"intern" poems
Ttthee fiirstttt timmee
i was alone with le tele
i got excited
as a kid of 8
i knew tv was fun
my dad
went to work early morning time
i grabbed up my
favorite blanky
and sat down in its presence
the icy cold remote in
my handddddddddddddddddddddddddd,
blood guts and big *****
tv knows about everything
STD results and Wars on Terror
my favorite cartoons
McDonalds has a new sandwich
i am not the father
Lindsay's back in jail
stage collapse smushes ***** couple
scientists report, transfat is a-okay
President's schtupping an intern
moonbase has a ******* epidemic
i think i want to grow up to be a juicehead
45 dead in pakistani drone strike
i figure,
they'll just re-spawn or
I'll wish them back
when I collect the dragonballs
anthrax in the mail and
feet on the beaches
eyes in the sky
eyes from under
bomb threat at my school
mom had me
stay home
and
munch on some chips
watch the tv
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC
I stand alone in the dark Fulton Street subway station,
Breathing in the urine-scented air,
Breathing out clouds of steam,
A subway train rushes along,
Not stopping,
Biting at my eardrums,
With the painful percussion,
Of thousands of people,
Silently screaming,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The air fanned by each subway car,
Rushes against me,
Pushes the ozone and the smell of burnt brake linings,
Into my nostrils,
Along with the air,
****** through the iron gratings,
Along miles of Brooklyn sidewalks,
Carrying the odor of a prostitute’s festering sores,
And the cries of a hungry, fatherless child in ***** diapers,
And the hoarse moaning of a city councilman mentoring a young intern,
And the cheap perfume of a fourteen year-old runaway,
Turning $20 tricks in an alley,
Smelling of stale Chinese food and wet dogs,
And . . .
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
. . . the smell of spoiled cabbage soup,
And the rancid remains of a hotdog buried in sauerkraut,
And putrid lilies lying in a gutter,
All assaulting me, forcing me backwards,
Until my back presses against,
The grimy once-white tiles,
That coldly burn their graffiti on my spine:
God is dead,
Bake a ****
Whitey *****
**** the *******
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
I don’t want to see,
The train finally passes,
Its red eyes receding into the dank,
Dark tunnel beyond the platform,
The screeches and screams slowly die out,
Their echoes ******* behind them,
The smell,
Of my,
Warm
*****
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
i detoxed myself under this pale sun
(you stood by and watched the
unfolding saga all the while
questioning the meaning of zen)
the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
(can you recover your own fumbles?)
every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
(my love for this is a game of solitaire)
i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.
i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
(i have seen you ignoring me)
in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
(you will know me by the number of the dead)
i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.
i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.
i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.
Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
(aren't you proud?)
(isn't he cute?)
i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
(what do you know about pain?)
i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe
my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....
i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...
i have run out of things to sacrifice
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
I put this cigarette between my lips
in the foolishness of maybe
it could make me poeticize.
Ingenuous thought when I know the only
drug able to mess with all my system is you.
More effective than nicotine, fogging all my mind
More dense than an smoke that I stubborn to
take to my lungs, your smell clogs my aerial vias.
More rough than the cigarette material
rubbing my fingers, your words scratch my skin.
More agonizing than abstinence, *your distance makes
me writhe inside my own body,* facing an intern fight
that always end in riot because I can’t decide between
leave you on your own luck or convince you that
we can be the lucky of each other.
And here is the living proof, here is the poetry
that i’m only able to extract from the collateral
damage caused by you.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
It kills me not to be by her side
not being able to cuddle her at night
we'll be back together soon
then we can swoon, swoon, swoon
but until that long awaited night
I'll hug your picture and hold on tight
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Medical Technologist you will be by next year,
As you do your best part then success is near.
Realization of your life's dream is not impossible,
Zealous dedication is what you do to make it possible.
Act now be a keen diligent intern to claim your victory!
Dawn has sparked so make the most of the opportunity,
Accept the challenges don't quit fight all the negativity.
Winning is not easy to achieve as it requires determination,
Nobody but yourself alone can justify for your own action.
