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Jun 2023 · 157
Dorothy A Jun 2023
Courage is portrayed on the big screen as Rambo bursting onto the scene or John Wayne playing the tough cowboy that saves the day. Its displayed in all kinds of bravado like Bruce Willis in the Die Hard movie series or James Bond's physical prowess in espionage. These are typical, cinematic emblems of the ever invincible hero.

Did those men ever cry? What happened to them when they were afraid?

I once told my father, after my brother took his own life, that he should go to counseling. He had to be struggling. Like me, I know that this horrible news shook his world to the core.

"I've got to be a man. I've got to handle this on my own".  He continued to suffer in silence.

Courage may sound like a lion's roar, but I've seen courage through the unexpected--in meekness. Having boldness is asking someone for forgiveness, often years after the offense because humility feels like weakness. It's the courage to tell someone your wrong when you love being right. Most of all, it's having to admit that you're not as solid as you want to appear, and you're falling apart.  Revealing that you need help when you've done everything you did to keep the facade going, but the cracks keep popping up, shows more strength than any stiff, upper lip.

That's courage to me.
May 2023 · 176
Seed Planter
Dorothy A May 2023
I don't want to sow any weeds
There's already plenty of them in the world
They do nothing but choke out
And crowd out all that's trying to thrive
So I'll scatter some seeds here
And I'll spread some over there
Actually, anywhere and everywhere
Will do the job

Only the best will work
The quality of excellence
Seeds of Faith
Seeds of Hope
Seeds of Love
That comes from the Father
The ultimate Cultivator
The original Gardener

Some of these little life givers
Will do their task and take root
Not in the dirt but in the heart
Let your heart be fertile ground
Nurture those infant seedlings
Make way for their production  
And let them mature to size

And when they reproduce
Seeds of their own
Become a copycat
Become a seed planter, too
That's how gardens grow and spread
They fill the void with meaning
People are like plants
When continually tended to,
We can grow well and thrive
And become what we are meant to be
May 2023 · 112
Dorothy A May 2023
Hey, fellow people
There's something on my mind
I've something to share
So I'm going to tell you
While also making it known to myself
For I'm nobody special
And I need daily reminders
I'm no less vulnerable than you

Do you know of the darkness?
Do you know of the fear?
Have you had those engulfing experiences?
Have they put a strangle hold on you?  
Stopped you dead in your tracks?
Your hope scarce?
Your life on hold?

Well, there's a satisfying solution

Where there's Light,
Darkness cannot coexist.
Where there's Faith
Fear must back away
I stand unashamed
To speak of God
My faith in Jesus
In spite of living in a world
That often scoffs
For He not only gave me life
He saved my life

There is no better cure
Than God's light
And putting my trust in Him
Soothing all my anxieties
So where now is the darkness?
Where now is the fear?
This is what it is...

It's dispeled
May 2023 · 173
Each And Every One of You
Dorothy A May 2023
To each and every one that reads these words
I don't know you, but I care about you
You were made in the image of God
No matter what you've done
No matter how you feel about yourself
That doesn't seem to amount to much
Hear what I'm saying
I'm not just writing this because
It may sound profound
No, I wish to convey this with all sincerity
You were made in the image of God

In your past, something may haunt you
God can forgive, is ready and willing
You need to do your part and
Take it to the cross
Where sins have been paid for
By the blood of the Lamb
Do you believe in the Son?

To each and every one that reads these words
Perhaps, you are hurting
Perhaps, you don't feel much of anything
Perhaps, you are confused beyond comprehension
Take it to the Everlasting Father
Reach out to Him
He cares about you
He cares about me
He wants to hear from us
A vital connection in prayer
But it's up to us to reach out
For God's reach is only a prayer away
Not miles and miles and miles away
His love is vast as the ocean

Spread the message
May 2023 · 172
The Wolf Is At The Door
Dorothy A May 2023
The wolf is at the door. He's menacing, a hungry predator out for blood, out for a meal. Death and destruction are in his sights. He's looking for a way in, any weak spot that he can find. Make no mistake--he's a skilled enemy. There's no shortness of determination on his part.

So he huffs!
And he puffs!
And he'll blow my house down!
...or so he says

But I just called out his bluff

He's full of hot air,
And nothing more
I used to cower at his threats
Until I realized that our God is greater
Than an old windbag
An infamous trickster

My house isn't made of wood
My house isn't made of straw
Nothing flimsy or cheap
No, my house is built on solid rock
On the solid foundation of
God, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit

The story ends in that the wolf takes off like the coward that he is. His tail is between his legs, for he knows he couldn't stand a chance to devour and destroy my home. Try as he may, he's likely to be back, again. After all, he's a predator. But, to reiterate, my house isn't made of wood or straw, of nothing flimsy or cheap.

Is your house built on the Rock?
Apr 2023 · 231
The Unwelcome House Guest
Dorothy A Apr 2023
He never asks to come, and he never wants to leave. And he's really no guest at all.

What he wants is to burrow into your brain, like a bad virus. He'd be very content to short circuit your hardware in your head. His ultimate desire, though, is your complete destruction.

There're many names for him: The Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies, Satan, Lucifer and the Devil are a few titles. He is the enemy of our souls, slick and cunning, deceitful and alluring. He's no more than a thief and a killer, certainly not your impish pal in a red suit with a pitchfork.  

He'd love it if you never believed in him at all, just as equally as he'd love you to be obsessed with him, finding his dark, sadistic image to be cool and a counterculture phenomenon.

I've been a target of his schemes because I believe in God and in the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross for our salvation. Being targeted goes for anybody that gets on his case. Too many people believe his lies, believe that they are of no real value or that God is either nonexistent or not good.  

So to my unwelcome house guest... you cannot have my soul. I am a child of God. Therefore, God has the final say, and He says that I am valuable, and that I am here for His good purposes.
Apr 2023 · 138
Joy Destroyers
Dorothy A Apr 2023
Joy Destroyers:

Holding grudges

Unresolved anger

Dislike of oneself

Sense of entitlement

Quickness to judge others

Failure to see the extraordinary and the miraculous
Apr 2023 · 126
Rule #1 in Writing Poetry
Dorothy A Apr 2023
Rule #1

Don't write to please by writing something so above the ordinary and grandiose, yet at the same time writing something that's not even believable to yourself.
Apr 2023 · 143
The George Bailey Prayer
Dorothy A Apr 2023
It's a Wonderful Life (the scene at Martini's bar) 1946

"Dear Father in Heaven, I'm not a praying man, but, if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope..I... Show me the way, God."

