“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

It doesn’t say blessed are the poor in finance. It says poor in spirit.

Poor in spirit means that we ALL are spiritually bankrupt and are in need of spiritual currency. Not only bankrupt, because that would mean even, but DEEP in debt.
How many dollars have your parents given you to save your bacon before you could stand on your own two feet? Can you ever repay them?
That’s God’s love for us.
In Christianity, the currency is Jesus.
We all require Christ to know heaven. That’s what we believe.
All Christ means? All Christ stood for?
LOVE. Grace. Grace and love are the same thing.
Blessed are those who require LOVE, deal in LOVE, freely give LOVE. For they shall see heaven.
To forgive and be forgiven.
To live in peace.
We require grace because we continually get it wrong. Because we are human. Fallible.
We give grace because we want it and get it.
The whole of the law is LOVE.
I wanna be rich!

To Battle

I’m in The Grapes of Wrath right now and I wanted to look at this old song, Battle Hymn of the Republic. I mixed in some of my photography as well. Pictures from my home state, Missouri, and one from Amarillo, Texas! I’ll let you guess which one. 🙂

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps,
His day is marching on.
bw truck
I have read His fiery gospel writ in rows of burnished steel!
“As ye deal with my condemners, so with you My grace shall deal!
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, ”
Since God is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
country road
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free!
While God is marching
This song so perfectly sums up what Tom and the Joads are going through. I feel so honored, humbled and thankful to be able to tell this story. It truly is one of the most amazing experiences in theatre I’ve had. Already! We’re only one week into blocking.
The last show I did in Missouri, Women of Lockerbie, was amazing as well. I feel so lucky to be blessed with great actors, great direction and so much love and support. I don’t deserve such grace, but I’m over-the-moon to have it.trees fencetexassmall-e-cross

bw house
My mother’s Depression era home in Aullville, MO. The place she lived as a child. Still standing!
I don’t know that being in a play and being self-indulgent with acting is helping anyone. It certainly spurs me on to find ways to help others. It inspires me to keep going. It puts me in touch with my roots. It puts me in a caring community of strangers who have more love than I’ve seen in a while. Isn’t that a God thing?
I want to honor this very selfish, enjoyable experience by finding the depths of this character. It’s such a special opportunity. Plus, I want to take care of the people around me. Just like Ma. I want to be as generous as she was on and off stage.
I feel like I did when I used to act at church. Like I have a purpose and God-given usable talent. As sad as this play is, I’m having the time of my life.

Rabbit Habit

The street we live on, Flamingo Drive, should be renamed Rabbit Run. There are a gajillon bunnies on our short little avenue. Every morning when we ride to school, little bunnies pop out of every bush and hole. Adorable. Just like this fella. SQUEE!

bunny under the stairs
If we see two bunnies, we call that a Double Bun. Three? Triple Bun Fun. Four? Quad goals.

Except. These rabbits have a habit. Of almost dying! They are a touch suicidal. They run in front of my car. They hear the car and run towards it. Confused.

I, of course, brake when I see any movement. I only go around 15-20 miles an hour because there are some dumb bunnies. I grew up in the country, so I know what it’s like driving around squirrels, rabbits and deer. Once I brake, their spell is broken and they run in the other direction.

Run, bunny! Run!

I watch for bunnies and the Ghosts of Venice (I call them). Old people who drift in and out of the fog. I don’t want any innocent, yet careless, creature’s life in my hands. With the bunnies, I would fear retribution from the multitudes.

Thankfully, I am a cautious driver, always on the alert. 10 and 2, always focused, and keeping an eye on those bunny bushes.



Such safety in that slang.
For namer and named.
Grace spoken, bread broken.
Taken for granted that wishes are granted.

What chemicals are released in your brain?
Been there since your birth.
Summed up all her worth.
In a word.

What has she done?
What has she left?
What did she conquer to make your paths straight?
Cannot separate word from feeling.

Her desires and feelings and thoughts and love
Have all been poured out over you.
Not one single second since you arrived
Has she considered not caring, not fighting, not existing for you.
Thank you, Ma.


