“Who Am I?”

Why are you where you are? Why do you, the things you do? Maybe you deserve better Most likely you do not This truth is your salvation Reconcile why you are Recognise where you are Worth may be found therein When 'where' and 'why' have answers.

The Book Of Denial (Chapter 4)

Here we sit, oars in hand Each paddling in their direction I am stronger so we go my way When I wane we go yours Consequently we end still. So here we sit; nothing gained... Here we lay, blanket o'er us Back to back, pillow between It is cold, we are cold You roll your … Continue reading The Book Of Denial (Chapter 4)

Dance With My Father

I laid my head on his broad chest, my arms around his muscular torso. I felt his large hand 'gently' thumping my uncovered back, the space between my neck and where my wedding gown began. Luther Vandross', "Dance With My Father Again" was aptly playing through the monstrous sound systems DJ Snap had brought for … Continue reading Dance With My Father

Get Dirty

I call this mood “piggy”. I get this way often. And not only in the light of hygiene…wink…nice piece


I’m going to be dirty today.

As a kid, Mama often met me on the back stoop as I came in from playing outside. With a broom in her hand she’d have me slowly turn in a circle while she brushed dirt from my blue jeans. She wasn’t against sweeping my bare legs either if I happened to be wearing shorts.

“Don’t bring that mess in this house.” She’d say. “Did you plan to get dirty?”

Well no. I hadn’t planned to. I was a kid. There was dirt. We met and fell in love. The end.

I remembered that this morning as I thought about where to plant some things in the yard. I still love dirt. Not potting soil in shiny garden-center bags. I don’t care for the sterile smell of plastic and perlite. I love real dirt. Earth.

One of the finest smells of spring is that…

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Obudu Ranch HASH

The camp fires burned hot Music moved our souls and feet Liquors were quaffed with glee Love found, Friendships free In a land eerily enchanting Misty, damp, and exotic We are literally in the clouds It is all surreal, pure magic It is cold mostly We are tired always Muscles sore surely Climbing hills and … Continue reading Obudu Ranch HASH