Same movie (the scene with George Bailey on the bridge, toward the end of the film)

"Please, I want to live again! I want to live again! I want to live again! Please, God...let me live again"

How many people have been there?
Have been at the end of their rope?
Have cried out like this?
Were convinced that their life was over?
How many people felt like George Bailey?

I ask, because I've been there.

No, life is not exactly like this movie, with neat and tidy, cheerfully, heartwarming endings. Nevertheless, there were some profound themes there. Our lives do matter. We are here for a purpose other than the daily grind. A fruitful life is God's desire for all of us, and we are to come to Him in the good as well as our desperate times.

In a world that often seems so cruel and dark, we can be a light to others. We don't have to be someone special, someone that makes the news.

I don't have any books published in the bookstore, or any upon a library shelf, but I humbly write (when inspired), and I use my God-given talents. We not only can be blessed by others, but we can also be a blessing to someone else.

Nobody's life is a bad mistake.
Dorothy A Apr 2023
"Be yourself"

But who am I?

I might be just an act, formed early out of survival  

Maybe, I grabbed bits of this, and bits of that

Whatever role kept the wolves at bay

Throw in a pinch of people pleaser to the recipe

Pepper it up with a rebel with any cause

Did I borrow this persona?

What did I inherit?

Am I more like my mother than I'd like to admit?

Maybe I am performing

Indeed, the world is a stage

Am I curtsying to the audience?

All the world is so Hollywood now

We seem to be scenes in one movie after another


...Dead silence...

Uh-oh, caught

Hands up?

Okay, I surrender!

"Please, God, show me who I am"
Apr 2023 · 75
No Mercy, The Rose
Dorothy A Apr 2023
Its beauty inspires art
Well honored in song
In poetry and writing
For its marvelous self
The rose

You want to pluck it
The perfume scent
Lifted under your nose
Placed in your vase

But those thorny stems
Like a mamma bear's claws
Prepare for a fight!
Protecting the weak
The bloom

Yes, a contradiction
Lovely and fragile
But every seeker knows
That fierce jab!
The battle

Just as the penalty
For that sweet honey
From a hive to an intruder
Is the sting of the bee

No flower is as renowned
The gem of them all
Perhaps, they're designed
To trick us all along, being

And beautiful
Yet capable of
Drawing blood

Oh, that paradoxical Rose!
Apr 2023 · 81
Dorothy A Apr 2023
The time that I decide to write to get all the "likes" and "hearts" that I can get is the day I need to not write something public at all.  I shall remind myself that I'm not writing to be trendy. I need to get it out of my head that I'm not in it for the popularity. It wouldn't be genuine to me, anyhow. I wouldn't be proud of it. The ego doesn't need to be fed, for it's never satisfied with just enough. It wants it all.

That's my concern with wanting to be trendy.
Mar 2023 · 173
That Huge Boulder
Dorothy A Mar 2023
What is it?

What is it?

What is it?
An inability to forgive?
An inability to be forgiven?

What is it?

Whatever it is
It's a huge boulder
You don't need to carry it anymore
I don't need to carry it anymore
We were never meant to bear
Such a heavy weight
Such a heavy burden

So I lay it down at the foot of the cross
Casting my cares upon God
For He is a boulder crusher

That's why I write this
It speaks to me

So what about you?
Oct 2022 · 201
It Is Like A Sword
Dorothy A Oct 2022
It is a tool for battle
A symbol of saving grace
Jesus was crucified on it
And I imagine the cross,
Its portion inside the ground
As like the tip of a sword
Its sharp and spiked end
Plunged into the dirt,
Its horizontal part
As the quillon, the crossguard
Of its majestic knife

Who was on that cross
Was a Man that was pierced
His hands and feet
His head with thorns
And, lastly, right into his side
But it is he, in return,
That can pierce
And penetrate the hardest
Of men and women
With his love
Oct 2022 · 139
Dorothy A Oct 2022
Never lose your sense of wonder
The kid inside the adult
One who never comes
To know it all
But one who stands in awe
Of possibilities
And life to come

Still learning
Still dreaming
Still creating
Oct 2022 · 133
My Mitten Home
Dorothy A Oct 2022
I'm a Michigan gal
Born and bred
My family has been here
For over one hundred years
Covering one whole century
And parts of two others

I'm a Detroit native
Born there like my parents
And my mom's parents
And her paternal grandparents
But the suburbs
Are where I reside
I have lived no other way

Michigan waved at us
With its mitten-clad hand
It beckoned us in
With a welcoming gesture
Yes, Michigan did
I love where I am from                                                                  ­                  
I never, ever had
The desire to leave
Travel afar, yes
But not for long
For I know where my home is
I make no bones about it
It is right here in Michigan
And I'm proud to call it my home
Oct 2022 · 71
Losing My Parents
Dorothy A Oct 2022
I lost my mom in August of 2022, a very short time ago. I lost my father much further back, in January of 2005. In my fifties, I still feel like an orphan. Tongue in cheek, I say this, for I'm obviously not a kid anymore. It's still sad to lose a parent, no matter what age you are or how long of a life your parents lived. Even when you know the time is getting close, it hurts no less. Pain is pain.

I was expecting both of my parents to die, preparing myself for it. They both had dementia and were in mental and physical decline. That said, it was still a shock. To see my father with his blue eyes wide open, and my mother laid out on the floor after CPR was done. My mom attempted to get out of her hospital bed in the group home. Not in a million years would anyone expected her to end up on the floor, after not walking for four years.

They are both gone now.  They are certainly not forgotten. Memories can fade, and time has done its work on those memories where my father is concerned. Pictures are a great source to look upon to keep things more vivid.

I still want to call my mom to tell her something, for a second or so. Her death is still fresh in my mind, and has yet to fully sink in. I grieve, but I still think I haven't felt the full effects of my mom's death yet.

They didn't hear "I love you", from their parents, so my parents didn't say it to me or my brothers. Their home lives were rough, and they brought some of what was done to them into their new family.  I'm glad I was able to initiate it with my mother and keep it going. I wasn't able to keep it going with my dad. It felt awkward, at first, but children need to hear it.

Though there is much more I could relate, I'm sharing just a few words. Writing can be a tool for healing. I am thankful for it.
Aug 2022 · 521
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I see that plane in the sky
Like a big, mechanical bird
It makes its way onward

Where's it going?
Where's it headed for?

In my car
Waiting for the train
To finish crossing the tracks

Where's it going?
Where's it headed for?

That bicyclist
Looks like he's on a mission
Two-wheeled, manpowered movement

Where's he going?
Where's he headed for?

