I stood at the top of the stairs, waiting & watching,

to see his car come winding around the bend,

up to our street and into the driveway.

Filled with anticipation & mischief, I listened quietly for his footsteps,

the jingling of his keys, as he unlocked the front door.

There I stood, hidden, trying not to breathe,

as I listened to him slowly climb the stairs, feet weary from the day.

Full of hope and excitement I jumped out,

'Boo!' I gleefully shouted, with a smile perched on my lips.

Time stood still, if but for a moment,

searching his face, I focused in on his eyes.

Expecting to see joy and amusement,

instead I was confronted only with a frown of annoyance.

My smile departed almost as quickly as it had arrived.

Filled with disappointment, as I watched him move past me, not even touching.

Down the hallway to his room, briefcase in hand, shutting the door behind him.

Leaving me at the top of the stairs,

with a hole in my heart.

It comes to you in your darkest days,
disguised in a familiar face,
It whispers words you've waited for,
uttered with eloquence & grace.

It touches your skin, holds your face,
Then consumes your self worth without care.
It hides behind a mask, planning & scheming,
leaving you unaware.

It hugs you as you dry your eyes,
it fills your head & heart with lies.
It utters hollow apologies with no intention of change,
It shouts vulgarities in a crowded coney island,
Filling you with embarrassment & shame.

It fakes compassion as you wait to hear,
whether you may indeed have cancer,
You question why it chose you?
but you never get an answer.

It prays at every meal,
mocking God without fear,
It attacks your reputation, your humanity,
and all that you hold dear.

It hides behinds friends, half truths,
and a sea of endless lies,
It marinates in every excess,
so it never has to open its' eyes.

You cannot give it love, expect empathy, or regret,
It is never satisfied because its true needs are not being met.

I'll never understand the cruelty,
the why or even how,
But some things have no answer,
and it no longer matters now.

Despite what has been DONE TO ME,
This I will always implore,
Evil may destroy this world,
But FAITH, HOPE, & LOVE
WILL win the war.

With Easter approaching it made me think of a little girl I used to babysit
Her father was one of the Russian hockey players here in Detroit
I'm not really sure of what they believed about God
but they didn't attend church at that time.

While her father was away, playing hockey in Germany
due to a lock out in the NHL
and her mother was out of town,
I found myself alone with her on Easter weekend.
I knew I wanted to attend services, so just before bed one night
I approached the subject of God with her.

She was young, probably 7 or 8 at the time,
so initially she was afraid.
I think she said something like if God came to her front door
she would get her Dad & he wouldn't let him in.
Her Dad was a fairly robust defensemen, so God would surely
no better than to mess with him lol.
I went on to explain as best as I could that God was her friend.
Of course we also discussed how we can't see him
and what Heaven is,
and who knows what really went through that pretty little head of hers,
but she did listen intently.

We went to church, I was able to even get her in a dress,
a true miracle in itself as she was quite the tomboy back then,
She didn't say a great deal, and no doubt at such a young age
she had little if any real understanding,
But now she is a young woman,
a believer in Christ, living an amazing life,
an encourager,
strong like her father,
and I can't help but hope a little
that those tiny seeds I planted so many years ago
may have helped shape her into the person she is today.

A few years back she shared with me on facebook
a little poem I had given her before they moved out of state.
The poem was worn & tattered
but to know that she had held onto it after some 15 years
is one of the greatest gifts she could have ever given me.
I may never have children of my own,
Not always an easy thing to accept,
But I do thank God for the time I was given
in helping to raise such a beautiful girl.

As you gazed across the room,
My eyes caught your lingering stare,
To a woman who was not me,
Both not seeing, unaware.

Like a giddy school boy, I watched,
As she asked about your day,
Standing in disbelief,
Sensing this was wrong in every way.

My stomach hit the floor that day,
Followed closely by my heart,
Sadly not realizing,
This was only just the start.

Never enough, too much,
Imperfect in every way,
Wanting to run, scream, hide,
Like a coward, I choose only to stay.

Birthdays uncelebrated,
No tinsel on the tree,
This union isn't working,
The fault is always me.

Lousy cook, deplorable housekeeper,
No tiger in bed,
Tears stream down my face,
From words uttered & ones left unsaid.

Listen up 'gentle' men,
This shouldn't come as a surprise,
The true beauty of a woman,
Does not in fact lie between her thighs.

Love her laugh, her heart,
her smile,
Value these things,
& she may just stay awhile.

Don't win her over with baubles & bling,
court her with fancy dinners,
These mean nothing.

Write her a poem,
Leave her a letter,
These are the honey, gold, & nectar.

Moments shared, hands held,
A warm hug, a gentle touch,
These are the things of true value,
These are the things we all want so much.

Forgive me if my honesty
Isn't quite on trend,
But truth be told, what this world need more of,
Isn't lovers,
But ride or die friends.

The inferno builds, beginning from the tips of her toes,

where corroded copper pennies lie covered in sludge & slime.

