibilities,
if only I would’ve stopped to check…

This homemade pizza now crisp
and slightly burned, tis true
thankful, in the end
this treat,
is simply a vessel for brew…


I should go back into the Houston sun. It’s just delightfully hot and humid here. Yeah, I know, I’m almost done. The end is near…


Texas Beauty Queen


Spotlight temptress
Texas beauty queen
She knows what she’s doing
Ripples of pleasure
From top to bottom
Do you think she finds anything better
Look who’s here, Baby
And you, her king
Allowing you to look
One day, to touch
Your vase aching
She, just as much
She’s offered you
A place to rest
Velvet petals
Golden glowing toy
Flower of spring
Waiting for her Cowboy
Her summer fling

(By the pool today and it is HOT!! Maybe this is, too. Enjoy…)

I’m Working My Fingers – To The Bone

I'm Working My Fingers - To The Bone

I’ve got a plan for next week’s posts. It’s a series…

Next week the Oldest Daughter & Redheaded Sister will share daily posts, which contain not only a story, but also offers a window to who Audrey Dawn really is.  This take on a life changing event from last summer defines what I can handle. Just about every personality of mine shines through, please come by and laugh along with me.

This time, we’ll float together…

A Reading Nightmare

My other half left, again. I don’t mean my spouse, if any of  you were suddenly reaching for your phone. Let’s not get crazy! What I meant to say is, my other personality, no that’s not right either.

Oh, I’m painting a fantastic picture.

What I”m trying to say is that the reader in me has left, again. She does this from time to time, and I hate her for it, as it seems she has no respect for my attachment issues. She waltzes in at the beginning of the summer and starts pulling books off the shelf at the local library. She actually gets there early and finds time to sit on the floor of the new book section with a few rolls of Smarties and starts a running list.

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