Their destinations are unknown to me
But I'm often a traveler in my imagination
Good ones, mostly, I embark upon

Where am I going?
Where am I headed for

I've seen a fair amount
Of different, actual places
New faces, abundant

I'm still gonna go somewhere
Still heading for yet another destination

Alive, and breathing
Dreaming hasn't stopped
And destinations still beckon
Aug 2022 · 112
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I have to remind myself
To be aware that
Just because I'm
Having a bad day
Perhaps, having a
Rough period of life...
Pain, sadness
Confusion or anger
Whatever the struggle

Not to become
A porcupine
Not to form
Some pointy quills
For self-protection
Or preservation

I don't want
To poke or ****
Anyone who
Crosses my path
Who doesn't deserve
A sharp jab
Aug 2022 · 122
School of Hard Knocks
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I'm a pupil  
Of the school
Of hard knocks
Very few aren't
Acquainted with
Such education

I just wish that I
Ended my apprenticeship
In other words,
Once a learner
I soon became
Much too skilled
Dorothy A Aug 2022
The womb
It's a glorious *****
A reproductive

It was my first home
It was yours
It gave us
Exactly what we needed

We got "baking time"
Little buns developing
Being nourished and
Fully insulated
From the outside
From any of the bad
Any of the harsh elements
And the school of hard knocks
That we were not ready to receive
And my heart goes out to all those who were unwanted or unwelcome, or those who had the odds stacked against them
Aug 2022 · 342
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I don't want to be pulled into
Two opposing directions
I don't want to serve two masters
Like the Bible warns of,
One foot in this world
One foot in the kingdom
Despising or favoring
One over the other

I must heed that warning
To not be of that mindset
Otherwise, I'll snap into two
Like the good, old wishbone
That has to give, somehow
And shall only bend so far
Contrary to societal slogans
Of invincibility...
"Fear nothing"
Is wishful thinking, for
Frailty is part of
Our human condition
Aug 2022 · 135
Skyward Bound
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I'm just a lowly butterfly
Crawling on the ground.
But look. Quickly!
Now I'm a magnificent butterfly
And I'm skyward bound

Cocoon disintegration
Unexpected transformation

I like this new look!
Can't believe my own eyes!
A brand-new "me" with wings
Off to heights, imagined
Where gravity is defied!

Cocoon disintegration
Unexpected transformation
Aug 2022 · 134
Afghan Women
Dorothy A Aug 2022
As a fellow woman
I'm appalled by the brutality
That you are enduring
The Taliban are cruel cowards
They are trying to blot the light
From your eyes
To take the breath
From your souls
To destroy your dreams
Denying you a reason
To ever get up again
And go on

Afghan ladies and girls,
You are my heroes
You that cry in despair, in fear
Who demand to be heard
You are the true warriors
You that fight for your lives
And for your dignity
Though the so-called men
That heap abuse upon you
Try to silence your voices
And shut you out from hope
That you need in order
To blossom and flourish

Oh, their wicked ways!
Their gloat and greed!
Those hallow hearts
Define them as the villains
That they truly are
Not a legitimate leadership
Deadly and dangerous
Are accurate descriptions
That define them well

Oh, Afghan women
May you always know that
I am on your side
Aug 2022 · 201
Jesus Gave It All
Dorothy A Aug 2022
I am in need
Can you spare a few bucks
From your pocket?
Money does find its way
Back around, doesn't it?

I am wanting friendship
Can you give me any
Of your time?
The clock is ticking away
But its hands haven't failed yet

Share your God-given talents
I want to be inspired
And in wonder
Those incredible gifts
That keep on giving

But you still haven't
Given it all, have you?
Well, someone already
Did that, paved the way
His name is Jesus, my friend
He laid down His life
In love for us
For we could never
Save ourselves from destruction

He healed many
He fed many,
Body and soul
He listened
He befriended
He forgave

And above all,
He died for the world
Jesus gave it all
Mar 2022 · 126
Dorothy A Mar 2022
My dad's parents were Lithuanian immigrants. Lithuania was the first nation to break away from the Soviet Union. That was exciting news for me in 1990. Then I thought, "How are they going to pull this off?"
Remarkably, they did and then others followed suit and broke away. Ukraine was one of them.

Oh, Ukraine
My heart bleeds for you
Wounded is the land
Broken hearts
Shattered lives
Your resilience amazes me
Mar 2022 · 126
Planet Cell Phone-Revised
Dorothy A Mar 2022
I first wrote and posted this on July 2017

I have a beef with plenty of things. One of them is how self-absorbed we have become because of those **** cell phones. No, I am not a hypocrite. I own one. I cannot imagine not having a cell phone, for it comes in handy, especially when one is stuck on the road with a car that is broken down or if an emergency call comes. Though I know, from personal experience, how life was before cell phones. We survived.

I still have a flip phone. Yeah, I'm behind the times, I admit. It's just that I do not want to pay a higher bill. I got enough bills. Would I enjoy those extra bells and whistles? You bet! But like my car, I just am looking at what I need verses what I desire.  I don't want to google and go on the internet here, there and everywhere. I have plenty of internet use as it is, enough to say that I don't want to access it in a moment's notice.

So what has become of us? It used to be that the biggest enemy to being behind the wheel was intoxication. "Don't drink and drive",  a terrible problem. Now we are intoxicated on our technological toys. Texting and driving has become the new road hazard, comparable to *****.

Cell phones are everywhere, and people are on them like their lives depend on them. And do we really pay attention anymore? How about the person next to us who we may never notice? Our cell phones have invaded our need to be aware of our surroundings. It seems we are missing out on so much because of it.  

We would be lost without our precious cell phones--at least we think we would. I admit I am guilty. But sometimes, I'd just like to throw mine out the window and be free of the thing once and for all.

Postscript-added on March 2022

I now have a smart phone. I now access the internet on it all the time. New and improved?
Dorothy A Mar 2022
Dear Folks,

It's been a while since I last posted a piece of writing on here.

Though a woman, and a proud one, I feel like the tin man, all frozen up. The tin man got stopped in his tracks in the rain, rusted. What's my excuse?  

Perhaps, I thought I've said it all. Perhaps, my tears have all dried up. Perhaps, I got complacent or apathetic.

Perhaps, I was just plain scared.

Oil can, please.
Dorothy A Sep 2018
Are you a friend?
Or are you a foe?
I think I like you
Well...I don't know
Just a tongue-and-cheek thought running through my mind
Mar 2018 · 418
Tightrope of Hope
Dorothy A Mar 2018
Doesn't it feel that way, sometimes?
That hope is a thin line
And your tottering over it?
One misstep and you fear
It's soon gone
It's over and so are you
As you plunge
Into the abyss.

