Some Poetry from my Book


The Legend of the Wildenbury Tree

When Williet began to bloom
The stars above called out to the moon
The sun saw itself in dewdrops strewn
Across the grass

The Wildenbury tree heard the noise
The cacophony of the forests’ joys
It twisted and its warm wood made the choice
To sing of its past

The trees know that one day he’ll come
The man who understands their inner hum
One touch and the tree’s melody will be known
From it’s rising and falling at last

When the Wildenbury finds its true friend
Roots touching like veins end to end
The forest will ring as the trees sing and blend
Their voices louder than brass

(This is from my book; Roots Entwine


Not your usual Spring greeting


What kind of flower is this? I saw it in a planted pot at Trader Joes. I loved the color of the petals.

Spring is greeting us with transitory flowers~ from the  browns of winter-

To the pink of new hours~ Don’t forget the pale green of almond bud life-

Buried deep inside~ revealing texture to almost flavor rife-

Cup holding delicacy each petal sighs~ shaped like hands-

Reaching and beckoning~ with soft sweet commands.



Posting this!

Here’s my review from SPR. Again I get the comment there’s not enough women characters in Roots Entwine, but in my defense I was writing it for my boy, subconsciously, and that was the world he lived in at the time. He had a lot of guy friends he traveled with, many of them on the same rocky road as he was. When thinking of Josiah and the world he lived in, perhaps the girls he told me about seemed a bit bratty to me, and nonexistent. It made me sad he couldn’t get a girlfriend. But I promised him one in my story, like the glimmer of a first kiss from a girl with surprising heart. Of course I’m not going to tell all reviewers this. I wrote Roots Entwine to give young adults a fantasy with noble heroes and a lot less misery than some of the books available to them. But I also wanted to tell young people who have mental challenges, like my son, that the different way in which their minds work- although it may seem like a curse- could be a gift. We should all value the rare kids who see things from a unique perspective the rest of us can’t understand. They are a blessing forever.


Look Closer


There’s something incongruous about this old card cover. Two cutesy children four inches tall, hanging out on a mustering horseshoe, drinking a glass of wine? Creepiest thing, the ivy emerging from their backs. Ha ha, what does it mean?

Or, it’s a swing put up by the local fair which came to town. These two are very comfortable in their innocence, giving each other a side-hug. They’ve got on nice clothes, clean and with matching shoes. It’s not wine they’re holding, it’s berry juice made by Miss Cordelia the spinster and sold at one glass per penny! Or, perhaps they’re not children at all, but a young married couple. Wait a sec. That makes more sense!

I think that’s how we stumble about, trying to view life. In perceiving other people, we jump from innocence to alcoholic to creepy, back to innocence and then, ‘it’s okay they’re married.’.

In Victorian times there were a lot of downtrodden people working 6 and a half, 12-hour days a week. Maybe this was the only day in their young lives they could afford to dress up. Maybe this was their wedding party and after that back to work. Or maybe these were well-off children, playing in the innocence of freedom from anxiety, drinking a heady glass of youth.

However we view the realities of life, when it comes to people we need to realign our perceptions. Those kids we see walking around town wearing black- who are they to us? A snapshot of our own youth to be looked upon with fondness? Young people who thrust themselves too early into a stormy world? Angry youth dressing in rebellion to pronounce they intend to stick together against oppression? Or just kids, swinging through the mustering pathways of society, clinging on to each other and partying to hold onto the laughter of childhood?

Yes, and yes. Those are all precious people, my Lord says to me. In them, I see my own rebellion and my own innocence. I see the human spirit snapshoting moments of joy in the middle of the hard work of survival. I must love them like He does, without the negative spin. Judgement makes bold statements about who people are, and then it changes and finally fades when we look a little deeper into the eyes of their souls. We are all the same.


Growing Up

vintage beach

Dear Lord, You wait for selfish children

I play with my dreams and toys until bedtime each day
And build slightly crooked block towers.

At that moment the height of the tower is all I see.
I sulk when the tower is knocked down.
I refuse to see the bigger picture- until long moments after
The mess is piled back in the box.

Until I feel Your embrace and Your soothing voice
Whispers in my ear- ‘Shhh, it’ll be all right.’

And the next day I graduate to sand castles
Molded under a changeable sky and open to the elements
Of a rainy world.

Patiently You teach by example.
‘Die for others,’ You say. ‘Love, and wait, and hold on.’

Very, very slowly, I begin to figure things out,
Once the sand castle has been smooshed and forgotten.

Once the haze of wrecked, personal glory and wannabes,
Clears from my vision.

