For my daughter

Build your fortress of books and open the brilliant door to wonder. Feel the cool pages in your hands. Dry, smooth, and crisp. Fold the corners and visit often. Remember the moments that each holds. Let your imagination shine through. Give yourself room to roam. Live your life with a sorcorer’s magic and a knights resolve. Revel in the rebels rebellion. Believe in yourself and the power you wield. Wander through the script. Scribble some notes in the margins. Write your own story. Re-write. When the pages are worn and tattered, start a new book.


Yesterday’s Cake

The sun shines through
the kitchen window

Yesterday’s cake
sits on the counter
in mornings light
a reminder of stories told
hugs and handshakes
and candles glowing

A single day
another year passes
ties are renewed
bonds are strengthened
no futures told
no headlines solved
no revelations divulged

A cup of afternoon coffee
a slice of chocolate cake
white frosting brimming
a reminiscence sigh
one more day
of guilt free deserts
and warming thoughts
of yesterday’s cake

Paper Boy

Most of my siblings and I delivered newspapers when we were young. We earned very little but it taught us the value of hard work and impressed us with lasting memories that we’ll never forget, some good and some not so good. This is a brief summary of our experience. If you were a Paper Boy or Paper Girl then I think you’ll understand.

Papers dropped off bundled in twine
Groups of fifty or more at a time
Their size determined by the news of the day
Counted and stuffed into canvass bags
Printed on paper the cheapest rag
Newsprint blackened our fingers and hands
As we counted them out making our plan
We walked the route day after day
Following our plans but changing the way
Sometimes on foot and sometimes on bike
Starting by day and returning at night
Walking down alleys in the dead of winter
Thinking about later hungry for dinner
The big dipper our constant companion
Traveling through darkness walking in tandem
The farmers market marked halfway home
Staying long enough to absorb the warmth
Spending two bits of hard earned money
Savoring our Reeses and Bit-O-Honey
Each paper delivered on porch or in box
Past barking dogs and kids throwing rocks
Up stairs and corridors to apartments for rent
Through yards and fences without consent
Finally home battered tired
All papers delivered as stipulated
and as required

On the Porch

We’re living the American Dream
We got a yard with a garden and flowers
We got a house with a porch and a swing
Where we sit and watch the evening showers

The porch is
where we do our sittin’
and where we do our staring
it’s where we do our kissin’
and where we do our sharing

The porch is
where we say good mornin’
we drink our favorite coffee
it’s where we do our talkin’
and read the paper daily

The porch is
where we enjoy our favorite rocker
swap our favorite stories
make a little laughter
and revel in the glory

The porch is
where we greet our neighbors
celebrate our achievements
talk about the weather
and where we do our grieving

Sacred Ground

by rrearick

It’s the end of an era the end of a time
Collateral sadness and honor combined

A time of reckoning of letting go

We grieve at a place our hearts fame
Sacred ground with pride proclaimed

Experiences fostered and left to grow

For the fell of life of those beloved
For the joy of life found and discovered

At a place where memories stow

We’ve walked these woods and water
Walked the same paths of all that matters

The seeds of our life watered and sown

The era goes on following life’s line
Through our love destined to find

Through the love already known