That's when hope is
Thinning out
And the rope is fraying
And the line is swaying..
And if you can only make it
Before it all falls apart
Jul 2017 · 853
Planet Cell Phone, Revised
Dorothy A Jul 2017
I have a beef with plenty of things. One of them is how self-absorbed we have become because of those **** cell phones. No, I am not a hypocrite. I own one. I cannot imagine not having a cell phone, for it comes in handy, especially when one is stuck on the road with a car that is broken down or if an emergency call comes. Though I know, from personal experience, how life was before cell phones. We survived.

I still have a flip phone. Yeah, I'm behind the times, I admit. It's just that I do not want to pay a higher bill. I got enough bills. Would I enjoy those extra bells and whistles? You bet! But like my car, I just am looking at what I need verses what I desire.  I don't want to google and go on the internet here, there and everywhere. I have plenty of internet use as it is, enough to say that I don't want to access it in a moment's notice.

So what has become of us? It used to be that the biggest enemy to being behind the wheel was intoxication. "Don't drink and drive",  a terrible problem. Now we are intoxicated on our technological toys. Texting and driving has become the new road hazard, comparable to *****.

Cell phones are everywhere, and people are on them like their lives depend on them. And do we really pay attention anymore? How about the person next to us who we may never notice? Our cell phones have invaded our need to be aware of our surroundings. It seems we are missing out on so much because of it.  

We would be lost without our precious cell phones--at least we think we would. I admit I am guilty. But sometimes, I'd just like to throw mine out the window and be free of the thing once and for all.
Jul 2017 · 459
Place in the Sun
Dorothy A Jul 2017
Sea of faces
All different races
Going all different places

I was at the mall
A solo mission
People were passing me by
A throng of beings
Going about their way
How I longed to connect with them
Any of them
For I had no smile
And the smiles I witnessed
Were not for me

My heart
Wanted to have a part
Lonely from the start

Loneliness has been my
Old, yet unwelcome companion
Since I was a girl
And it still reminds me
That it lurks in the shadows
In my shadow
As it follows me everywhere
In which the light cannot shine in

No matter your plight
Keep searching for that light
For every dawn banishes every night

That was my hope talking
Just now, that is
Indeed, it is a God given gift
Along with a faith
That refuses to give in
That says that I am *beautiful

That says that I am loved
That says that I am wanted

So now those sea of faces
In that tide of loneliness
Haven't swallowed me whole
As I, at first, feared that they would
For in those myriad of faces
I believe that theirs and mine
Are not so different after all
We are merely kindred spirits
Simply on that indomitable quest
Each one somehow searching for the light
And longing for that
Place in the sun
Jun 2017 · 485
Dorothy A Jun 2017
We are writers
And we are all artists
We are a mouthpiece
To add to the voices of the world
We express pain
We express love
We express life
We express disappointment
We express despair
We express hope
It is just that the pen
Is our choice of expression

Violins make their point
When the bow crosses their strings
And the ear is filled with music

We are the collective melodies
That share kinship to their song

Trumpets blare their sounds
As the breath of the player
Makes contact with the instrument

We add our own kind of breeze to the world
Jun 2017 · 494
What Survival Means to Me
Dorothy A Jun 2017
When you've felt like there is nothing left of you
You're spent - flat out on the ground
The craziness of life has mowed you over
Well, you get up and stand
That is what survival means to me

If you cannot stand
And you have to crawl awhile
Then that's how you make it
To get yourself moving

If you can rise up
But your legs feel broken
Then you use a crutch
But you get moving

If you are utterly helpless
And someone else
Has to lift you up
Well, then reach out your hand
For it's up to you to start moving

The world is full of survivors
Apr 2017 · 1.2k
If I Were A Poem...
Dorothy A Apr 2017
If I were a poem
Would I rhyme?
If I were a poem
Would I be free verse?
Would I be classical or modern?
Ordinary or a cut above?
Minimal or long winded?
Humorous or deep?
Make an impact or keep it simple?

I have written all such things
So I'm not sure
Dorothy A Mar 2017
He was an old cowboy, and he never liked to hear that cowboys were a dying breed. Those were fighting words, indeed, so don't ever tell him that. Yes, a cowboy, through and through, and he hoped he'd die in the open, big sky of Montana, right by his old horse, Dusty. Falling in love with the outdoors, he grew up working on his uncle's ranch and was hooked from the very start. Now Ride 'Em Rick had breathed his last and finally met his Maker. He was ready, for sure, and died with his boots on, just like he hoped would happen. It wasn’t out in the open, but as he was snoozing on his recliner and he never woke up.

When most of his children were arguing about things they shouldn't be, Jet took charge to see to a proper burial. He refused to be among the squabbling siblings.

You never visited him!

Oh, yeah! The only reason you came over was to get more money out of him!

I loved Pop! You never loved the man!

You're just like him! Pigheaded! Impossible to tell you a ****** thing!

He's not just your dad, so don't act so high and mighty!

And so how would Pop have wanted to be buried? He was a hard man to know—even  after seventy-seven years on this earth. Well, Jet knew his father was a proud man, and a lover of all things cowboy. It would be nothing fancy—he’d be done up in his good flannel shirt and jeans, and of course with his boots on, and his cowboy hat slightly tucked under his cold, hard fingers.  A lasso would be a nice touch, and some of the old, cowboy tunes during the service would be perfect. Surely, if Rick was going to die with his boots on, they’d stay with him to the very end. So that was how it all would be.

And so Ride 'Em Rick looked regal in his humble garb. Stony in life, so he was in death. Mostly, the old man kept his distance, and that seemed normal to Jet. But now standing with his two boys, one on each side of him, Jet hoped he would have been a more hands-on father to his sons. With the help of his wife, Carly, he was surely keeping on course. The siblings were still at odds, but there were plenty of tears and hugs going around to keep the peace and to make a good gathering. And so it was a fitting farewell to man who felt most at home on the trails and in the saddle, buried with his boots on.
Dorothy A Mar 2017
Aubrey was confronted by her mom in the kitchen as she was making her lunch for school the next day. "Two sandwiches?" her mom questioned. "What's up with that, Aubrey? Since when do you eat more than one sandwich?" Actually Aubrey ate well. It was always a healthy lunch for her, perhaps a sandwich with some lettuce and tomato on it, or something cooked and leftover. She rarely indulged in sweet snacks, like her brother and sister did, never going without a couple pieces of fruit in her bag.  

Audrey was a freshman in high school, and she was a forthright girl. There was no need to hide anything, so  she replied nonchalantly, "It's not for me. It is for Wade Hodak. He doesn't have a sandwich in his lunch".