Then I remember being held in your arms.
The tickle times when we laughed together.
The way I murmured in your ear, ‘I love you too!’
In that moment, You were my vision, and all I saw.

Rare those moments, and too much time in between.
But hopefully enough so you say,
‘The kid’s gonna learn it someday.’
Like all good fathers, You believe in me.

Sweet awakenings


We went to the mall today and there I saw the first cherry blossoms of the year. The tree was spindly, and surrounded by stone. It was a cloudy day in Bellevue, but still a few shadows added delicacy. Suddenly I remembered Spring. This little tree, unaware of dates and portents, of being surrounded by unyielding schedules, bloomed right on time. It’s skinny branch has a small voice. It isn’t in the midst of a forest or a field but across from a parking lot. All around the tall buildings of downtown Bellevue tower to fill the sky and crowds shop through the artificial beauty of man. But this little tree bloomed first and with all it’s inner joy, resulting in just a few sparse blossoms. It was enough for me. I was touched by beauty.

Perhaps my own voice is buried among the noisier more strident writers. The big five publishers aren’t asking for my little stories. I’m in the back lot, and overwhelmed enough that my offerings are few. But I love to write and it gives me joy. I hope I produce something beautiful. Mostly I hope one small person will come along and see my blossoms and be touched.




Sun on the mountain tip

ridges alight, distant the brown walls-

An adventurer could swim, run and hike

Gain the top for it calls;

It says stop being important

the rock beneath your hands

was here before and unless obliterated

will outlast you.

So put your life in perspective.

Remember Who made us.

Working on a Wish


Hi Everyone! The reason I haven’t made a blog post in a few days is that I’ve been tidying up my Cinderella’s stepsister story to send to a potential agent. It’s called ‘Another Cinderella’ and it’s a pretty good story, if I do say so myself! Here’s a snippet, and by the way, isn’t above doll cool? You can by it here, on ebay.

(And, if my writing drives you wild, you can buy one of my books on Amazon! Here’s a couple of links.

Snippet: ‘The next day she watched her mother and sister like a hawk. Now that she came to think of it, the shopping expeditions they constantly went on wielded very little substance. Apparently her mother’s stomach was requiring her to utilize their finances at the fine restaurant instead of costuming her sister anew. That was why Alexandria was now preening herself and wearing Atlantia’s favorite blue silk. Alexandria was taller and plumper than Atlantia had been, but she’d managed to squeeze into it. It was a beautiful dress, thought Atlantia, as she watched them leave out of the window. It flattered her sister as much as she could be flattered. Due to Atlantia’s newfound animosity towards her family, she found her little sister even less appealing. They’d been somewhat close before the change, understanding in an unspoken way the common similarities of their existence. But Alexandria was not as intelligent as she was, and the shallow goals of her mother for them were all she saw in reality. Briefly as she watched them saunter to their victuals she wondered if Alexandria would have turned out any differently if she’d been born with parents who had nurtured her mind and encouraged her to attempt her own goals. But for now she was selfish, trite and unpleasant. She had gloated at Atlantia that morning as she had run her hand possessively over her wardrobe. Mindlessly she’d picked up several of Atlantia’s trinkets, and had blinked in surprise at the fierce reception her action received. It was if she’d forgotten Atlantia would be bothered by her casual acceptance of Atlantia’s possessions. After they’d left Atlantia took her jewelry and hid it. She wanted to save it for any possible necessities. Then she stood in her bedroom.
She pulled one of her newly made over dresses out of the chest she’d been hiding it in, and hurried to put it on. She knew she had several hours before they’d return. She wondered with an unkind smile if the chefs at the restaurant cringed when they walked up. They could eat a lot.’

The God I Know


The Jesus I know is very sweet;

Soft smooth stone under my feet,

Providing enough to feed my little ones;

Life under early-Springtime sun;

He said He was gentle and humble in heart;

The Spirit’s breeze sets the scents apart;

When I’m alone and quiet He whispers peace;

When I’m scared in the dark He brings release;

Always He’s been this way to me;

Circumstances rage but He remains sweet.





I wrote this poem sometime in the 1990’s!

I was waiting for the Lord to speak to me

not very patiently

“Keep coming back to Him,” I thought.

Could He speak to even me?
“Come into the woods with Me,” said the Lord.

“Find a pile of rocks. Come dig for roots with Me.

Did you find My roots underneath the hard earth?

For I can push a plant up from beneath the hard rock.

I can cause My love to grow on any soil

that is rooted in Me.

I can grow wildflowers in your hard cold life.

Colorful, abundant, overflowing.

So even your rocky heart can be BEAUTIFUL in Me.
Plant Your garden, sweet Lord, in my barren heart.

Let the wildflowers speak for themselves.