Plan for your future and do it with the highest attention,
Insure that whatever outcome will help realize your ambition.
Zest you have will inspire you to perform well with integrity,
Allow no negative vibes to degrade your courage and dignity.
React professionally to whatever trials that may come your way,
On whatever duties you do always follow the protocol don't sway.
Be tactful in your actions follow laboratory protocols,
Read and understand fully the procedures before using the tools.
Avoid mistakes in running the tests so you won't give false results,
To the patient's doctor such act is a taboo and you will get insults.
On to your internship my darling do your best and make us all proud.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
**** you people and your 2D polo's
please use me for to tape down cords
and I will use you for credit.
credibility
I had enough
and I would never take a recommendation
from a polo like you.
but was the credit really worth it or three?
did I need this experience?
knowing the world is gonna **** you is a no brainer
but learning and not being paid is like an underdog
smothered and stomped
you are an intern
and you are unpaid for me...
You know how it feels
but do you know how it starts
those eyes and words.. slowly creep in
or maybe the words don't even show
worst of all those looks linger on after
do something great... ___________
do something wrong- __________fool
don't you know what a bamba mamba is?
I thought I was here to figure out what a bamba mamba was?
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The video stutters and she jitters to a halt in an intersection;
Traffic lights turn green, and the display revs up,
The Broken Egg food truck clips her heel and spark-like static fogs the screen.
His fingers, once lightly brushing over a braille textbook, freeze out.
The book lifts itself and scraps left to right under his palm.
Her professor speaks, and her lecture on Maxwell's equations propagate towards the classroom wall,
only the walls have fled with their chalkboards, and the standing waves have been left stranded
in the sudden infinite space. She has lost reflections; only direct, brute force remains.
The Truth: I wear petty images like a cloak.
The Truth: My gears tremor under the strain of life, stuck on
The Truth: I think
You'd think me stupid, a bust, and the truth is
I'd rather stand in traffic, frozen, mute and dumb,
than ask questions, intern, or learn the difficult stuff.
Secondary screens:
I'd rather write poems and post them online for strangers
than talk about chemical potentials or spherical wavefunctions.
I'd rather talk about chemical potentials and wavefunctions
than figure out what happened to my remote.
There's too much movement to feel good standing still.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Lunch rush was hell for the new girl,
stacking foamed cappuccino cups
and stirring spoons in a broken-handled
bus tub while trying not to slip
on soft ice and discarded lemon
wedges. She took our mugs,
and told us about a guy
—Dave, she said. I don't know.—who sat
with his friend, comparing *** to work
over the rusted cabinet tracks
of his warped fork scraping
his egg-caked plate.
Dave's friend was leaned in
with a cocked grin waiting
for one of Dave's "Classic Dave" punchlines,
which I'm guessing are all witty,
the funniest *******
things you've ever heard,
but there wasn't one
this time
because there's nothing funny about
a ***** intern cringing beneath the weight
of fat Dave and his brick
paperweight jammed in her back.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 2:08 AM UTC
Am I just a flaunting fancy
specified set of alphabets?
Now listen, sir!
My brain has owned you
a long while back
like say, a hundred times.
But ya, my mouth
is zipped for the
Terms and Conditions
I signed to intern here.
My heart is a masked
Superhero that goes
for the needy and
the helpless, while
yours just desires
to sit in the next
luxurious sedan out.
My body serves
for the nation;
no, not in war
but in the agony of being
a good citizen when things
(like you) are nomore right.
I manned up instead of you.
I can prove my worth
to the world w/o you.
Again, I shall repeat, sir!
Am I just a flaunting fancy
specified set of alphabets?
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Lunch was done, decisons made
the table cleared, the bill was paid
Final words were spoken
And none more truer than..
Have your people call my people
And we'll do this again.
They went back to the office
And they thought, hey he was right
I'll have my people call his people
And we'll hit the bar tonight
Funny how a line like that
Can set one's mindset soaring
Sitting down and making plans
It sure broke up the boring
Afteroon ahead, that each of them could see
But going out again that night
Well, then they would be free
Wives at home, while they were out
Drinking, flirting...what the hey
The ony question left now
Was which of them would pay?