With her hands on her hips, Audrey's mom smelled something fishy. Was Wade taking advantage of her? She replied, "And why not? Since when is it up to you to look after him?"

"Mom!" Aubrey protested. "He is lucky his mom even gets any child support from his dad! Her paycheck doesn't come til the end of the week. Sometimes, he eats okay, but sometimes they just don't have the money! You know how it is with bills and stuff! It is usually just a bag of chips and whatever else he can find"

Aubrey's mom only vaguely knew of Wade Hodak. What little she knew of his mother, his mom seemed on the up-and-up. She remembered that the woman had to pull her daughter out of  dance class because she couldn't afford it, the same class her younger daughter was in.

Aubrey's mom smiled and gave her a kiss and a hug, "Peanut butter and jelly?" Well, don't lay it on too thin.", she advised.  Aubrey smiled big, a sweet smile with those braces on her teeth, and she was becoming a beautiful, young woman, both inside and out.

"That's what I was hoping you would say", Aubrey said and added, gratefully. "Thanks mom".  Peanut butter and jelly it was.
Mar 2017 · 395
Going Home (a flash story)
Dorothy A Mar 2017
Lily drove past tiny towns and big metropolises.  She packed up what she could in her small car and left the rest behind, anything to get away from the life that she helplessly felt was eroding away into disaster.

Her dad was right. "Never fall for a guy who is more in love with himself than he is with you," was his advice to her as she was about to embark to Los Angles. A practical man from Iowa, who was most comfortable on the cornfields, Lily's dad was always her solid rock.  She never felt she should compare her men in her life to her dad, but they fell far short in the comparison that she never tried to use as her measuring stick. Nothing phony or pretentious about him in his daughter's eyes, Mack was the real deal of what a man should be.

Now her husband, Trey, was just the opposite. He was the lead singer of a local band, and his magnetic attraction towards women was certainly not uncommon among musicians. They fell for him like he was the Pied Piper—for he was viewed as a lady killer—and he willingly obliged more than once to any adoring female fan. Lily couldn't put up with it anymore, and so she was heading home. Two years since she saw her dad, he was surely there to welcome her back with open arms.  He told her she always had a place in his home. Her old yellow lab, Buster, was waiting for her, too.    

Lily drove past mountains and valleys, twists and turns, drove by wheat fields and wildflowers. They were the breadcrumbs that paved a way to the cornfields and sleepy, little towns that were all so familiar to her. Once she got there, she'd give her dear dad a huge bear hug, receive dozens of sloppy kisses from her dog, greet an old friend or two, and take a nice good bubble bath—anything to clear her mind and soothe her soul.

So it was Iowa, once again, that she would make as her home. From there, who knew? All she knew is that she was well on her way.
Mar 2017 · 691
The Receiving End
Dorothy A Mar 2017
Often I've felt like I was on the outside,
Forever looking in..and
Now I've come to believe I'm someone in this world
It is so nice to be on the receiving end
Dorothy A Mar 2017
Dave took his little boy for a stroll. Hand in hand, they went, as-three-year old Brody loved walking with his daddy. The spring weather was finally here, and green color was starting to return back to the landscape. Brody stopped and  pointed up in the air, and shouted, "Daddy, look! Birds running in the sky!"

A flock of birds flew on by, fleetingly,  and Dave smiled down at his son beaming up at him. Oh, that little-man-in-the making! It was like father, like son! Dave used to say such things when he was his age, yet he never heard it put that way before. Birds running in the sky--wonder what the birds thought of the ant-men down below? He exclaimed to his son, "Those critters have feathered wings, and they can travel like airplanes!  And they can also relax a while and soar through the sky like they were floating on air! Like balloons!" Dave put his hands out like he was an airplane and Brody followed his lead.

"I want to fly!" Brody declared, running around in circles with his outstretched arms.

"Me, too!" echoed Dave. He knelt down on one leg and pulled his boy next to him and pointed to the sky. "When I was a kid I thought those clouds were made of marshmallows. My dad used to say to me, 'Let's go outside and play catch under the marshmallow roof'".   The cottony, white clouds were billowy, three-dimensional puffs of fluff, stuffed up in various patches as if to decorate the big, blue sky.

Brody gave his father a big boy squeeze, a precious moment, indeed. Dave never wanted to lose that imagination that he could share with his son, and his son could share with him.  They both continued on,  making their way under the marshmallow sky.
Dorothy A Mar 2017
It’s a horrible feeling when you belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to you. When you don’t matter to a single soul—there is no worse feeling in the world. That feeling nagged Clem throughout much of his life. He used to walk around, wounded and broken inside. Though what he felt inside may never have shown on his tough armor that he wore in public, Clem often felt his life pretty much meant nothing. So how did he ever get to where he was today? How did he get to be so blessed? It amazed him.

Born in 1917, Clem Manning never thought he’d ever make it to one hundred years old, yet here he was. Today was his special day, though he didn’t want any fuss over it all. But he was living with his daughter, Violet, for the past few years, and she wouldn’t have it any other way but to put together a celebration to remember. With a houseful of people, some inside, some in the backyard, and some on the front porch, Clem could say that he no longer felt that he belonged to nobody and nobody belonged to him. It was a beautiful Arizona day, and the distant mountains were ablaze in a fiery purple.  It was a day made for birthdays.  

Seeing one make it to one hundred was rare and amazing sight to witness. To make it this long meant you beat the odds.  Most of all, it was amazing to good, old Clem, himself. His parents died young, long before he could remember them. If others in his family lived longer, he never would have known. The only kin he knew of was his aunt and her husband. They may have taken him in, but he certainly never felt wanted. Both of them slapped him around, punished him by locking him in closets, and prevented him from eating meals when he was bad. They also neglected his needs of decent clothing and a good bed. He had a beat up mattress on the floor or nothing but the hard floor, itself, when he was being punished.  Thankfully, somehow someone intervened, and he ended up in a boy’s home. That place wasn’t a whole lot better when it came to dodging a hard hand, but he was kept clean and with a full belly.

Clem ran away when he was fifteen from that place, and that was in the throes of the Depression. From there on, he fended for himself. His days of experiencing hunger from living at his aunt’s house helped him to be street smart. The petty thievery he learned to master—just to manage to stay alive—continued on beyond childhood.  Like many men, down on their luck and traveling the country, he rode the rails illegally. Just how did Clem survive to be so old, anyway? In his hobo days, he’s been shot at, chased by police, and bitten by dogs. He also almost drowned once in a rapid river, and had a bout with double pneumonia that made him downright delusional and on Death’s door.  

