Nearly three years ago I met and fell madly in love with a man unlike any other I’d met.  Recently, things were not adding up…… when I questioned him and asked if he was married he always maintained he was divorced, that we had been over this, he was not married.

This past week my doubts were confirmed, even knowing I had the hard evidence in my hand he still lied, insisted he was divorced.  My heart aches…..for myself but even more so for his family.  I hold his wife’s heart in my hands, wanting her to find a man who loves her the way she deserves to be loved, I want that for myself too.  I wish he’d thought about his family or mine when he started this…… I am wallowing in pain and self-pity right now……a broken record. 

My only crime was loving and trusting a man who is a liar and cheat……an over-educated liar and cheat. I’m sure his blackberry stores his lies so they are only a button away.

  (word has this poem goofed up, guess I will bite the bullet and download blogdesk.)

This is Where the Road Ends        

Sleep hides behind lies

My heart too shattered to rest

My soul is tired, weary

I want to dream in a place far away

where he will never find me

I turn on the light

numb fingers tapping on keys

rapidly to vent my pain

wondering why he did not bother

to find another married person

 to mind fuck

to consume

I am so disappointed in him

in the man I thought I knew

in the father who hugs his daughter

knowing she will find men like him

the world is full of them

I laugh to myself as tears

roll into the corners of my mouth

wondering why I thought I was so special

that they would pass me by

I sob wondering why he could not tell the truth

when I handed it to him

over and over on a silver platter

what was he hoping to save?

Obviously, only his own pride

Not his wife’s, not mine

I hear his voice his lies

 it hurts to the boneand beyond 

This is not a detour

it’s the end of the road

I never thought we would end

especially just as the world was turning

crimson and gold

just as the fields of beans work their magic

the road ahead uncertain for both of us

I know I will find the road back to

somewhere between where I’ve been

and a place I’ll never go again

but right now I am lost,

 just like him

in the pain he made

the pain he chose for each of us

somewhere between lies and healing

as the world prepares for autumn

 I look out over the field

his shadow absent behind me

as the scent of pungent damp earth fills the night air

there are no happy endings here

only sad songs that seem to come from every direction

the universe is comforting me

a thin slice of the waning moon

my unreliable witness

to the sharp edge pebbles

that like love, have cut too deep

this wound ,a twisted lie

refuses to heal

With a glass of wine I examine

his words over and over

dissecting them into small pieces

looking for even the smallest

trace of truth among them

I wonder if he’ll ever miss me

my touch or how I felt wrapped around him

If he will stare into a glass of red wine

and hear it whisper my name

see the words he penned on the cork

of each bottle we shared

I throw handfuls of them in the trash

then silently retrieve them for safe keeping

someday I will revisit them

not now

I am too fragile

this is where the road ends 

The neighbor’s cat coils around my ankle

I gently caress him

like a long lost love

with a sympathetic ear

and a warm heart

his purring, unconditional love

I, like the cat, am helpless

searching for a soft landing

life is fragile

fragile and unpredictable

I wonder who he prays to

who he talks to in the middle of the night

I have a history with him

but no future

the way the king of lies and deception

intended it to be right from the start

 Suddenly I understand

 “who has the power”

and a wiser, kinder person

tosses it into the prevailing wind 


This afternoon I went to a birthday party for a gentleman turning 90 – he told me he reached this age in good health because he knew the magic formula.  I asked him what that was, hoping he’d enlighten me.He looked at me and said, “Love. I fell in love with a good woman who loved me with her entire heart on my good days and bad days and I did the same for her.”I want a younger version of that man. Good days and bad days, oh yes, I have loved that way………. I am missing the man who can return that kind of love. 

He said he isn’t too much to look at now days.  What he doesn’t realize is, it is not how someone looks that is import,  what sags and wrinkles only makes them that much more lovable.  It all starts and ends with what’s inside.  I choose to live with an open hand, open heart in hopes of finding real love someday……..and holding it.

I don’t want the guy with the 6-pack or the one who dresses to the nines, I don’t care about sports cars or how much money he makes, what he does for a living,  I want the guy who’s hair has turned the color mother nature intended it to be at this age, the guy with the lines on his face………the lines life delivered……….I will climb over the pretty boys to get to the skin horse…….anyday of the week.

And now, one of my all time favorite passages from “The Velveteen Rabbit” – about the skn horse

“The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.

“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

 I do have the capacity to love again…………in time……..in time. Right now, I have fresh wounds that need attention……..deep and raw, but in time I will be ready again.

Where Did the Time Go?

In my youth, I never paid attention to time or the passing years. It was a commodity that I took for granted. I knew where to find it and how to stretch it. Now it owns me and runs through my fingers,.

I want a man who values time.

Who does what he says he will do.

Who delivers in spades. If  I could, I’d turn the back the hands of time.

I’d have made better choices about the men in my life and moved on when it was clear it was not working.

I would have realized that I can’t fix anyone, only point them in the right direction.

I would have realized when you love someone, really love them, a part of them resides in you always, even if they’ve hurt and deceived you.