But as one's folk called the others
And the plans were carved in stone
They would finish out their day
And then they would head home
They'd have "my people call your people"
And plan a meeting late
They would do it on the sly
It would be their watergate
But, people being people
Their plans were overheard
By a coniving young new intern
And she wrote down every word
Since she was one of the people
She started making calls
Phoning every number of every wife
This woman sure had *****
She told them how "the people"
planned to go out after work
How their family type duties
Each one had planned to shirk
So these people called their people
And made plans of their own
They would keep it all a secret
Until the men got home
Men forget that wives have people
And that their people kind of rule
When the men all try to hide stuff
By doing stuff that isn't cool
The men, all smug and smiling
Thinking of the fun to ahead
Would walk on in their house
And stay until the kids were all in bed
Then their people would start calling
Making sure the lie was told
About that late night meeting
At a bar where beer was cold
But, that coniving young new intern
Making calls to all the wives
Had laid out every detail
Had ruined all their lives
As each man sat for dinner
Thinking of what the night would bring
At each house, just 5 minutes in
Every phone would ring
It was her people calling people
Telling each wife where to meet
They would have to leave the husbands
And they would not be so discreet
For their people all called people
And the men's plans all were blown
As the women went out drinking
And left the men at home
So next time when your people
Call and plan things on the side
Make sure your intern isn't there
Or else your plans are fried
I'll have my people phone your people
And we'll get together soon
But in order that we pull it off
We'll have to leave at noon.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
i want to cry so badly that
i want to cry
that i want to cry
you overwhelm me.
i want to cry so badly
but my ducts are dry
the tears well inside
i'll drown intern a l l y
Feb 17, 2021
Feb 17, 2021 at 7:16 PM UTC
ping-pong in the sun
with psychiatrist intern--
"you don't belong here"
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 4:33 PM UTC
I used to be an intern for CD Tech Health Corps
I worked with stipend money
Through Trade Tech Community College
I was trained to learn about health in
The communities of Los Angeles, California
And how it affects us as individuals and as groups
Some things I already knew like how the government
Allows liquor stores, fast food restaurants and loan offices
To be overpopulated in middle class and ghetto communities
To cause: misery, addictions, and poor work ethic
But people got used to it, even though it’s obviously unfair
What I didn’t know is by law there is supposed to be
A limit on how many fast-food and liquor stores
There are on each corner in the community
I learned from watching the Michael Moore video called Sicko
That the pharmaceutical companies own the hospitals
And they pressure the doctors, nurses and other staff employees
To refuse to help some people if they don’t have health insurance
Or they make it difficult for the people who are qualified for it
By making these ridiculous rules and requirements
I saw a grown man cry to God for help, because he was very sick
But the insurance company wouldn’t cover his
Medical procedure… a few years later he died
I learned that: France, Canada, and England run their hospitals
With more efficiency and compassion than the United States:
A visit to the hospital is free; they provide safe transportation home,
Give patients money to catch a cab, and they believe in
Treating their citizens with resect whether they’re rich or poor
C’mon people we live in the most powerful country in the world
And we supposedly have the best health care system on earth
We should back up that reputation, embrace the Obama care
Or come up with a better health care program to help all of our citizens
And we should be more Godly about how we treat the less fortunate
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
The normal way of life is such:
the old give way to young.
To understand does not take much,
explained in simple tongue:
Adults that love do procreate.
Their selves they form and replicate,
continuing the song which they have sung.
The first into the world are first
to leave the world behind.
They dry and shrivel in their thirst,
are ground to dust and rind.
They find their solace in their spawn,
inside whose flesh they carry on
their signatures, in place of their old mind.
The next await their counted turn,
with shovel at the hand;
enjoy the lives which must adjourn
into the unseen land.
Then find a mate to spawn their own,
before their own flesh from the bone
departs into the dryness of the sand.
Yet once upon a blood red moon,
the normalcy defers.
The next in line depart too soon,
in snares of life's dark lures.
