His last words to her were in a text “I don’t love you anymore”. When she texted back “why?” and suggested marriage counseling he replied, “it is too late, I have moved on and I need to be happy now”. The closest thing she got for an explanation was “It is just that I have to be with someone who looks good in a bikini” but he never apologized for this because he said, “I am not sorry, and neither should you be-regret is toxic to the soul and one must be true to their own desires”. She had raised his children and kept his home fires burning for years, but in the end when the goalpost of an empty nest was in sight, he had rejected her for the scars that motherhood and matriarchy had left. He was gone. One day after a business trip he never came home and texted “I am leaving you”. He just left without discussion, empathy or conscience and would not return calls or texts for two weeks. When he finally came to get his things, he texted and asked her to not be there. “I just can’t be around any negativity right now, I am purifying my soul and simplifying my life”. She texted back and said she would not leave, and he needed tell her to her face why he was leaving!  “You coward! Don’t I have a right to be angry? Don’t I deserve an explanation?” He texted “Stop being irrational, your anger consumes you, you are toxic and I will not justify it with a response”. He finally admitted he had a shiny new young girlfriend who looked good in a bikini and yoga pants. He also had a new yoga guru he followed in daily meditations in which, “Introspection is key, each man is a universe unto himself and one can only truly find fulfillment within themselves”.  In the end all she could reply exasperated was “ARGHH! You are unbelievable!” She realized the man she had spent the past 25 years with was gone and replaced with this selfish, pious, hypocritical Prick. He had no empathy and felt no loyalty to her or their marriage vows. He was truly a toxic universe unto himself who unequivocally believed his own bullshit! She was glad to get away but she was not going to let him get off cheap. At first she had almost believed him when he wanted her to sell the house and split it but said he would not fight her for the rest of their savings because “I am above material things now, the physical sphere no longer interests me”. Luckily, thanks to an astute attorney she found out that he had in fact moved money, stocks and retirement funds into secret accounts while preparing for his spiritual journey. He would pay for his broken promises and her wasted youth, he would pay for her loneliness and stretch marks. In the end she would prove him right and show him just how “toxic” she could be.

How it is


Ameliaaaa! He is screaming from somewhere outside, his voice getting more and more angry- we do not see him, we can’t tell where it is coming from, Amelia runs downstairs and out the door looking for him, I get up in a panic and follow his yelling which finally leads me to outside our bedroom window- is he hurt? What is going on? “I don’t want you” he says with venom, “where’s Amelia”after the sting settles I say, “she is running around looking for you, what is wrong?” he ignores me, turns and walks off towards the front of the house. A little while later Amelia comes in and announces in exasperation, “our lawnmower no longer has steering” My PTSD cannot take this!

Bittersweet Harvest

I have been waiting patiently in all my glory. Growing, developing, hesitantly, telling my story.

All of my energies focused on experience and rebirth. Fertility, gestation, and my ample girth. 

It is the culmination of hard work, of sun and rain. Abundance concluded all in vain.

The nutrients strengthening my ver core. Gluttonous consumption, steady and sure.

Irrigation staves off parching drought. Gilded water cleanses me within and without.

Pollen will attract what chemicals repel. Production and creation yield a magic spell. 

The coming frost is evident, the wind whips overland. A deity initiates impending plans.

The Suns warm embrace fades to an amber hue. Shorter daylight hours and the skies crisp blue.

Nights grow colder as the reaping time grows near. No end and no beginning, a cylindrical sphere. 

Just when I am certain to be at my best, the hands of men come to me to pick and test. 

Machines come then leaving only hope as my salvation. Seed and soil to cultivate another generation. 

The essence of my memory instructs the next years crop. A Bittersweet Harvest that will never stop.

Writing 101-Day 18-Compose a series of Anecdotes

image-man at the wheel

“They That Go Down To the Sea in Ships”

‘Man at the Wheel’ Fisherman’s Memorial

Good Harbor=Beauport

Inner harbor-Back Shore

Bay View, Lanes Cove

Eastern Point, Twin Lights

Rocky Neck –Gloucester Fisherman,

Coast Guard Commander, Water Rescue

Navy Rank, Officer, Petty Officer, Ensign, Mate, Midshipmen, Captain,

Captain’s Courageous,

Aye ye Matey,

Stowaway locked in the bulkhead below,

Pirate Bar, Salty Dog

Accordion keeping time to sea shanties rhyme,

Prime Meridian lies across a wet salty desert,

Gulf, Gulls shrieking wail, Jonah, deck hands, mast, cast forth, cold and wet, wrinkled to the bone, rolling waves, port, starboard, helm, bow, stern, in irons, point of sail, beams reach, “keel hath beached upon the reef”, breech to port

And ….. Home!

