typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2A very long time ago I wrote what I considered prose or maybe it was poetry; I’m not very good at identifying genres. Be this as it may, I will share with you (over time) my own genre entitled: Thoughts.

OLD SWEATER: Her aged hands hold knitting needles as if in a fencing duel. Skeins of yarn wend their way out of her basket. Click/click/click… Fabric is woven into a meshwork of color. Her stitches conjoin threads for the creation. A whittled form emerges from her needled skill. Her love is its texture.

BURYING: Street faces serve as sentinels for the funeral procession. Darkly clothed mourners stand in sorrow-laden silence. A warm breeze carries religious rites to my wintery soul. Painful emotions kill my heart as the knife they drew from yours. Your tomb awaits and I throw dirt instead of a blanket over you.


KingMartin Luther King, Jr. was an American clergyman and activist best known for his role in the advancement of civil rights using nonviolent civil disobedience. (1/15/1929—4/4/1968)

King said many things, but I find this quote (pictured) to be as relevant today as it was forty-five years ago; maybe even more so. It is one of those absolute truths life forces on us until we notice.

On this tribute day it came to mind to wonder what America might look like had King lived to teach us more about integration and not segregation; and here, I’m not speaking of shades of color. Instead, I’m speaking of humankind’s silence at a time when each voice is required to safeguard our hard-fought freedoms. It is, after all, our civil right!