The first must intern on the shelves
of crypts the flesh that holds their selves,
and taste what to the next this life confers.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
-----------I weave my grand mother's spirit to life--------
when I paint with my words what she dreamed
in her life. My grandmother's kimono sat in the dark never
worn; so needs a dusting--I lift it up into this light to be
seen, to be heard, to be felt, fabric of loving heart
dreams to be. It's not perfectly shaped or tattered or torn,
rather fermented beyond her time to take form. My
Grandma loved to eat her white rice she ate thirty
seven million grains of rice by the time she reached her
104-- Born on a sugarcane plant'tion on the coast of
Oahu, a child in the tropics then a teen in Japan. Her
family returned to their roots to learn, & grow, reenter the
cultural force. She discovered her new talent as
------------------------------
K I M O N O
A R T I S T
------------------------------
Kikuyo Yamamoto became
liberated as an artist and then
her life changed as her family
demanded she leave her position
and marry away to a Japanese man
who lives in California (my Grand
father). The matchmaker said it
would work really well....She
endured life as an American farm
wife, then life in Japanese intern-
ment camps. Five children, nine
grandchildren...Dear Grandmother
I know you had lots to surrender-
I honor your life as mother,
grandmother, and artist --I
wove this poem in the form
of a kimono for you May your
spirit rest in peace. I love you.
May 12, 2019
May 12, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
upstairs and downstairs, like a frazzled owl character in my third-grade reader
in the doorway of my 200-level on sub-Sahara where we talk only of Nigeria
holding the elevator for my superior in the lobby of a too-tall edifice to man
a college student.
an ABD.
intern.
backstage at your high school graduation ceremony, your mortarboard won't stay on your head
in a food court where your mother doesn't get it when you say you can't wear pants anymore, or get your bimonthly haircut
when you're skirting the poverty line after your family business was sued but your FAFSA says parent #1 earns six figures
initiate.
neophyte.
not-quite-other.
the female body as a threshold between worlds, channel betwixt boundaries
Schrodinger's cat simultaneously in separation and marginal phases according to van Gennep
divorce papers signed but not sent, enclosed in manila at the bottom of a cherrywood desk
continuum.
spectrum.
a line without points.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Poetry healed me
When I was dying
Braced in the oceans
When I was dying
Poetry healed me
When I gasped for air
Lost in the barren fields
When I gasped for air
Poetry healed me
In cities where men lied
Folded dreams and illusions
In cities where men lied
Poetry healed me
In seas where all competed
For a love that was sour and salted
In seas where all competed
Poetry found me first
Initiated me in it's team
In games that tricked me
It found me as an intern
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
I struggle so deeply
to feel at home in my body,
all I feel when I look at my chest
is all of the men that used me like a doll
of my mom shaming me in my head
for my big *******
and how "provocative " I am
for just existing,
for society sexualizing me,
for all the women that hated me for my body/looks,and objectified me
and all the men that "loved" me /used me just for my body and sexualized me
with their eyes.
It hurts so deeply to feel so violated all the time
it echoes in my mind,body and soul
all the repeated violations words, looks and all the aching laughter,
the way everyone in my family
sexualized me since I was a child,
so intern I internalized all the hatred to my body and my chest.
I just wander if these people truly understand
how much their actions truly affect others,
how deeply I suffer with complex post trauma all the time
and dysphoria sometimes,
from the deep pain of ****** violence
when I truly look at it all,
its not even wanting to be a man
so much so , as wanting to be seen as a person.
who is worthy of being heard,
not because I am pretty ***** or curvy
or hot or ****
but because I am smart I am strong
I am impressive and resiliant
have a beautiful mind
and I am not just how I look
or how I present.
My whole life I was influenced and taught to believe
that my only value as a women
was my looks,
or to be chosen by a man or by my society,
and to exist as a baby making machine,
while not complaining or being "too much ".
That I shouldn't show my body too much , & that I should always look good 24/7,like I am a doll of some kind, instead of a human being.
How my body was the reason for men sinning
and how I would go to hell for my thoughts or behaviors
if I wasn't perfect.
