In Honor of Dave

Teach me how to be hard
Teach me how to be good at single
Teach me how to be lonely and accept it
Teach me how to go on without giving up or giving in
Teach me how to be okay with me
Teach me how to accept being nothing new
Teach me how to be an echo
Teach me how to stop checking my phone
Teach me how to separate myself
Teach me how to be ICEMAN

The Children

They're giving me ulcers & graying my hair
with the glazed-over eyes and "I don't know" stares,
Sometimes I feel that they don't even care,
those children!

Their monkey antics make me grumble and puff,
So whiny, and always forgetting their stuff,
Some days I feel that I've had enough
of those children!

They go instantly crazy in a hallway crowd,
They'll earn a detention and act so proud,
Oh mercy, why are they being so loud?
Those children!

"Are you kidding?" "Didn't I just explain?"
"It's not too hard if you use your brain!"
Oh where did they learn to be such a pain?
Those children!

But

I can always count on a genuine smile,
a high five, or a hug, complements on my style,
and I miss them if I don't see them for a while,
my children.

Their minds are so young, their faces so sweet;
some of them sloppy, some of them neat,
And I'm grateful I was given the chance to meet
my children!

Sometimes they're my angels, sometimes their a clown,
Sometimes I could ship them right out of town!
But you'd better believe I'd take anyone down
who tried to harm my children.

They come to me wide-eyed, how quickly they part;
They're teenage adventures just beginning to start,
And each an every one holds a place in my heart,
my children!

I still remember....

Empty canvases stacked against the wall
lay hidden away in my art closet
like prisoners
begging me to put them to their intended used
every time I open the door.
Bits of unfinished,
in-progress,
or to do projects
litter the floor,
shelves,
corners,
put away for a day
when I have time,
or inspiration,
or energy.
I feel like a part of me lives in that closet-
the creator, the Artist-
waiting for a turn to occupy myself
again.
But the day-to-day Keeper of the Household
is hogging the space.
Your time will come;
I still remember you!

Perhaps

Perhaps I'll never learn
when to say when

Perhaps I'll never learn
when enough is enough

Perhaps I'll never learn
to hold on just a little tighter

Perhaps I'll never learn
when to stop talking

Perhaps I'll never learn
who to open up to

Perhaps I'll never learn
who doesn't care to know

Perhaps I'll never learn
not to be so hard on myself

Perhaps I'll never learn
that this is who I am

Some old Artsy photos

I was inspired by a new friend's photo blog to put some photos here (thanks, Jason). Since I've not been out on a photo excursion in a while, I though I'd throw some old ones on here....

If you look closely, you can see my reflection in the eye.

Thinking about mowing the yard....but just thinking...

garden spider ...so cool!

Spooky Old Tree....

This one would have been so much better if it were clear....darn delayed shutter!

Window at Club Frisco

Tidal Travis

You are the tide
Constantly rolling in and out of our lives,
Except without regularity.

I am the sand that accepts your presence
And absence.
I may build a wall to keep you out,
But it is only sand, and breaks easily when you roll in again
Sympathetic to your continuous self-inflicted plight,
I can not turn my back to you.

In a storm, your salty spray stings,
Your hostile breaks pick at my constitution,
Your wicked undertow pulls me under
Where I tumble and tumble until I settle
once more on the sturdy beach.

On pleasant days your gentle laps are refreshing
and feel good.
They make me miss high tide.

You have left many priceless treasures on my shore-
others who have been caught in your waves.
I bury them in my soul.
And you always take a bit of me when you go again......

These Days

These days I wear baby burp like cologne;
it smells like love to me.

To me summer vacation is covered in
handprints and hugs;
it's not easy being a crane- you lift one,
they all want a ride;
and once is never enough!

I find myself sitting on a floor
holding the future in my lap
wondering:
If two cartoon lions can find true love,
why can't I?

I will never know why a bug
so fascinating
must be squished.

I believe a magic eraser really is
magic,
but soap is superfluous.

These days I come home with pockets
full of excitement for the future
and small rocks.

These days I would be unrecognizable
if I weren't
dripping with bags
filled to capacity.

These days it's worth a roomful of
wild monkeys
just to peek in the door, and know
she's happy.

These days my waking hours are enriched
my sleep is fragmented
my body is caffeinated
my breasts wax and wane.

Lord, give me strength for
another day
another "why?"
another cry
Lord, I cherish these days as they pass
the hours drag by, but time moves
too fast.