Writing 101- Day 17-Map as your Muse

Naval Aviators Lost In Haze,

Seaweed in Longitude/Latitude Splays,

Sea to Wildest Seas Traversing,

Seafaring Lines Ceremonial Crossings,

Tropics of Cancer and of Capricorn,

Straits of Gibraltar, Magellan Reborn,

Sailing From Pollywogs to Shellbacks in Mass,

Sailors Beware As the Serpents They Pass,

King Neptune the Ruler of the Raging Main,

Realm of Czars above Davy Jones Reign,

Golden Dragon Traveling Time,

Poseidon’s Trident pointing in line,

30th Parallel Circumnavigation,

Admiral’s Nautical Mile Celebration.

Writing 101-Day 13-Play With Word Count-Clay Pots


Rich dark soil of human history,

Like a mug of steaming love,

Served in heavy, clunky pottery,

And delivered from above,

Spun by nimble hands,

Formed in our lands,

From earthy hearty clay,

The patina of,

The fragile porcelain glove,

We could not spin away.


Only now our memories will withstand,

The kilning fires we all stoke,

By our own weak hand, a choking smoke is fanned,

And what we fear we will invoke.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away?

Glazed not just with good intentions,

But with real sacrifice today.


Rich dark soil of human history,

A gift of nourishing natural grains,

Grown in heavy, clunky pottery,

And throughout our worldly plains,

Farmed by nimble hands,

Harvest of our lands,

From the earthy clay it rose,

But we couldn’t wait,

So we tempted fate,

And we stepped on our own toes.


Withstanding only in our memories now,

The organic grace we sought,

What has come about,

With our spiritual drought,

Is our abundance left to rot.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away?

Harvested not just with good intentions,

But with integrity today.


Dark heart of human history,

Will we learn from what we’ve done?

Broken heavy, clunky pots of clay,

What we are, we cannot outrun,

Though created by the nimble fingers,

Of the potter we once adored,

Our careless nature lingers,

And the warnings we ignored.


We can still hold all the blessings,

Back to basic human grace,

We must heal our lands and control our hands,

What we must conquer, we first must face.


Humility withstanding shame,

All false idols left to past,

We can return today,

To the simple clay,

From which each of us were all once cast.


What if our thoughts and actions now,

Gave back all we took away,

Men not just with good intentions,

But with real brotherhood today.


Rich dark soil of human history,

contains the dust from past mistakes,

we can always start a brand new pot tomorrow,

All we need is a lump of clay.







Writing 101- Day 16- Mine your own material

paper bridgePaper Bridges

Paper Bridges Span,

But they do not try to reach,

From heart to heart,

We read the plans,

In our own unspeakable speech,

Delicate as glass,

We smash designs our piers demand,

Never to interpret,

What the hearts language understands,

We listen with our stubborn voice,

What our minds do need to hear,

Pilings sunk in sand,

Cannot withstand,

Paper bridges built with fear.

Day 11: Update Your Readers Over a Cup of Coffee

My older daughter has been home for a visit from college for the past ten days. It is her first year away and I have missed her very much every day for the past 2 months. I even miss cosmetics strewn all over the bathroom counter, finding her dirty socks on the living room floor, and tripping over her shoes in the entry way. I miss the constant stream of giggling teenagers stopping by, and the art projects in progress on the dining table. It is too quiet without echoing pop music blaring during her exorbitantly long showers and the constant ping of snapchat alerts.  It has been great having her home this week but also very busy. I love to cook and made my daughter several of her favorite home cooked meals while she was here. I brought her to the mall, the doctor, the dentist, and to two movies.  My world still revolves around my girl. My artist, humanitarian, and scholar. I always drop everything to spend time with her and I will do anything for the opportunity to do for her. I love hearing how her day is and what she thinks about current events. I love looking into her beautiful innocent eyes and wiping away her tears. I love her big compassionate heart and her smart creative mind. I MADE THAT! And I am a PROUD MAMMA> Today my daughter went back to her school six hours and two states away.  She doesn’t even flinch or look back. Just a quick hug and wave out the window. She is ready to fly. I just sat quietly stunned on the deck with my coffee after she drove away with her trunk full of clean folded laundry.  I am not ready. What will I do when both of my girls are grown and gone for good? Who will I be when I am not their momma. Remembering my babies makes me laugh with joy, thinking about how proud I am of them makes me cry with gratitude, and reflecting on how quickly time flies by makes me panic a little inside.