Now I am realizing none of that truly matters,
and I don't wanna live the rest of my life
chasing validation,
or feeling like I need others approval to feel whole inside,
I wanna accept who I am
love who I am
and like myself for who I am,
and not just for my looks or for my body or sexuality,
but for who I am down to my core
the good and the seemingly bad imperfections
to feel safe in myself and that is beautiful to just be me
without needing to put on a show for anyone.
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 3:59 PM UTC
Will walked to his car, alone.
Another late night given to
that thankless, soul-stealing
excuse for employment.
As he opened his car door,
a gun being cocked
sounded behind him.
Then a voice:
"Give me the car
and your cash."
Will laughed:
"I've got nothing worth taking.
**** me and be done with it."
The hole in his belly
didn't hurt nearly as
bad as he thought it would.
A woman heard the shot,
and came running over
after the murderer had fled.
She said:
"I'm Maggie, don't worry.
Help is on the way."
Will awoke in a hospital.
He stared at Maggie,
and reasoned something like this:
"Well, I got shot; I'm probably dead.
And the silhouette of your hair
against the window looks
an awful lot like a halo."
She blushed:
"I waited all night for someone
to come visit you; to make sure
you were okay."
Then truth in reply:
"I've got no one and nothing.
You'll wait there forever if you're
looking for someone who cares."
She frowned:
"That's not true!
Clearly I care about you."
Will, in disbelief:
"So it appears.
I guess there's a first for everything."
She held his hand:
"But I've got work to go to.
I'll be back in the evening.
I'm glad you're alive."
Will nodded.
Things were certainly
changing for the better.
Maggie left.
An intern entered,
staring at a clipboard.
The intern, to herself:
"Well, 'Will' is certainly
a lot like 'Bill'.
And it's only penicillin;
what's the worst that
could happen?"
A few moments later,
Will died of a massive
allergic reaction.
Oh well.
Easy come, easy go.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:27 PM UTC
The broncos won and I'm still at a dead end job
Didn't even watch the game, I was washing trash cans.
Heard about it through social media
About all the different things lady gaga looked like when she sang the national anthem.
Heatmiser, pizza rolls, dolly parton
Because one time dolly parton wore a red suit.
Which i thought was kind of a stretch
But i've read stupider things on the internet so i let it slide
I saw a commercial saying that tons of babies are born 9 months after the super bowl.
You know what else is right around that time in February?
Valentine's day
I don't think i've ever been less **** than during the super bowl.
Nobody looks at their man covered in nacho grease and beer stains and goes
"Oh yeah!" Its baby making time!
My girlfriend is in Florida working for Disney right now.
Thy have her doing laundry in a musty basement with middle aged Mexican woman.
It's apparently awful.
Ruins the magic she says.
Seeing cinderella scurrying around half naked doing her make up.
Wig cap and undergarments
Snow white with her nose up asking for kombucha.
Won't even make eye contact with the laundry vets.
Let alone my intern girlfriend.
I asked how the magic wasn't ruined before that.
After watching the play hairspray when they yell cut and
All the actors go back to their miserable lives, i figured it out pretty young.
This middle class manifesto
Where making 15 dollars an hour is a goal.
But she is the faithful type.
Loves her a good hoping.
That's why she hasn't cut me loose anyway.
She says she needs me around because i'm a taurus.
I have no idea what she means by that.
But i love hearing stories about mexican woman yelling in spanish at their iphone screens. And half naked princesses doing their makeup in hair nets. And her still believing in magic. I think it says a lot about her.
She gives me something to dream about while I wash these trash cans.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
April 24 2010 there was a Boy Scout display in the parking lot North of Mickey Ds and by the Imagination Station. Tony was fascinated by many of the displays. The Sheriff’s Office was well represented with several displays. Tony got to climb up on the rescue boat, the one we see going by our house frequently in the summer to fish someone out of the river. The two Sheriff’s Office Deputies in charge of the boat were really good with the kids. About 15 minutes later Tony bent over the bow of the boat, I was on the good ole solid ground, and said to me, “These guys are really COOL grandpa.” I said, “yup, they are.” and looked over at one of guys. I ask, “Did you hear that?” With a big grin he said, “I sure did.” He had a big grin on his face for a while. Tony debarked and headed to new territory. I have to have speedy shoes on to keep up some days. I wish I could find a pair of those.
