The Difference Eight Years Makes

You're a whisper in the wind, a fragrant flower bud

A leaf of autumn gold - quiet, yet bravely bold.

You paint mountains and bubbling brooks

Your speech jubilant - passive, yet defiant.

Fifteen flavorous years

I've watched you grow

Spread your pretty wings

Forget, and learn new things.

From your cocoon you stretch and sail away

Fighting for more room - you leave, but always stay.

10/27/2000

P.S. means I can add more now

Eight years later

you are the epitome of WOW!

A brave mother, a patient wife

You give happiness to babes and embrace life.

From you

wondrous things abound

A true friend

and companion is found

Look inside

and reach for heights of greatness

For you deserve

all the world's unequalled happiness!

8/1/2008

DUTY CALLS

Under the wire I write. In a few moments I must go. Work is calling...making the almighty buck is so important that I must stop writing and force myself to go where 'duty calls.'

Listening and heading the 'duty calls' horn has always been my way of life. Duty called for the service of my country in the early 1980s and I did so, tho' sacrificed my sense of safety. My safety net, invisible and questioned, was breached when I fled home and joined the outer-realm. I went to places never gone before, pushed my comfort zone (though what comfort was there?) to new heights. What I found was a bunch of yes-people who joined the throng with me. I survived the break-away years. I survived the tumultuous, wandering, vague existence that was vastly better than what I had left behind.

That said, I must cease and desist. Duty is calling. I must go and earn not only the almighty buck, but the coveted benefits, and swim in the sense of fulfilling my obligations. Then I shall come back to my haven and write my little heart out!

Love's Hide-n-Seek

(For Danielle and her Children)


Twins

Love come softly, Love come hard-
Love's hide-n-seek now plays in our yard.
Once she was alone dreaming of a home,
Cut short -now are her dreams-
As beside her babies scream.
From love she found a man who treats her nice
And angels sent from God not once, but twice.
Baby boy and baby girl keeps Mama in a whirl!
Love's come softly, Love's come hard,
Now Steeley and Lyla play in our backyard...

Tower in the Sky

In Dover, NH there is a secret hiding place for Garrison Hill Tower that reaches into the sky.
We happened upon its green, metal frame, climbed the several stories of stairs, and took a rest up in the blueness of the summer sky.
Our little niece of six who accompanied us on our adventerous hike, with great excitment said, "Auntie Lisa, Let me take your picture!" Eager hands held the camera up to sparkling, blue eyes, "I almost have it! Hold on one more minute."
So she did, and here it is, and tho' she cut off our heads, the memory will live forever of when we climed our tower in the sky.

BIRCH TREES: OPTIMISTICALLY FRESH

Of all the trees on the land
I love birch the best.
They stand majestic, poised,
and optimistically fresh.
In a field or in the woods
withstanding nature's test.
Birch trunks shine in the sun
casting a flashy, warm glow.
Branches dance in the air,
leaves flutter in the wind, and so,
Of all the trees on the land
I love birch the best.

Ghosts of Honor!

I am a Patriot!
I was a Soldier!
I march in Formation with RED, WHITE & BLUE!

I am a crier when the National Anthem plays,
I stand tall and proud when troops pass my way.

I am a Patriot!
I was a Soldier!
I march in hometown Memorial Day Parades right up in the front with Vets, both old and new.

I am the 'Ghost of Honor' amid my living comrades. Beside me, other ghosts march...our spirits strut from prideful recognition.

We are Patriots! We are Soldiers. We are Ghosts of Honor!

Bridge the Heavenly Gap

The gap in this life to the next was bridged in the wee hours of morning the day my old friend passed...passed from this life to the one beyond...over the rainbow to the heavens, where the promise of 'being without pain' would now bring comfort...a freedom to move now, since he is no longer paralyzed...floating now on his cloud in the sky where he can stroke his favoured guitar and sing angelic folk songs...that will float down and comfort those left behind...melodies that bring comfort and cheer and allow the living to bridge the gap between this life and the next...sing well, Doug...we are still listening...waiting...remembering...holding our breath...until next we meet...

Blogging is Like Keeping a Diary

Blogging is like keeping a diary for yourself (that you want the whole world to read).

So as I write, read my secrets that with the world I wish to share.

If you dare, share a secret comment with me (and the whole world who is secretly reading.)

...I recently realized that as a child I didn't feel I had a trustworthy outlet for feelings. Instead, I put words to paper, as though writing my feelings would be just as good as speaking my feelings.

Know what? I was right. I even think writing my feelings is BETTER.

My paper and pen & computer keyboard are not judgemental. They don't give me that look like, "Come on Lisa, what are you talking about?"

They just let me speak and go on and on...they love it when I stroke and poke them and come up with some insightful revelation or mediocre tidbit. They really like it when I type my romance novels and stroke and poke for hours on end...pausing only to consider the music playing in the background and see if I can work it into my story.

Today, my friendly sister said "You probably became a writer because you felt more comfortable writing things than saying them out loud." Yes, Sis, you hit the bulls eye! You know me so well and are a wonderful Sis and friend!!! (Too bad we kept fighting each other in childhood. We wasted a lot of good years...)

Cuter and Sassier

How much more cute can a little girl be? Cute since birth and all the way through until now.

Cuter and sassier as each day begins, progresses, and ends. Overnight her 'cute' hormones kick in and she is smarter and wiser upon waking!

The day she was born cute emerged...

"I Love You Ocean, I Love You Roses, too!"

Inland temperature soars like birds toward sun,


I long to play, tho' in the heat there is no fun.


One place known never fails to fulfill my quest,


A place compared to no other - surely nature's best.


Imagine smooth-paved-path that contours the sea,


Adorned with sweet smelling roses - an occasional bumble bee.





Marginal Way in Perkins Cove, Maine is so exceptionally nice,


On this early-June day rose-fragrance mimics sweet-imported-spice.


To the left a gaze at sparkling sea beyond the shore,


Down this path I trod - my senses now explore.


Whitecaps on the ocean dance - sparkle in the sun,


Excited by the tide I jump and skip and run.






Toward shore whitecaps roll-and-creep,


While overhead the screech of gulls deep.


On the beach waves rolls in-and-out,


While on the path I skip and smell and shout.


"I love you ocean, I love you roses, too!"


One holding my hand says, "Always I love you."



(Note: This photo was actually taken in Mexico)