She claws in the darkness searching for notches in the stone,

surrounded in a tomb of suffocating impenetrable rock.

Inch by inch she reaches the surface, bleeding at the nails,

blinded temporarily, with hesitation, she finds her footing.



The inferno is boiling now, unstoppable,

coursing through every vein, artery, capillary,

culminating in a throat constricted from a history

of silent struggle, not one understands.

A scream lies in wait,

yet she is afraid to give it freedom,

fearing the rage will take on a life of its' own,

and become a never ending roar.



A blank-faced crowd stops & stares,

some giggle, others mock in disapproval,

snide noses upturned, they simply scoff and continue on their way.

She watches, red-eyed, at their backs,

like an army off to battle.

Feeling a grin of confirmation & satisfaction forming on her lips,

she celebrates her victory.

An ivy league education would do nothing for their perception

of her.



Empathy is dead. Nothing is authentic.

Either be strong or cease to exist.



She returns to the hole in the earth,

filled with her own murky stench,

away from the chattering voices of those

forever searching for accolades & meaningless status.

Alone, she is jubilant, in her own nothingness.

She floats in water as clear as crystals,

with pennies, now sparkling underneath her feet.

so I passed by this gentleman today at the park & through his broken English came to find out he is from Germany, East Berlin to be exact...his name is Hans. I asked him how he came to Michigan & he began telling me his story, you could see him travel back in time right before your very eyes. He and his wife, Hannah, kept watch over the guards near a section of the wall that was near some summer cottages. At night the 'women' from town would 'entertain' the officers in the foliage, so they put whatever they could fit in their baby stroller, draped as much clothing on themselves as they could manage, & by the grace of God one night the baby did not cry & they were able to run to freedom to West Berlin. He went on to describe how he came first to Canada & then upon hearing of the higher wages in Detroit, came to live in Sterling Heights. It's funny when I asked him & a lady from Poland the day before where they were from, they both said "well from here" despite their obvious accents...home is indeed Michigan for them both now...& for Hans, he's never returned to East Berlin.


*when you see an older person, take the time...I assure you, you will never leave disappointed.

I’m not sure of her name, but her name isn’t really important anymore…it’s what she did to me everyday, without fail, while I stood at my locker in 6th grade. I don’t remember when it started, I surely did nothing to provoke it, but the girl who had a locker directly next to mine would find a way to ‘nonchalantly’ smash me into my locker, as if by accident, each day at school. She would kind of smile and laugh to herself afterwards, and then actually strike up a conversation with me as if nothing had happened. And like some frightened, pathetic little puppy I would just go along with her sordid charade.

It became a love/hate relationship of sorts, the victim and her oppressor. A sickening ritual, day after day, pain and then a small shred of humanity. I don’t know why I never spoke up, I never snitched, I just took the abuse, over and over and over again. I was angry, afraid, hurt, and yet for whatever reason I never lashed out, which was odd because we were both the same size…she just seemed a lot stronger. She probably was. She probably still is.

What was truly incredible to me though was not the fact that I survived this ongoing, relentless, blunt force trauma, but that on the very last day of school, out of nowhere, she turned to me and apologized.

I remember just standing there at my locker, dumbfounded. I don’t remember if I said anything back to her and it’s not like we became friends that summer, or ever actually spoke to each other after that school year, but to this day it is something that still takes my breath away.

Maybe she was being hit at home, or someone was picking on her. Maybe she felt angry, worthless, afraid, and I was someone she could safely and quite easily take those feelings out on, I don’t know…but I forgave her back then, and I forgive her still.

I wish I could say I’d do things differently today. I wouldn’t take that crap from anyone, but I often still feel like that wimp of a girl, too afraid to speak up, too afraid to hit back…but I’m ok with that.

I’d rather be remembered for the love I tried to share than for the scars & bruises I could’ve left.

They call me 'fake',
Apparently too genuine for the masses to believe,
They grasp at any weapon,
To muddy the waters & deceive,

The Bible speaks of money,
And the lust it can incite,
They claw, destroy, froth at the mouth,
Morning, noon, & night.

How sad they cannot see,
More beauty in a single feather, fallen leaf upon the ground,
Simple treasures God created,
Worth more than any gemstone to be found.

Botox, fake *****, make-up by the gallon,
Ken & Barbie look-a-likes,
No thanks,
I'll take Marilyn & Jimmy Fallon.

Give me laugh lines, stories shared,
Later round a campfire, retold,
Calloused hands, scars, crevices,
Like vintage books,
Weather-worn, faded, old.

Nothing did we bring with us,
Nothing will we take,
Except our memories, cherished moments,
God's love, His promise,
His children, He will not forsake.

I'm just a simple artist,
Girl next door, no frills or bling,
Time, thoughtfulness, care, will win me over,
Surely not any earthly thing.

Point your fingers,
Kick dirt in my eyes,
The light within will stream through,
Despite all your vicious lies.

