Why I Care

I am an occasional blogger. There are not enough hours in a day (or night) to do all of the things I want to do and blog too. So, I write when I can and blog when I have shaped what I have written into something that clearly expresses what I want, and need, to share. I am grateful when someone actually visits my blog and reads my work, and I feel flattered and proud when somone takes the time to “Like” my work or leaves a comment on the page. My blogging goals are simple: 1) to write for the pure enjoyment of the creative writing process; 2) to accept the risk of putting my writing “out there” for the entire on line world to see; 3) to leave of part of me behind, forever, as a legacy of sorts for my family, my children, and those not yet born.

So, who is the target audience for my blog? – anyone who finds and reads my work – including you, reading this. That is enough for me.

words once written
expose my soul
words once read
reveal who I am

*** In response to “Bloggers Stop Caring So Much – Part 2” by Opinionated Man at http://aopinionatedman.com/2013/11/23/bloggers-stop-caring-so-much-part-2/ ***

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The Gathering – version 2

The Gathering_v2

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The Gathering

a gown of green
well worn by time
lushness and beauty
the mist in her eyes
tells an ancient story
inviting me to listen
her voice beckons
tugs at the heart
she reaches out
and takes my hand
strong and welcoming
the way of her people
in the telling
joy and sorrow
solace and pain
victory and defeat
soft tears fall
as she cries for her children
who have returned
to embrace the story
gathered in her arms
we hear and understand
our story

** Maureen first introduced me to Ireland in the early 1990’s when we drove from Germany and visited the island with friends. It was love at first sight. We have returned many times since then, and we have never tired of her countless ancient sites, her people, her beauty, and, of course, her history. Although I am only Irish by marriage, Maureen’s love for the land of her family’s heritage has infected my soul with a deep respect and love for Ireland. So, I write this for Maureen in honor of her people and the heritage that has made her the strong and welcoming person that she is. **

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Hey, Are You OK?

you saw me fall
but carried on
not bothering to see
if another, an other,
needed you to care
and simply ask me
hey, are you ok?

** How many times have I seen someone in need, either physicall or emotionally, and instead of offering my help, hesitated hoping someone else would give a damn so I wouldn’t have to? “I am a good and caring person,” I tell myself, and I convince myself that believing it is enough. I see someone hurting and mistake the “feeling” of caring for actually caring. Someone I meet today is hurting. Do I really care enough to risk taking the time to ask, “Hey, are you OK?”? **

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Tanka Number 3

withering brown leaves
another year of aging
a cold reminder
of chances lost for friendship
I heard your voice in the wind
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sticks and stones and hurtful words

your words
just words
like a dagger
its sharp point
tearing the skin
splintering bones
its jagged edges
piercing my heart
as blood spills
deep pain overwhelms
and crushes my spirit
sadness invades my soul
and I feel its mournful tears
knowing a part of me has died
just words
your words

*** Inspired by a poem posted by OM at http://aopinionatedman.com/2013/10/24/not-a-song-not-a-poem/ ***

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the first summer storm

darkening clouds gather
song birds chatter in warning
a roaring in the distance
electric air awakes the senses
the smell of wet earth
a flash of lightning
I wait in anticipation
sizzle sizzle
crackle crackle crackle
I know it’s coming
but I still jump
cool breeze
rain drops on the window
a flood of childhood memories
the first summer storm

***random thoughts at the arrival of the first summer storm – I love the smell of wet earth as the storm approaches – after being in the Field Artillery for many years, loud sounds normally don’t bother me, but thunder never fails to make me jump – funny thing is, I was listening to the song “Stormy” on YouTube when I first heard the storm approaching – must have been the electric air that inspired me – now to sit back and enjoy the storm***

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cup of joe

cup of joe
black not sweet
slurping sip
morning kick
scalding tongue
wide awake
soothing calm
good morning

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my mistake

I really get worked up over mistakes. I literally go into panic mode very quickly when I discover that I have made a mistake. Why can’t I just accept it? I will make mistakes and sometimes they can be corrected. Okay, not always, but I have to start from the premise that correcting the mistake is a possibility. I normally respond with a panic, after telling myself, “Oh, my God! I’m doomed! Why me?!” My heart starts to race and my breathing quickens. Why do I let this happen? I try to stay calm, but it is usually too late. I’ve already worked myself up beyond repair.

my mistake
worked up
panic mode
accept it
I’m doomed
why me
calm down
fix it
too late
my mistake

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where did the fire go?

stirring the cinders
of a fire
that once burned
and inspired
flames that provided
confidence to be
desire to do
motivation to go
where did that fire go
maybe I’m just getting old
that raging fire in my soul
now warm cinders burning
stirred and kept alive
in hope of flames returning

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