Be Ye Transformed


My father has always written his sermons with a fountain pen – he is the sheer image of a Dickensian writer hovering over his inkwell at his antique oak desk. So the tradition of fountain pen writing with a lazier spin (no inkwell) passed to my hands. 

Be Ye Transformed 

All because of
my gene pool

the choice

my pen preference

the silver spoon
of a poor preacher’s kid

neither chisel
nor charcoal
on stone
or papyrus


a medium nib
rich indigo ink
a selection of styles
for any occasion

the everyday best choice:
a Pilot Varsity
Fountain Pen
wielded at a 40 degree angle
moderate pressure
on the nib
flashing like
the shield of a warrior 

winning the day 

Fountain Pen Day –
celebrated annually
since 2012
on the first Friday
of November 

stories and histories
more orthodox than Bic
(cult following thick)

to celebrate:
take my hand
dare to
wade into the

be baptized
a fountain pen mermaid disciple 

be ye transformed

Link to fountain pen blogs:

Modern-Day Miracle


I am visiting my daughter and celebrating another anniversary of a miracle – her story of drug addiction and restoration proves that God’s love wins over evil. He body slammed the devil and brought her out of that lair! I wrote a “skinny” today. For every parent, child, friend with a loved one in the grips of addiction – keep praying! 

Modern-Day Miracle

God saves those beyond all hope
God saves




Nashville, Tennessee

mother, daughter celebrate

brand new Birkenstocks! 

supper: salmon steaks

risotto cauliflower

fresh-steamed Brussels sprouts

evening: Zen garden

bamboo wall, tiki torches

rock-scaped patio

Farmer’s Market stop

succulents and Bonsai trees

jewelry treasures

Frist Art Museum

Picasso’s U.S. Tour stop

Disfigurement art 

Whole Foods Market stop

fresh, healthy food abundance!

picnic on a whim

Hammock in the park

by the city Parthenon

lazy, breezy rest

Red cabbage and kraut

The Bavarian Bierhaus

Big German pretzel 

Playing dominoes 

With a side game of Scrabble

Coffee, happiness! 

Blue Period passed,

recovering daughter lives! 

God answers prayers. 

Fear of Flying

 Fear of Flying 

Flying solo to Nashville
Boarding pass in hand
Concourse train to A Gates
People everywhere! 

Feeling alone in the crowd

Going through security
Shoes off, feet apart, hands up, scanned
Surrounded by strangers
Standing way too close 

Feeling insecure in security 

Watching green-winged Covids
Swarming throngs of folks
Like a swatted beehive….
Am I really “safe?”

Feeling vulnerably vaccinated 

Feeling the real fear of flying….

#verselove2021 #SOL21


I snapped a photo of an inspiring poem on Good Friday as we were having a PL day before our spring break this week. Our #verselove host at today, Margaret Simon, invited us to use a photograph to find our writing inspiration today. My verse is a rewording and extension of Micky Jones’ “Invitation to Brave Space.” This is dedicated to all writers who come to writing communities to write, to share, to encourage, to bloom! 

#verselove2021 #SOL21

we come to this space
this brave space
scarred and wounded

turn down the world’s noise
tune in our hearing ears
to the amplified voices
of our community 

to begin
to grow
in truth and love
to embrace imperfection
to work together 

to express
to write
to feed
to water
to bloom

Tortured Souls

Anna Roseboro inspired me to wrote a poem based on Paul Laurence Dunbar’s “We Wear the Mask.” 

I went back and forth between an Etheree and a Golden Shovel form – I decided on an Etheree
– ten lines with that number of syllables in each line. I wrote mine in descending order, using borrowed lines with some rearrangement of words. 

Tortured Souls

Our cries to thee from tortured souls arise,
Christ, we smile, but oh, great Christ our cries!
We sing with torn and bleeding hearts,
Beneath our feet, long the mile!
Let them only see us
while we wear the mask.
It hides our cheeks,
Shades our eyes,
Masks the

Say to them


Say to them

Say to them, say to the chittering chatterers, the nonstop nonwriterss, the pencil-plagued, the drama driven, the social sasses, the introverted intellectuals, the down-in-the dumps depressed, the wordy will-nots:
“For all the talking and thinking and social media-ing you do, for all the ways you feel, for all the changing moods and all the injustices and all the promises and hopes and all the fears, you have stories! Forget the King’s English and the red pens of your past. Turn on your phone’s recorder and use talk to text if your pencil is out of lead for the 32nd time this month. Begin. Voice your story into air like you’re talking to someone, and watch it magically come to life as your words fall onto the screen.”
We all have something to say.
You, too, are a writer.
Work your magic.
Tell your story. .

I Don’t Want To Be a Workaholic


I Don’t Want to Be a Workaholic

I don’t want to be a workaholic
No beaches or playgrounds to frolic 

To work all day and then all night
No plans “for sure” – a bunch of “might”

I don’t want to live in meetings
“Live to work” is self-defeating

To budgetize and strategize?
My dreams are seen through different eyes! 

I don’t want to give up mealtime
Working straight through what-is-real time

Working lunches aren’t for me,
I savor slowly, sip my tea

I don’t want to write reports
and action plans of different sorts

I don’t want to pitch proposals
Constantly at teams’ disposals 

I don’t want to dress in suits
Analyze causes down to roots 

Don’t give a rip about market trends
Do those matter without friends? 

Don’t confine me to four walls
A desk and chair for conference calls

Don’t make me give evaluations
Stay home from family vacations 

I don’t want work to be my life
My husband needs a tuned-in wife

My children need a mom who’s there
Whose job is not her only care 

My dogs would miss my evening lap
Where else would they curl up and nap? 

I don’t want to be a workaholic
I need moments pure bucolic!

Fix-It Bop

Fix-it Bop 

this Bop is too small 

to hold all my problems 

20 lines and one refrain – 

which problem to choose?

family issues? 

health and aging? 

mama died, daddy won’t listen 

mom in law died, everyone fought 

thyroid quit, clothes got smaller 

arthritis plagues, we limp along 

IBD flares, applesauce sucks! 

Covid takes hostages, Zoom ain’t the same 

work is exhausting, no time to read 

spring cleaning is backlogged, I just want to write! 

My spirit needs writing 

Bop, Bop, Bop,

when earth’s axis is tilted off kilter 

it’s our hope in this space 

that’s the key!