Later we were at a different car on display. The people there were young intern or trainee types wearing the Sheriff’’s Office shirt and hardware. Tony had bailed out of the armored car where he had been playing for 20 minutes and was standing next to me watching the young group yucking it up. They were loud and horsing around some… with out the horse. All of a sudden he got a scowl on his face and said in a rather loud voice, “Grandpa, those are NOT real cops. Why are they wearing uniforms? They should not do that.” Well that was hard to explain and I was hoping “they” did not hear what he said. We left rapidly.
I guess he thought they were not acting the way officers should act. At least not like the COOL guys at the boat. I suppose that comes from trying to instill respect in the uniform of peace officers. The lesson is one each of us needs to remember. If we say we are (fill in the blank) then we had better act the part or we can lead an impressionable young mind astray. So lets be COOL.
That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
I have chosen to write about my journey of healing, maybe through this it will bring more healing as I write out my thoughts and my feelings, and also bring insight and healing to those who have or may not have walked a similar journey that I am now just beginning.
Today as I walked out of my appointment, DT gives me a hug and tells me to protect my heart...
The thought that runs through my mind is how do I protect my heart??? If you ask me, that's what I have been doing for the last 30+ years of my life, protecting my heart, building walls so that no one would be able to hurt me again....
You see I grew up in what most people would call, a HIGHLY DYSFUNCTIONAL family. And I had to learn to protect myself at all costs...to survive no matter what happened....and along the way I built walls, and locked a lot of doors in my heart, and I threw away the key....I didn't just lock people out, I locked the little girl inside me in....
I didn't want people to hear or see that broken, wounded, bleeding little girl inside me....
And for many, many years I have hid her behind the title of being the Sweet Young Lady everyone wanted me to be...
At home I am the Mommy and doting Wife,
At work I am the dedicated Pharmacy Intern,
At School I am the overachieving Student....
but underneath those titles I am just a woman who loves the Lord,
but has never allowed Him into the locked rooms in her heart, never allowed Him to heal the broken little girl who still hides in the corner and cries at night.
So this is my journey...of taking off the masks and allowing God to walk me in a journey of healing. Some posts may be encouraging while others may be full of pain and raw truth....but I am taking a step to show the world the truth, the pain, the joy, and the journey of healing that I am only beginning...
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
It was September, 1967, when the young coed from Texas Tech University entered the television studio at KCBD TV, Channel 11 in Lubock, Texas. Blonde hair with a reddish tint, "Strawberry Blonde", the stylists call it, accompanied by sparkling blue eyes and and a diminutive smile that accented her personality.
She was there looking to find a part-time job. That summer she had worked as an intern in the promotion department at a television station in Dallas, and was majoring in journalism at the university. A mutual friend with whom she worked in Dallas, had put her in touch with me. I worked as an 'on air' director, and was getting the studio reset for the six o'clock news following a commercial taping session. Although the station had no job openings at the time, a series of events began to take shape.
That chance meeting changed my life, and I recall it as if it happened yesterday. I was twenty five, she, twenty. Two months later, In November, 1967, we married. Forty years and two months later, following cancer surgery, Karen passed away, but not until giving us a fantastic son, wonderful daughter-in-law, and now, two grandchildren, who have redefined the phrase,"growing like weeds."
The holiday period has always been a time for reflections, some good, some 'not so good.' Can't be helped, human nature. But, as the sages say, "Life goes on", and it has been good to me in many ways.
"Thank you, Lord, for helping me along the way."
r.riddle: January 01, 2017
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
Blood vessels burst I watch them heel. A outdoor game brought inward of my stay. A Intern of a Doctor I Need. Destructive on both sides. Ironman, Ironclad, Cannot penetrat a straight nightmare Rated R, not to watch a cry.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC