... for not being on site as much as I probably should be. Some of you may know I have been going through some very difficult times. I do not write about these to elicit sympathy. I only want understanding and compassion. Thank you for reading this entire post.

My father was recuperating well, but it's now flagging in his resolve to live. He has almost entirely lost his hearing. He's losing his eyesight. And now he cannot talk. He had to have a trach put in because his vocal cords were frozen and he couldn't breathe. He requires 24-hour care. He cannot return to the high-functioning home where he was staying before. He will now have to go into a nursing home.

It is very hard to witness this. He is a survivor of the battle of Okinawa. He is a survivor of stage 3 throat cancer. Chemotherapy and radiation treatment at the age of 85. He is now 92. I just don't know if he can survive this. I just need to remember he lived a long rich life.

The biggest problem I'm having is that I know my father is not prepared for eternity. He refuses to even discuss the concept of God. He's always been an Atheist. He is a chemist. A scientist. And he was hurt very badly by religion when he was growing up. I have sown seeds, though. Perhaps the Lord will come to him in a dream or vision. I just don't know...

No matter what happens I am prepared. It is just very difficult, and I cannot concentrate very well. Also I and spending a lot more time in my spiritual practices, so please forgive me if I'm not on the site as much as I could be. It does not mean I don't love you... there are people that are on this site who I pray for on a daily basis. I blanket this site with prayer. There are some who might not believe in the power of this, but I have seen miracles happen right here on this site. A young man was cured of malaria just a couple of weeks ago. Prayer is the most loving and powerful thing anyone can do for another person.
I DO IT FOR YOU ALL.

Thank you for reading.

♡ Catherine

Pain like none other
darkness around every corner
heartache to make devils weep

I could never have imagined what I feel now
the agony of her loss is so strong
it drowns out everything else.
Hope is dead
and there is nothing to comfort me

I’ll never hear her voice
and worse

I’ll never escape the image of her laying there
surrounded by blankets
resting on a cardboard box

burning

The sound the furnace made

my sister sobbing

puking

her gray hair streak that wasn’t there when I saw her the first time

or maybe in my agony I missed it

the lack of scent

aren’t the dead supposed to smell?

her face.  not hers and hers all the same

in my mind is a building

white stone and stark in its beauty

stairs in the front leading up

a dim cool spartan room

carved from snow white rock is it granite? or marble?

in the center of the room is a dais

but before we get to that….

roses.  20,955 roses.  One for each day of her life

all of them red.  Red for passion and blood.

each bunch in a clear vase

now back to that dais….
a flat white dais raised to waist height.

on it, there she is as i last saw her.

shirt raised to cover her trach.  She’d appreciate that

hands loose

gray hair streak

and a white sheet draped from mid torso down, covering her legs.

dead….but not in my memory

Why did my mind want so badly for her to wake.

why can’t it all be not real

Why can’t I make it more than a week without a late night breakdown

Why can’t I make it more than a few hours without visiting that room

How do  I move on from an unspeakable loss

How do I continue?

worse is the realization that all humans die

and my daughter will one day hurt

as does my mother’s daughter now.

Written roundabout October 31st 2017,
yet nary a handy dandy blue's clue
Jimmy Neutron Spongebob SquarePants
exists about real or imagined
gal in question, and presumed results
regarding the gal in question
acquiring titular role of poetic subject
most likely more than a few
women can lay claim
to being said person re:
goddess of me what dream in question,

but once curiosity took hold
far between once idea
took hold in me noggin
notion became frozen solid
within sixty shades of gray matter
analogous to being
lodged itself an Igloo
for no less than an eternity
linkedin with cryogenic freezing,
which notion prevalent

among the super rich
spending millions of dollars
to procure heated smart toilet,
and additionally, essentially, and ideally
equipping bathroom with golden plated loo
whereby guests needing to relieve themselves
grunt out insync with effe ****
to expel bowel movement
the primal scream aah and ooh
synonymous to giving birth.

Untold females most likely
share same name sake as poem title;
I knew not what to expect
after googling the following namesake
Matthew Scott Harris did a wake
kin me from temporary stupor,
gasping for air as if affixed with a trach
and on a whim thy fingers
flew to keyboard
butta...please dune hot

**** sitter me a rake
or a *** shoveling
unprintable fu*king expleteives,
which would moost deafen net lee
and rightfully tell me
“go jump in a lake”
(an imponderable superior whim)
but tis not for anything to gain
this extemporaneous poem aye make
but more so, this

ordinary garden variety bumpkin
(or pumpkin I transform into
upon eve of Halloween
politically correct)
nay, tis no exterior, interior,
nor ulterior motive this drake
doth quacking, while wading
in the wide webbed whirled
and hoop fully ja refrain
thinking me tubby some flake

yes, a touch of flattery insulated
within thy body electric,
which caw cajun skin color
presents this being opaque
and the purest motive merely
to convey how flattered
this mortal knowing
an anonymous gal
enjoys the material  
which despite what Trump

or his henchmen/women
might have said
“aint what preceded deep fake”
boot real honest to dogness sentiment
that virtually touches me
to the quick and a whim to make
a rhyming poem found impetus
set to express and converse
without any suspicion, paranoia,
or mild headache.

ah jest wanna boomerang
back into the womb
versus being threatened
courtesy beastie boy gang
beating me to a pulp
after accurately discerning
being scared shitless pang
suddenly imagining myself
buffered, and buttressed
within zen Sibyl
prophet table Chinese philosophy
known as Yin and Yang.

No matter birth canal
long since got breached,
countless scores of years
I quickly grew
impossible mission to plunge
(think Nestea commercial)
headfirst back into utero,
haint got any got any
handy dandy blues clue,

nonetheless said wish
I broach to you,
whether ye reside in Baku
Guangzhou
Kalamazoo
Kathmandu
Peru
Thimphu
Timbuktu.

Sudden­ pang roared awake
nsync like blazing saddles
hot enough to sizzle steak
torpid, humid, and
arrid extra dry to take
breath away analogous vacuumed
courtesy fire breathing dragon
chilling parched scales in great lake
already this doubting

Thomas doth hanker
for global warming yore
less than six months ago
geesh for goodness sake,
when Earth did bake
triple digit temperatures
no thirst could slake,

thus intravenous feeding
in tandem with trach
still inadequate to brake
yours truly did pine... for chill
against dehydration, ah only to wake,
when came the morrow,
where Jack and Jill
sweat buckets, this

before they climbed uphill
akin to madding crowd
clamoring, thirsting, gulping...
every last drop
essentially emptying ****
immense reservoir spill
futilely swilling parched lips till...

Old cranks shrugged off
exceptionally hot weather, and did scoff
younger generation's creature comforts
old geezers recalled
back in the day
as laddies and Tom boy

lassies did slough
no trespassing signs
skinny dipping after they shuck off
clothes giddily swinging
atop highest bough
playing hooky averse

learning would ever payoff
pitying other kids in school
former gathering rosebuds...
around lunchtime hunger
relishing stealing stroganoff
under nose of Mister Groff,

one former German World War II,
who colluded with American "boys"
despite heavily decorated luftwaffe
and posthumously honored
Veterans day getting last laugh!