Do Something

Do something.

I can’t.
I’m only one.
And there’s just
Too much to do.
I can’t erase poverty,
Can’t cure disease,
Can’t bandage the broken,
Can’t take away pain.

Do something.

I’m not sure.
I’m just me.
And there’s so much
I’m unqualified for.
I’m not a doctor,
Not a lawmaker,
Not an evangelist,
Not a researcher or hero.

Do something.

Well, all right,
If You insist.
If You’ll help.
I can hold somebody’s hand,
Dry somebody’s tears,
Listen. Be present.
I can donate to a cause,
I can be an encourager,
I can pray.

Now you’ve got the idea! Do something.

I don’t expect you
To do everything.
Just do something
And trust that I AM
Will handle the rest.
Working together
We can make a difference.
My precious child,
I love you so much!

Target Practice, Perhaps?

“We would just go out and line up a bunch of cans and shoot with rifles, handguns and at times, submachine guns… When I was a kid it was a controlled atmosphere, we weren’t shooting at humans… we were shooting at cans and bottles mostly. I will most certainly take my kids out for target practice.”
– Johnny Depp

The other day, I caught a glimpse of something that puzzled me, so I harnessed Dallas up for a walkie to get a closer look.

Here’s what we saw:

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Giving Mama Some Space

Dallas here.

Mama’s on a tear, and I’m hiding low. Watching her as usual, but out of harm’s way.

Because I’ve lived with her long enough to know two things:

1) She gets like this when she’s stressed, and

2) This, too, shall pass.

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We writers

Open our souls

To the whole world

To see and to judge

What we labor to bring forth.

Sometimes it’s spectacular, inspired, or even divine;

Other times, it’s nothing but garbage

Wasting good ink and paper.

Or worse, merely average.

Running in circles

Saying nothing


Note: This one came to me late at night. If there’s a name for this poetic form (with word count increasing by one on lines 1-7, then decreasing back to one), somebody please let me know!

Happy B-day, Domer


May you live a long life
Full of gladness and health,
With a pocket full of gold
As the least of your wealth.

May the dreams you hold dearest
Be those which come true,
May the kindness you spread,
Keep returning to you. — Irish Blessing

Happy Happy Birthday to the BEST SON EVER!! Love you bunches!

Turn It Off!!

Winter, you have worn out your very last welcome. Me

Forecasters were right on target yesterday when they assured us we were in line for an additional 4-8 inches of snow (the last tally I saw indicates we got at least six).

I don’t know about others, but I’ve had it Up To Here with winter!

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Who Gets the Bully?

A dog teaches a boy fidelity, perseverance, and to turn around three times before lying down. ~Robert Benchley

Recently, I found myself tuned in to Cesar Milan (you know, the Dog Whisperer), and he was promoting an upcoming show in which a couple needed his help with their bulldog mix who’d bitten their 3-year-old child.

The couple trained horses for a living, and the mom — despite the boy’s scars, despite her husband’s pleas to get rid of the dog — prided her abilities and refused to admit defeat. Even if the dog bit the boy again.

What was she thinking??

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Only Child


Only child, all by yourself,
Who will teach you to share?
Only child, all by yourself,
How will you learn to care?

No sibling in sight to share with or fight,
No one to compete with, it’s true.
No closet to plunder, no sister or brother,
No one but your parents and you.

Imaginary games played by just one.
Imaginary friends who listen
And speak what you want, when you want them to talk,
Then depart with nary a squeak.

Before you know it, school begins
And then you will see, I fear,
The grappling and clawing, commotion and jawing
Of others you won’t want too near.

Only child, all by yourself,
Who will teach you to share?
Only child, all by yourself,
How will you learn to care?

Watching and listening are strengths that I have,
Don’t fret over me, mother and dad.
“Only” doesn’t mean lonely, you know,
And who misses what he’s never had?

I’ve chosen my pals with knowledge and care,
They like me in spite of my flaws.
They know when to talk and refuse to balk
If I’m grumpy or down with the blahs.

I’ve courted kindness, rightness, and humor
To bring people into my sphere.
I’m comfy alone and can hold my own
Whether folks are away or right here.

‘Tis better by far to have peace when alone
Than discord with a sibling, you see.
Anger, bitterness, silence, and hate
Are nothing I want around me.

Only child, all by yourself,
Of course you are learning to share!
Only child, all by yourself,
Your heart teaches you to care.

NOTE: This, according to my research, is written in Ballad Metre, a variation of Common Measure. Four lines alternate between iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter in the rhyming pattern of a-b-c-b. If any of you experts know otherwise, please educate me!