But when the second world war came about, life became easier for Clem. He found his sweetheart, Bess, married her and settled down out west. He wanted to fight in the war, but a hernia disqualified him from joining. His life was surely spared then, for many of his friends were drafted in the army, went overseas, but never made it back alive.    

It sure has been one heck of a life. Resting in his easy chair, he was thankful he still had his wits about him—had a sound noggin—and that he could see and hear still alright—with the help of coke bottle glasses and a hearing aid. Everything that surrounded him was a grand sight to look at, knowing that he helped to create all this hustle and bustle of people in his presence, those here simply to honor him.

He and Bess had three of their own children, Hank, Violet and Daisy, and they also adopted two more, Ted and Sam. It was during those days in the home for boys that Clem saw some of the luckier ones go to good families, selected by potential parents that could give them the secure homes they desperately wanted.  Clem was never picked but picked over. Because he never got that chance, he swore he’d help out those just like him, ones who felt unwanted or ignored, ones that belonged to nobody and nobody belonged to them. He did just that very thing and strove to become the best dad he could possibly be. This was a learning experience for him, and his mistakes were his teachers. Nobody showed him how to be a father, but Bess was his rock and his ally. How he longed to be with her, again.

Clem outlived all of his friends. He lost his sweet Bess fourteen years ago, and buried one of his children—his beloved firstborn child, and it wasn't easy to bury Hank. It should have been the other way around.. There were now thirteen grandchildren, and he never did remember how many great grandchildren that there were, but they were all here now. It was a miracle to have everyone under one roof, as there was family scattered all across the country. He smiled to himself as he thought about how everyone took the time out of their busy lives just for one, old geezer.  

“You better matter to someone right now”, Clem once told a good friend, “Cuz one day you’ll be long gone, and you’ll be lucky if anyone knows your name. It doesn’t matter if you are loved by one hundred people—or one person. That’s how I see it, anyways”.  

With his wife’s relations, and his children and their families, Clem knew the family tree had plenty of branches on it. His life did matter in this world. One of his grandchildren, Amber, mapped a tree out, and she made it all seem so spectacular, and put together like a royal family’s would be. Sketched around the details was a tree done in colored pencil—vivid greens and browns that were eye catching to even a old man with weak eyes—and today it was on display for everyone to inspect and talk about.  

Clem knew very well that his days were waning, that soon he’d just be a memory in the minds of his children and his grandchildren—probably not his great grandchildren who would barely remember him, if at all. Someday, he’d just be a name in the family records of that famous family tree. Like he said to his friend, his name would barely matter to anyone some day. He was simply Clem Manning, a guy who got a break in life and dodged disaster. Maybe only the good did die young, or perhaps he was just too stubborn to die.

But this wasn’t a day for having a sourpuss or for dwelling on the hard things. This was a day to remember for everyone, more than just a birthday for a lucky, old guy that beat the odds. Clem couldn’t eat much of the food made for his birthday feast—too rich or not appealing to his declining appetite—but he promised to have a nice sized slice of cake. It was red velvet with cream cheese frosting, his favorite.

Happy Birthday to you…happy birthday to you…happy birthday, dear Cle-em



Happy Birthday to you!

There was lots of applause, cell phones out and cameras snapping for picture taking, as Clem tried to blow out the three candles—1-0-0. Thankfully, he had a bit of help from the little ones up close, for Clem wanted to still show nothing was going to beat him, especially three, little, measly candles. But those weren’t just measly candles. They represented so much of who he was.

He still couldn’t believe he made it to see this day. How on earth did he pull it off, anyway?
Mar 2017 · 390
Limerick #4
Dorothy A Mar 2017
There was a handsome man named *****
Who made his home in East Toledo
Ladies' eye candy
Binoculars handy
As he jogged on by in his speedos
Mar 2017 · 686
Of The Stars
Dorothy A Mar 2017
If women are really from Venus
And men are really from Mars
Both are from the stars

Both complete the human race
Both portray an equal part
That creates a beating, human heart
Dorothy A Mar 2017
As she often did, Mandy wanted to see the sunrise, but she missed it while struggling to get up and make herself a much needed cup of coffee. Her mug in hand, along with her favorite magazine, she walked out onto her front porch to enjoy the tranquility of the fresh, new day. She thought she caught something out of her peripheral vision and was quite caught off guard. A bit startled, she did not immediately recognize the sleeping figure to her left. Even more startled, she soon realized what she was seeing.  

“Lloyd? What are you doing here?”

Lloyd didn’t move a muscle at her response, sleeping fairly soundly, too soundly to know that he should have already been in his car and long gone.
Again, she asked, “Why are you on my porch? Lloyd! Lloyd!” She nudged him in the shoulder a few times. Was he drunk? There was no smell of alcohol on him.

Now she had roused him out of his slumber, and Lloyd flinched. He was dumbfounded and needed a minute to get his bearings. With a sheepish smile, he slowly sat up and produced a pretty long yawn, stretching out his arms to shake off the night. He was in a rumpled T shirt and jeans, and certainly could have used a blanket.  

Just what her brother doing on her gliding patio couch anyhow, acting like a hobo? Getting it together, he responded, “I just didn’t want to be there...couldn’t handle it last night.”

Mandy’s heart sank. “You mean you were afraid to be home by yourself”, she confirmed to his confession.

He nodded, reluctantly, and slumped back in a slouched position. Mandy handed him her cup of coffee. He needed it more than she did, and he was glad to have it. Her feet in fuzzy slippers shuffled back to the front door as she stopped, turned towards him and said to him, “If it wasn’t summer out I’d call you completely and utterly crazy. You know you could have just told me what really was going on in your head, and I’d have let you sleep on the couch. All you needed to do was to ask—no not ask—tell—tell me instead of making my front porch your hotel room. What kind of sister do you think I am?” She wasn’t sure that her little lecture got through his thick skull.

Before she opened up the door, she threw her little brother a slight glance of compassion and said, “I’ll make us some breakfast…”  

Mandy asked their brother, Bill, if Lloyd was acting strangely in his company, as well. He said, “Yeah, he hangs around here a lot more than he used to.  We have him over for dinner a lot, and I know he feels like an intruder…though he never says it. Karen never complains and the kids like having their uncle around.” Bill paused and added, “He used to be so much fun, but I see the difference. I see when he pretends with the kids, and see how it is when he is more alone. He probably doesn’t think I notice.  I notice”.

Bill and Mandy always looked after their little brother.  A gregarious boy, he always loved attention. Getting that attention often meant getting himself into trouble. He found himself in the principal’s office more than once—pulling the fire alarm was a prank that got him two days suspension. It could also be graffiti, clowning around in class, coming in with a jar of spiders to freak other students out, or initiating skipping school with his friends made him a big target for trouble.

