Love is love is love. And then more love.
Love beyond words.
If we fill our hearts and souls with love…
…how can we fail to fulfill our purpose?
Gratitude for My Imperfection
Love is love is love.
How blessed am I that my life is not #perfect.
I believe god loves…
…the disabled
…the LGBT community
…the poor
…the sick
…those who are in prison
…those of you who are perfect
I’m not perfect. I’m so flawed. But to those who are all that god calls us to be, be gentle with me. I’m trying.
Thank god for my frailties and imperfections, for they provide endless opportunities to be better.
The Sound of Helicopters
Let me be the sound of helicopters.
Let me be the person I needed when I was younger.
Let me be the shoulders others stand on.
Let me be of service to those in need.
Let me be filled with kindness, compassion, patience and humility.
Let me be grateful for my enormous blessings and privilege.
Let me be worthy of the bounty of my life.
A Prayer for Possibility
What a gift is time.
Time to grieve, time to heal.
Time to grow, time to learn.
Time to forgive, time to be forgiven.
Time to get it right. Time to do the right thing, finally.
Time to become the person you always hoped you would be.
Time for gratitude and humility.
Time, always, to give our best and most fervent love,
And daily be renewed with all this beautiful world has to offer.
As long as we draw breath, there is time, and hope, and infinite possibility.
Thank you.
A Sonnet to All the Dicks Who Like to Talk About Big Racks
Constrain her to a finite set of choices,
Assure she can’t provide without a man.
Preclude her giving heed to louder voices
That tell her that she absolutely can.
Convince her that she has no real potential,
And tell her that she needs to be “completed.”
Presume that she will ne’er be influential,
And watch your propaganda be defeated.
We ask no more than fundamental fairness
As straight, White, Christian males assume their due.
A level field, integrity, awareness
If that’s what you get, damn it, we do, too.
A warning, boys, in case I didn’t mention –
We’re wide awake. You’d better pay attention
Happy Birthday to My Love
June 30, 2015
There was a man who had a wife,
Made her happy, saved her life.
Protected her from all things vile,
Kept her safe and made her smile.
Showed her Paris, showed her Rome
Helped her heal, became her home.
Loved her, loved their daughters, too;
Taught them, praised them as they grew.
Cared for others, did not grouse;
Did his charts and fixed the house.
Fed the dogs and manned the grill,
Checked the homework, paid the bill.
Ever decent, ever kind
Wicked humor, brilliant mind.
The years ahead, a happy fate-
Moments of perfection wait.
A Shakespearean Anniversary Sonnet Written in a Hummer
In ’89 we married, in a storm.
‘Twas August 12, a score plus seven since.
The bride was dressed in white, as was the norm;
Her bridesmaids’ gowns, a peach to make one wince.
It was a truly magical event,
As was the honeymoon that happened next.
We ate and swam and sailed ’til we were spent
But the mayo – lettuce hotdog left me vexed.
The years since then have brought both joy and strife-
Three lovely girls for whom our hearts beat true;
Beloved pets, dear friends, our home, our life,
And happy memories, many; sad ones, few.
This man who fills my days with peace and laughter
My love, my Duck, my happy-ever-after.
A Poem on My Love’s Birthday
The man I love is kind and wise –
Sandy hair and blue-grey eyes.
Oh! To sleep in his embrace!
(He always lets me share his fries).
Slings and arrows – bears with grace
He runs his miles, keeps the pace.
Listens, though he’s tired and sore,
He makes our home a happy place.
He runs his miles, keeps the pace.
Listens, though he’s tired and sore,
He makes our home a happy place.
Loves his pups (and mops the floor)
Loves his daughters even more.
Calms my fears and eases strife –
My Duck, the Doc, my evermore.
I wish I were a better wife;
Sweeter, kinder, lean and lithe.
But will love him all my life.
And I will love him all my life.
A Sonnet for Super Bowl LII
February 4, 2018
In Boston, nigh, the streets are filled with boasters
Made fatuous by years of winning Pats.
Beer swilling maw or hipster Facebook poster,
They spew legume-wrought gasses as they blast.
Three hundred miles south, another town
Whose citizens can speak the letter “r”
No dynasty nor national championship crown
Just Philly blood and cheesesteaks – well, so far.
But soon – tonight- this valiant gang, so driven,
Shall take the field and show THEM how it’s done.
When no one takes the victory as a given,
When only Eagles pride and heart doth make them run.
The call us underdogs, and we know why.
But sit back, now, and watch our Eagles fly.
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