God is with me,
Whom shall I fear?
In time, He'll right all the wrongs,
I am his daughter,
Held precious, close, & dear.

The darkness came only to destroy,
But the light will forever prevail,
Jesus extends His hand upon a ship of gold,
Step on,
A new life...set sail.

when I look around at this world of ours, so much pain, anger, destruction, I can't help but be so grateful for the mother I was blessed with because, although fathers are important, God made mothers the nurturers, the protectors, the warmth & light...I can't imagine growing up without that soft spot to run to, that unconditional love...when I envision the woman I hope I'm growing into, I pray I am a reflection of my own mother...selfless beyond measure, understanding...true, at times, a bit too overprotective, but heck I'd take that any day over a mother that didn't shelter enough.

Be careful in this cess pool of a world if you wear your heart on your sleeve because there are vultures & wolves forever searching for their next meal. They won't think twice about consuming every inch of you, picking each bone clean. They delight in your suffering and find strength as a pack. They seek out your weaknesses and what they don't find they will surely create.

Here let me give you some fodder on which you can dine.

I had 2 surgeries this past year, one because they were looking for cancer. I have to be checked yearly, but no doubt you'll assume I somehow did something to deserve this.

Eight years ago I thought my white horse had arrived, left my job as a teacher (my room was Club Med), gave up my apartment, my car, close friends, family, and country, only to find out 2 months in that it was all a lie.

Your Pastor says divorce is not an option, so you commit to trying to make the fiction somehow work, but after years of chaos and too many grey days you consider, maybe, just maybe you deserve something better than the hand you've been dealt.

So you throw those cards into the wind and you start from your own ground zero.

Your terrified of an unknown future, but more terrified of remaining in a life so monotonous that you question why you're even bothering to wake up each day.

You prepare to put your older dog asleep, you're not sure what will come of the other, you have boxes to pack for your 9th move in 8 years at a time when families are coming together and yours is coming to an end.

Your drowning in a sea of work but you have no choice but to somehow find 28 hours in a day because success has finally shown up at your door & you've worked way too hard to watch it simply turn around and leave.

You paint nearly everyday, exhausted, but can't sleep, you can't remember your last break, let alone vacation.
Your paints are quite frankly your only motivation.

You want to scream, run, hide, find some type of escape, but you're given no such relief. All that remains is an awkward ride to the airport, a hug, and a fare thee well to a chapter of your life you wish you could've ended sooner if only you had discovered your worth.

Is that enough for you?

Because I could give you so much more...let my life story be an after dinner mint so no one has to smell my flesh on your breath.

Let the floods and fires come, I'm done with this world.
I have never belonged and I no longer care to.
An army of one, content on my own.

An alarm goes off in the distance, and then a quiet knocking at my door.

It's barely 5 am as I find myself sinking further into the warmth of my comforter.

Fishing is really one of the last things I feel like doing.


I hear the murmured voices of my Mom and Dad.

Dad is clearly annoyed that I am still fast asleep when there are Bass waiting in the **** bed.

I hear my Mom whisper, "But Ron, she is only nine."

The words fall on deaf ears.

Reluctantly I pull myself out of bed, throw on some clothes,

and try my best to put on a face of enthusiasm.



We fill our aluminum boat with fishing gear, poles, tackle box,

thermos filled with piping hot cocoa, and a few blankets

to help keep the chill to a minimum.

The sun seems reluctant to rise this morning as well,

but slowly she starts to show her colors

as we head out to the **** bed and our unsuspecting victims.



The water is amazingly still, like a glass mirror reflecting the sky.

Our waves ripple across the water, but eventually the calm returns.

We cast out our lines and out of the stillness comes an explosion unlike anything I had ever witnessed.

A Large-Mouthed Bass with as ferocious an appetite as a Grizzly, attacks my lure,

taking it back down to the murky depths from which it came.

Eventually I am able to reel in the monster, although it puts up a pretty impressive fight.



I will admit, it is an event I will never forget, truly awesome.

Sharing a moment of glory, fun even, just me and my Dad.

Moments like these just never seemed to last.

No matter how much I wished time would stand still, it would disappear,

like the fog that morning,

lifting from the lake as if it were from a dream.



I know my Dad always wished he had sons.

Sons to fish with, play ball with, go golfing.

Instead, God gave him two daughters.



I tried to be a son.


Not only did I learn to fish,

but I watched my Dad intently as he cleaned the fish we brought in,

and in time I picked up the art as well.

Naturally I tried taking my knowledge of cleaning fish to the next level,

when I caught a plethora of small perch off our dock.

I cleaned each one with the same precision and expertise I had been privy to,

and was overjoyed to contribute to our ever-growing collection of fillets.



Dad was none to happy, however, when he opened the freezer one day,

only to have some twenty miniature fish fillets come tumbling out upon him.


He was also not thrilled that I had used his knife without asking.



I just couldn't win it seemed,

no matter how hard I tried.


I was always just a girl, not a son.



I still am.