When it was Devil’s Night, there was one demon that could be counted on for soaping windows and tossing toilet paper up trees. It seemed like harmless kids stuff, but it got Lloyd caught and in his room for punishment for one, whole week after school. It seemed he was grounded all the time, and his mother often delivered his punishment, but she still held a soft spot for her son.  

Lloyd had his redeeming qualities. Everyone thought Lloyd would be great in the drama club in high school, not one timid bone in his body, and he could captivate an audience. He’d be great for the stage. So when the school was putting on the play, Fiddler On The Roof, Lloyd got to be understudy for the role of Tevya. When Joe Schwinn came down with a really bad cold, Lloyd finally got his chance to get on stage.

It was just that Lloyd had such a huge task to be the lead role for this production. It wasn’t that he didn’t learn the lines, but it was a tall order to fill.  He was doing a pretty good job, but he was adlibbing all throughout the play, getting a few, unexpected laughs here and there. But when it came time for Tevya to confront his third daughter and her Gentile boyfriend for wanting to marry outside his Jewish faith, Lloyd really started to get stumped. He couldn’t think of his next line, and everything got uncomfortably quiet. He soon blurted out, “Leave my daughter alone and don’t come back, you **** *******!”

It got him the biggest laugh of the night, but also booted out of the drama club and back into the principal’s office the next school day. Nevertheless, Lloyd got lots of high fives from other students, had a blast, and loved having his moment in the limelight.  

Being the youngest in the family, Lloyd’s immaturity made his parents’ hair turn grey—at least that is what his father told him. After taking the family car out for spin to impress his friends, when he only had his permit, Lloyd got into a minor fender ******. He was afraid to call his dad, but the police never gave it a second thought.

His father was furious. “Bill and Mandy, put together, never gave us even an inch of the trouble you give us!” he shouted to his son. For that foolish gesture, Lloyd did not get his license at sixteen, like his friends did. He had to wait until he could legally sign for his own, and that was at eighteen.  It wasn’t cool to wait while all his friends were driving their own cars.

But now Lloyd was thirty-one. He seemed to have learned his lessons, and was a fairly responsible man. He was glad his mother lived to be proud of him, before cancer took her life. He still did not feel he was that much of an accomplishment to his father, and they only talked occasionally. It was like his dad blamed him for her passing, and Lloyd would have done anything to have her back.

In contrast to his funny, devil-may-care side, Lloyd had the more serious, thought provoking side. When his report card wasn’t as full of A grades—like Bill or Mandy’s—he would beat himself up over it. In spite of his shenanigans, he was actually a very good student

He really missed his mom. Though she often wanted to shake some sense into him, still she always believed in him. Now Mandy kind of took up that roll in her place. Even after he could make her angry, his mom would not hesitate to sit him down and tell him things like, “I’m proud of you Lloyd. It’s not what you do. It is who you are…and you are my son.”  If only he could hear those words again from her lips.

Why would he want to go home to an empty house? Especially, the nights were the hardest. The digital clock by his bed seemed to be frozen in time, and the nightmare of insomnia seemed endless.

After knowing him for over six years, with four-and-a half years of married life together, Pamela left him. She once loved him-- or so he thought. She loved his crazy side—his humor and his fun loving nature. Maybe it was the miscarriage that did it. They both wanted children. Maybe it was because Pamela felt sheltered all her life, and soon discovered that marriage would be the way she envisioned it. Maybe it was him--period.  Anyway, she left Lloyd and it tore a hole in his soul. On top of that, he was denied a promotion in the office that went to someone else who didn’t work there as long as he did. The group of friends that he had known much of his life grew apart. Life was caving in around him and he felt helpless to do anything about it.      

It was Mandy who came up with the idea running through her mind. She told Bill, but he was against it and told her to stay out of it. Well, Mandy’s friend, Libby, was cousins with Tammy. It was Tammy who lived down the street from Lindsay and was acquainted with her. Mandy usually never played matchmaker, but she found out that Lindsay was divorced, too, and without any children. Since she dated Lloyd several years ago, at least they weren’t embarking on like some blind date that nobody really wanted to meet up with.

Sure, Lloyd was lonely, but it wasn’t for Lindsay. He was lonely for Pamela. How could his sister expect him to just get over her?  She, too, was alone, almost married her longtime boyfriend, but backed out. Didn’t she understand? But Mandy made Lindsay her Facebook friend, and told her all about the latest with her brother. Though he was a bit perturbed, Lloyd knew his sister meant well. Soon, upon Mandy’s recommendation,  Lindsay sent Lloyd a Facebook request to be her friend.

They never had dated all that long—less than a year. Lindsay reminded him of that duration of time when he first came over for a visit to sit out on her deck in her back yard. To shut Mandy up, he agreed to see her at least once. By now, the feelings for her had long passed. They were once an item together, but it was over a decade ago. They seemed like just kids at the time, though they were twenty-years-old at the time. Lindsay was actually two months older.

“My mom was so upset when she knew I had been drinking with you”, she told him. “You remember?”

Lloyd lifted up his beer in irony and Lindsay lifted hers as they clunk their bottles together. They both burst out laughing, a rarity for both. “I know. She would never allow liquor in your house”, Lloyd said, “Strict Baptist lady, for sure!”

Lindsay teased him. “Oh, you’re such a bad influence! Mom was right!”

“I was!” he exclaimed. “We were underage and lucky no harm came of it other than some **** in the toilet. No wonder your mom wanted you to ditch me!”

Lindsay always tried to please her mother who single handedly raised her only daughter. That was hard to do, though no matter what Lindsay did. She liked Lloyd a lot, but she also loved her mom. But just where was there relationship going anyway.

“You know”, Lindsay confessed. “You were my first, real love”.  She playfully winked and sipped on her beer. “I love bad boys”.

It was like the rebel in Lindsay was delayed, not like it was in her younger years. She always tried to be the good girl, the dutiful daughter, unlike Lloyd. The two were in the same grade, and went to the same high school, but they barely knew of each other in those days. They were never in the same class together and only saw each other in passing down the school halls. Her locker was once across from his. Lindsay did remember, though, his famous role as Tevya, and thinking about it again made her crack up like it just happened the other day.

“You are so much more laid back”, he told her. “I guess your mother was always there to crack the whip, but not anymore. How is she, by the way?”

Lindsay looked sad for Lloyd as she said, “Like your mom, she got cancer, but thank God she recovered. She moved to Florida a few years ago because my brother and his wife insisted the climate would be better for her.” It was actually a relief to not have to rely on her mother. She now had no excuses.  “Sorry to hear about your mother, Lloyd. My condolences.”

Lloyd appreciated her condolences. They reminisced a while, but neither one wanted to talk about the pain of being alone nor express the pain of feeling like utter losers. Lindsay wanted to open up about her two failed marriages, but she also wanted to forget about them. Lloyd was never one to share his innermost thoughts to her. He certainly didn’t want to tell her that he preferred to sleep in his car or on his sister’s front porch or that he tried not to cry because guys don’t do that, struggling with the lump in his throat from holding back so much.  

After talking about their times at the lake, of how they loved to lay on the ground and look at the stars, Lindsay finally said, “I don’t really want to date anyone at this time. I don’t really feel like doing a lot, lately, that I used to do.”

Lloyd didn’t look at her, but felt her eyes upon him. “I know what you mean”, he agreed.  “Depression *****, doesn’t it?”

“I know”, she responded. “I’ve been seeing this counselor for a while, another one, and I guess it helps. I wondered if I’d ever feel anything again. I just often felt like I was going through the motions…and that it was the best way to just get along in life.”

Lloyd didn’t know what to say. Often, he felt the same way, but he just couldn’t voice it. Would he ever want to share his life again with another woman? No, Pamela wasn’t coming back. Everyone told him so, especially Mandy. She never really felt that good about him marrying Pamela to start with, but it wasn’t up to her. It was over. Lloyd logically knew that about Pamela, but emotionally he still wasn’t there.

“I pretend a lot”, Lindsay told him. “I mean I do what I’m supposed to do—go to work, pay my mortgage and my bills…I’m just existing but not living. I’ve made my mistakes, and now I’m afraid—period.  I prefer playing it safe. I prefer not to feel.” She smiled to lighten the atmosphere and rested her hand on his. “Now how’s that for a good catch phrase for a dating website?”  

Lloyd pondered upon what she said. He could have easily said it himself. Eventually, he stood up and extended his hand out. He decided they should go for a walk. It was about three and a half miles to the park they used to hang out in—a good spot.  They walked hand in hand, like they were still together. The wind blew through Lindsay’s hair and spread it around like plant life in the ocean, soft and swaying. She was lovely.

They got to the park and Lloyd pushed her on her swing, higher and higher until she felt like a little girl again. Then they went down the slides and the balance beams. Lindsay would tickle him in the back to try to get him off balance, or she’d push him off and he would pretend to chase her and give it to her. They truly enjoyed each other’s company. Being together really banished the blues for the time, and kept the ugly thoughts of loneliness at bay and from rearing its ugly face.

“So where do we go from here?”  Lindsay asked.

“Huh?” Lloyd wondered what she was getting at. Did she mean for the park or in a deeper way?

“Can we be friends?” she asked him. She seemed uneasy, as if he would say, “Thanks, but no thanks”.

Lloyd felt a bit uneasy himself. He never wanted to hurt Lindsay, or Pamela or anyone. “Of course we can,” he told her. He said what he meant, too. He really wanted to spend time with her. “Let’s just enjoy things for what they are”.

Lloyd picked up some pieces of mulch, and threw them one by one, ahead of him. He asked Lindsay, “Was I really your first love?”

Lindsay thought a moment, and then pulled him by the arm, taking Lloyd to one of the picnic tables. She inspected it.  No, it wasn’t that one. She looked at another table. No, it wasn’t that one, either. And then she went to another one.

He asked, “What are you doing?”

“Found it!” she said at last. Lloyd looked at the table, and among all the carvings in it, Lindsay pointed out what she intended to find.

Lloyd loves Lindsay

“Did I write that?” he asked. He didn’t remember it. He ran his hands over the indented letters surrounded by an uneven heart.

They both sat down and Lindsay explained. “All the time that we were together, I knew I was really starting to like you. I mean really, really like. I wasn’t sure at first, but the feelings just got stronger. I just didn’t want to be the first one to say it—and I thought you’d never!” Her eyes beamed as she went on. “Then it happened. You said, ‘Baby, I love you”. I said, ‘What? Did I just hear what I think I heard?’ Again, you said, ‘Lindsay, I really love you’. You could have knocked me over with a feather! I never thought you’d say it, but I hoped you would!”

Now he remembered. At the time, he was carving something into the table with his pocket knife. When he finally got the urge to tell Lindsay that he loved her, she asked to borrow his knife and right then she wrote it in the table. Lloyd than took back his knife and topped it all off with outlining those words in a heart.

Lloyd truly did love Lindsay. He didn’t lose those feelings after all. To know she loved him back was like medicine to him now. They began to walk back to her house
Mar 2017 · 313
Personal Limerick #2
Dorothy A Mar 2017
You've heard that Michigan looks like a hand
We all come from somewhere - that's my land
Honored of where I'm from
Far along I have come
It's the Great Lake State in which I stand
Mar 2017 · 563
Personal Limerick
Dorothy A Mar 2017
There was a girl born in Motown
Cold Detroit day with snow on the ground
I'm February's girl
An oyster's pearl
My writings become my voice, my sound
Feb 2017 · 419
Limerick #3
Dorothy A Feb 2017
Fefe hailed from the state of Maine
She loved to guzzle down champagne
A party girl
Diamonds and pearls
Sugar daddies always played her game
Feb 2017 · 270
Limerick #2
Dorothy A Feb 2017
Black Widow did whatever she pleased
She really was such a tease
Caught up in her web
Her men all left for dead
They infiltrated her lair like fleas
Feb 2017 · 469
Dorothy A Feb 2017
I wsih to write a limerick that's fine
But I'm gettin nowhere, line by line
In fact, it *****
I want to rip it up
But maybe more will come to mind :-(
Feb 2017 · 436
Age of Innocence
Dorothy A Feb 2017
I miss the age of innocence
No, I'm not an angel
As none of us are
The terrible twos and those tantrums...
But that tiny child
Who didn't have a cynical
Or snarky bone
In her whole body
.............................That was once me

For quite some time, we Americans
Loved to pretend we were so naive
When Lucy and Desi slept in twin beds
When Leave It To ****** produced perfect parents
When the world seemed less disturbing
As we wore those rose colored glasses
In my parents' generation
Nothing seemed meaningless
We were victorious and invincible
In the midst of World War II
There was great glamour and pride
The news wasn't 24/7- craziness

This was all before my time
I am a product of the sixties
When the Vietnam War surely made war seem like Hell
When fighters for civil rights showed us the ugliness of racism
When what it meant to be female was quickly shedding its old skin
Far from the role my mother represented to me

I wish I could be that believing again
That trusting and forgiving
I miss being so unaware
So fresh in imagination
Where I could shield myself from it all
And I'm now sad that I never will be that way again
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