PAD 1 The day after

The Day After You Die

The day after you die, I’ll get a dog,

a great big dog that sprawls across the bed

and steals the comforter.

One that eats all the leftovers,

paints prints across the kitchen floor,

and howls at the radio.

One that leaves toys scattered about

and gives me sloppy kisses.

I’ll take long walks with it,

and teach it to ignore me while I write.

I’ll feel safe with it by my side.

Then maybe I won’t miss you so much.

Praise Acrostic

Praise God

P raise You Lord for being You, for

R adiantily shining through and through. I praise You Lord for

A ll Your graces, for being the creator of nature’s places. I praise You for Your

I magination. And being God of all the nations. I praise You for Your Holy

S pirit, so when trouble comes, I need not fear it. I praise You for being

E ternal and pure. I praise You

G od for being sound and sure. I praise You for being

O ne and three. I praise You for Your

D ivinity. 

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Thank You, Lord

T hank You Lord for golden leaves and

H ow each day I can breathe.

A nd that You provide my daily

N eeds, including food that comes from seeds. Thank You, Lord for

K eeping me, in

Y our care so lovingly. Thank You

O ne and only God, for

U nderstanding me, though I’m odd. Thank You

L ord, for sunshine and roses and

O ranges and water hoses. Thank You Lord for

R eal friends and family, too. But most of all thank You,

D ear Lord, for being You.

Poetic Asides You Should

You Should Get Rid of That Hat

I love you dearly.

You can count on that.

But, my dear, you really

should get rid of that hat.

In the eighties, long ago,

when leggings were in style,

I got a pair with matching hat

and wore them a while.

You claimed the hat

and wore it all the time,

winter through autumn,

you know I’m not lyin’.

Cranberry and white.

Flops like a Smurf’s cap.

It’s tattered and torn,

not much more than a scrap.

It began to unravel

up there at the top.

You can put it on both ways.

When will you stop?

Some day when you’re not looking,

It will disappear.

It’s for your own good.

Really, my dear.

Sensory Impressions

Sensory Impressions

Passion looks red orange

Joy smells like lilacs

Hatred tastes bitter

Insults feel prickly

Life hums and clatters

Trip journal

Last Day of the Trip October 2015

Uneventful eight hour drive.
I’m not complaining about the uneventful part.
The leaves had changed more,
aspens quivering, golden in the sun.
Many had fallen.
Air colder.
Ate at a Chinese restaurant
That was a pleasant surprise.
We didn’t know what it was going in.
At home.
Squeals from Vanessa. Hugs from Justin.
Hugs and kisses from Loren.
Last night with Lori.
I’ll sure miss her.
Until January, our next trip.

Trip Journal

Made it Back to Colorado

Went to see Judy and Mike in Lincoln

Ate out at Perkins.

Didn’t realize that I had picked the restaurant

that my four sisters and I ate at in the early morning hours

after Mom had just passed away.

Now, sixteen years later.

Sixteen years?

How could that even be possible?

Do the math. 1999-2015. Sixteen years.

And then Dad died two months after that.

Now, we munched on eggs, bacon, pancakes

and enjoyed each other’s company.

Back at Judy’s we played Splendor

Promising this was the last game

then we’d go, about ten times.

We reserved a room in a motel

past Denver to make an easier trip the next day.

As we neared, it seemed to be getting farther away.

At last we arrived. A bed never felt that good.