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Crying on a Sunday

I cried.

I sat alone and I cried.

Let me be honest, I cry more now that I’m in my 50s, still it’s worth noting that on an October Sunday afternoon in Easthampton, MA. 842 more words

Poetry

The Holiday's Over

“I’m home!” Sheila sang into the hallway.  She bundled three suitcases and a handbag through the front door.  There was no reply.  The television was roaring in the living room.  691 more words

William Stafford

Where do you draw the line?

Freedom of Expression

My feet wait there listening, and when
they dislike what happens they begin
to press on the floor. They know when
it is time to walk out on a program. 294 more words

Leadership

Meanwhile, in the interview room...

“For the last time, I wasn’t going to hurt her.”  The suspect looked pained, but Detective Grimm had seen the expression before.  Often perps would display pain at being caught but dress it up as a kind of pleading indignation, as though they were hurt and frustrated that anyone could accuse them of wrongdoing. 549 more words

William Stafford

Day 2098: Who are the good male role models now?

Yesterday morning, I posted this question on my Facebook page:

Who are the good male role models now?

I got many interesting responses, but, for this blog post, I will include only the first two comments:

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Personal Growth

Troy Savings Bank Music Hall Announces 2018-2019 Music @ Noon Concert Series

Every second Tuesday of the month during The Hall’s 18-19 Season

Tickets: Free

(518) 273-0038 http://www.troymusichall.org

TROY, NEW YORK — Since 1988, on the second Tuesday of each month, the… 503 more words

Music

Autumn Otters

For William Stafford–the poet, not the pirate. A fellow Midwesterner and embedded West Coaster, a quiet of the land, who also inhabited the edges, evoked the nearby faraway, whose ‘job it was to find out what the world is trying to be.’ He was at home on earth and was up in trees ‘til the day he died. 155 more words

Poems