Category: Poetry

ODE TO PETE

ODE TO PETE

Ode to Pete

You can see the age in the white fur around his face.
Even old dogs get gray hair.

He’s stood watch over this home for so many years—
steady, loyal, patient.
He’s kept it safe while they were away,
and when they were home, he still kept watch.

He knows this is his family.
They belong to him.

Through the noise of the house—
the laughter, the shouting,
the running of little feet—
he knows his job.
He doesn’t need to be told.

He finds his spot on the old tree stump in the yard,
his throne, his lookout, his comfort.
The wind carries the world to him—
the familiar scents, the faintest hints of change.
He knows every smell, every sound.

His eyesight isn’t what it used to be,
but he doesn’t let that stop him.
Where sight fades,
his nose and his heart make up for it.

He’s heard it all over the years.
Every conversation.
Every disagreement.
Every whispered apology made after the house quieted down.

He’s been there through the sicknesses and the scares—
waiting at closed doors,
lying close when someone needed warmth.

He’s seen the birthdays,
the holidays,
the tables full of food,
the laughter spilling out into the room.
He’s been part of all of it—
quiet, steady, always there.

He sits and he watches.
He makes sure everything is safe.
Everyone is safe—
because Pete is on duty,
just like always.

And when the day quiets,
and everyone goes inside,
he waits.

He waits to be called in,
to hear a kind voice,
to be told he’s done well.
But humans forget sometimes.

They take it for granted,
thinking, “He’s just a dog. My dog.”

But that’s not really true.

We are his.

We’re more than just the people who fill his days—
we are his purpose.
His reason.

Every breath,
every watchful moment,
has been for us.
He has given his whole life
to our safety,
our laughter,
our love.

We belong to him.

And now—
when I see him resting in the soft light of evening,
his muzzle dusted white,
his eyes still following every sound—
I understand.

He’s not just watching anymore.
He’s remembering.

Every argument.
Every joy.
Every moment he’s kept for us.
Every growing child,
every season passed,
every quiet night he stood guard.

And as I watch him now,
I realize—
I’m the one still being kept safe,
just by knowing he’s here.

Question Everything

Question Everything

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.  The important thing is not to stop questioning.” – Albert Einstein

Have you ever asked God, “Why?”

Have you ever questioned His existence?

Have you ever screamed out in agony, wondering why YOU even exist?

Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?

Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?

Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?

Have you ever tried to wake up, hoping it was just a nightmare?

Have you ever sought answers but found none?

Have you ever wondered, “Why me?”

Have you ever put on a fake smile so that you didn’t have to talk about it?

Have you ever wanted to start all over?

Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?

Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get on the good side of life?

Have you ever felt cursed?

Have you ever felt depressed and regretted so much of your life?

I have.

“The power to question is the basis of all human progress.” – Indira Gandhi

How many times have you been told that you should never question God? I lost count of the times I was told that.  But guess what? He understands.  We were born questioning everything around us.  That is how we learn and grow.  The only ignorant question is the one that is never asked.  Asking questions clears confusion, gives us a better understanding of any given situation, and helps us find answers.  Questions help solve problems.  It is absolutely fine to question our life; it shows that we do not accept our current position or status and that we are willing to improve.

I’m better now, since you left….

I’m better now, since you left….

I used to cry for you everyday

but now I only cry in January

Knowing I start a New Year without you.

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in February when I

remember the love I have for you and how sweet you were

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in March

when the earth renews, and the grass starts

to grow of how you loved to take care of the yards

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in June

Especially on Father’s day, you would wish me happy father’s day.

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in July

You were born on the 4th; I will never view fireworks and BBQs the same.

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in August

But only on 31 of those days

And only 24 hours of the 28th day

the day you left us

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in September

We sifted your remains in your favorite place

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry in October

You were supposed to be here for you first nieces’ day of birth, you even bought her gifts

I used to cry for you everyday

But now I only cry in November

There is an empty seat at our Thanksgiving table

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry for you in December

One less player for dirty Santa

I used to cry for you everyday

Now I only cry on Fridays

it was a Friday that day you left us

I don’t cry for you everyday

Only on the days I when I’m thinking about you

And I think about you everyday

My First Memory Is…

My First Memory Is…

My first memory is of corn.
Chunks, golden and whole, floating in a sour puddle.
My first memory is three concrete steps and a landing, slick with dew.
A door that opened. A mother’s voice, sharp.
Not my mother—someone else’s.
Disappointment.
I wanted to play. I wanted to laugh.
Instead:
A swing, alone.
Then my mother’s face, storming through the park.
Hands pulling.
The walk home.
Do I remember the spanking?
No.
Do I remember the corn?
Always.

I hope

I hope

As I sit upon the witness chair
At the judge I’m supposed to stare
Give my story, my heart I’ll bare
Beg for a sentence long and fair

Explain how hard it’s been to cope
May confess how I’ve turned to dope
Through words of emotion I will grope
Hold myself together, is my hope

I’ll tell of memories I hold dear
Then tell of what I now most fear
All his charges I dread to hear
When it’s over I’ll seek a beer.

I walk in numbness, dread and pain
The thought of seeing him again
Is nothing more than a mental strain
My love for him I need to explain

I just want to hold him one last time
Regardless of the type of his crime
My soul and heart aches and pines
knowing he may be away for a lifetime

Will they let me see him?
I hope
Will they let me hug him?
I hope.
Will he want to see me?
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.

I have…

Have you ever asked God “why?”
Have you ever questioned His existence?
Have you ever screamed out in agony wondering why YOU even exist?
Have you ever wondered how a “loving God” could allow such pain and suffering?
Have you ever sat in a puddle of your own tears and felt you couldn’t go on?
Have you ever felt the hatred burning in your bones?
Have you ever tried to wake up hoping it was just a nightmare?
Have you ever sought answers but found none?
Have you ever wondered “why me”?
Have you ever put on a fake smile just so you didn’t have to talk about it?
Have you ever wanted to just start all over?
Have you ever wanted to give up? Everyday?
Have you ever wondered why you couldn’t get in on the good side of life?
Have you ever felt cursed?
Have you ever felt sad and regretted so much of your life?

I have.
  

Children of Abuse

Children of abuse

One by one they fall like drones

The children of abuse

Can’t you hear their cries

Vitriolic and caustic words

Ingrained into their minds

Silently they sigh

Quietly they go through life

Never telling a soul

Pretending to be shy 

Seeking ways to cope in life

alcohol, cutting and drugs

their memories to nullify

Suicidal thoughts prevail 

Withdrawal and depression

Wishing to stay high

They fade into the crowds
Trying to fit In
Hiding in the light
Hid in closets, out of sight 
Protecting the innocent ones
I can hear their cries
(To be continued) 

         

April 10, 2015

He took her innocence
Shamed her youth
He calls me “mom”
Hurts worse then a broken tooth
He didn’t stop with just one touch
He kept going back
Had her innocence in his clutch
He calls me “mom”
I hear his voice,
see his face
He’s in my dreams
Through my thoughts he does race
He calls me “mom”
I see his sin
I hear her cries
She calls me “mom”
My soul begins to die
They call me “mom”