I would have raised my children differently, given them more survival skills, realizing that someday I would not be here to fix things or kiss away a broken heart. I think I failed them by not pushing them harder, not letting them fail enough under my watch to have the confidence to turn things around while I was still in a position to help them. Sigh.

Wisdom is a wonderful gift, unfortunately, it usually is linked to the passage of time.

Make no mistake, I will use it wisely.

Life is precious, I make each day count.

Life goes on

Life goes on ….

Two Septembers ago, I heard the fear in her voice.  We sat in her backyard drinking coffee with the chiminea aglow, her face mostly in shadows except for the tears trickling down her cheeks.

Her fear was not for herself, not for the days ahead when the beast would have its way with her, taking a breast was not enough, it would soon claim all of her.

She worried how he would get along without her, how he would handle the silence, shop for groceries, remember to keep doctor appointments etc. Her voice lowered to a whisper. She told me she did something very right all those years ago, she married a wonderful man. When she was diagnosed, he was there, telling her it was their battle.  When she was sick, he cared for her without her asking. When she cried, he held her and comforted her… and not once did she have to ask, he was always there for her.

She looked at me with eyes that pleaded for answers.

“When I am gone, who will care for him?  What if this happens to him, who will be there for him?”  She knew how essential his support had been in the early days, it was even more so now.

I wrapped a blanket around her and refilled her coffee as she looked up at the stars. A symphony of crickets filled the damp night air.

She turned to look at me, pointing to the heavens.  “Do you see that really bright star over those old oak trees?”

I nodded, holding back tears, selfishly wondering what I was going to do without her.

She continued, “Right there, right there is where I want him to look for me………..we’ve sat out here for 30 years and there’s always a bright star right over those trees.  Me and the Oaks, that’s where I’ll be.”


Her voice trailed off……perhaps she was wondering how far away she’d be.  “He needs to remarry, you know. He’s a good man, some woman will be happy with him……..perhaps Carla L would be a good fit for him?  You know, I can see them together; they’d probably live in her home.  Or maybe you should make sure he finds someone who loves to dance; I never liked it but he always loved dancing. You will need to keep your eye on him, to make sure he goes on.”

Three weeks later she slipped into a coma. He called me to sit with him.  When I arrived he was painting her toe nails, her pillow had recently been fluffed. He had her favorite candles burning and a photo of them on the nightstand.  He held her hand so tenderly and told me that even then, with her bald head and emaciated body, he looked at her and saw a gorgeous woman who loved him with all she had every day and every night. 

They used to glance at each other across a room and everyone recognized the look.  He looked at her the same way then.

She slipped quietly away the next day. 

Last night I attended his wedding – alone.  He looked at his new bride and I once again recognized the look of love. At the reception she told me his wife wrote a letter to the woman he would marry after she was gone.  She said it was the most touching, thoughtful letter, stained with her tears…… welcoming her into his life, the life she left behind.

She was quite a woman, that friend of mine.

I heard someone ask them if they’d be living in her house.  She said, “No, we will live in his house, it has the most magnificent view of the night sky, right over the old oaks.”

I knew what that meant, more importantly, I knew what that meant to him.

How sweet, how wonderful……..two people who truly love and understand each other.

We should all be so blessed………….he found it twice……….. I’m still searching for once…..perhaps someday.

Inner Knowledge


As disconnected as we are
have been
and will be
I still find it amazing
that you recognize
my fingerprints in the ether
mixed amongst millions of others
and yet
the pieces of us are
scattered here and there
and after all these years
we can't seem to make it whole
despite the miles
the only things that I have
ever been really sure of
are that I tend to take the
known and scenic roads
while you prefer winding, crooked trails
and that I love you
and know you love me.



I close my eyes and remember you

small details

picked up by the scrutinizing eye

of an artist

Had I the talent

I would have painted you

that afternoon in June

on a large fresh canvas

caught every small detail

the way the sky with her billowing clouds

wrapped around you

the sun picking up the highlights

of your salt and pepper hair

and casting shadows on your face

the freshly cut grass of the river bank

your pedestal

the reflection of the harbor

in the corner of your eyes

as they looked at me

with the undeniable

look of love


Had I the talent

I would have captured that moment

in oils

you in your black shirt

and wrinkled trousers

in the late afternoon as long shadows fell

and the gulls watched

but what my masterpiece would not show

is the woman with subtle crows feet

and paint on her hands

who remembers ever so vividly

the way your fingers tasted in my mouth

how your body fit mine

so perfectly

and how so many could-have-beens

never happened

no, the world will not read my scribblingS

nor will they know of my emptiness

they will not see my memories

that are locked away in my mind

the world will see my masterpiece

that small glimpse of the time

you let your fear of being hurt

fall away

and loved me the way every woman

deserves to be loved

Many have that for a lifetime

My masterpiece embodies a sliver of time

late on a summer afternoon








                                                                    Beads of perspiration

trickle down my neck

silently sliding between

my breasts

another sultry August night


summer fades quickly

thunder rumbles

clouds obliterate the moon

as the last stars of summer

sink into the darkness


Like them

we were once fiery beings

consumed by the night