You needed me
Don’t get it twisted
This jumped-up General
Thinks I’m enlisted
You drafted me
For your war
But I’m no soldier
I’m so. much. more.

When I fight
It’s with word
Bombs of truth
Never heard
I can end your world
With strikes of keys
Attack me again
You’ll be on your knees

Lucky for you, I’m a pacifist.

Every Time Love

Every time I love
Instead of fear, mistrust, hate
I change my whole world

Love someone today
Not just claim, use up and trash
Find the rare treasure

Do unto others
Is impossible if I
Do not first love me

Go out of your way
Listen, praise, trust, risk it all
To reach one person

Samaritan man
Left his busy, blessed life for
A man left for dead

F*ing Emo

I scream to you “I’m different!”
But how can you really tell?
Because this heart is deeper?
Beeline to the bottom of this well.

Is it that I feel so strong
Everything that I feel?
Does that make all my emotions
Any truer or much more real?

I flail around and make a mess
Invite you to the show
That’s what makes me different
And totally f*ing emo.

No, not Elmo. lol

Poem Heap Vol. 1

So. Here’s a heap of poems. All previously published on Crafty B. I’m submitting for a poetry contest. Can you help?? 🙂

I’m open for suggestions. Re-titling, flaws, killing of darlings, misfits, misspelling, order. This is my first collection. I’ll be recording these. Not all of my favorite poems are included but some are acrostic, so I don’t think those will record well. lol

What are your thoughts, please?! Don’t worry so much about format, it’s a recording. Thanks!!! I’ll write a poem for you if you help. LOL 😉 OR! I’ll reblog your favorite poem if you like. Another collection!

We Walk In Darkness

Night has come and we walk in dark

Because we have not made it home.

But in the black, hand in hand,

We do not go alone.

The light will come again.

We know that now for sure.

For lightless earth and dimming path

Love is the only cure.


Beauty of clouds on canvas climb

Reaching heights of pictured time

Wind sweeping o’er the moor

Heath and briar my bedtime floor

Among the blades, I find my rest

Pillows made from flowers pressed

Comforting sighs of water’s move

Birds sing of what night will prove

Promise of peace, darkness comes

Laid out like a beautiful line of crumbs

Finding your way doesn’t mean your lost

Flowing rivers are meant to be crossed

The End of the World

Brains on the wall

Heart on the floor

Sputters in a stall

Grace out the door

Nerves on a knife

Feelings on a wire

At large in life

Fingers on fire

Stumbling through

Poisoned issue

Crumbling view

Rotting tissue

Leaving trees

Melting ice

War in the streets

Political heist

Death and destruction

Bitter blood boiling

Constant insurrection

Clockwork uncoiling

The world is hard

Change is real

Everyone is scarred

If there’s something to heal

The world seems dark

Impossible in scope

But it only takes a spark

To light a forest of hope


Discordant chorus of

Infernal, eternal, internal voices

Formed before

The world ignored us

Before I even had a chance to explore this shore

Limited potential and forbidden choices

Abhorrent horrors from exposure

To bored-out scornful, forlorn explosions

Courage sworn to the godforsaken

Saint mistaken for a coarse-mannered whore

Spirit shut behind the door

Hopes drowned in aimless ardor

Sore and torn starving carnivore

Aborted glory flung on the floor

Poured out vigor nevermore

Lost my valor in your distorted war

You wont forget my dying roar


Blood on the handle

Blister in my hand

Not from anyone else

I’m the devil in this land

Torn up by my own prison

I’m the guard who locked the door

Threw away the key

Sleep shaking on the floor

You can’t punish me

I’ve already got that job

I’m the best at blowing up my life

Home-grown, hand-thrown grenade lob

War-torn, closely shorn

Baptize-bathed, newly reborn

But not in sparkling water

In blood-soaked blackened scorn

There’s no salvation

For the wicked vengeance I have wrought

No price that can be paid

No offering that can be brought

My sin came back to roost

My wrong came back to haunt

My eternal jail will be

Never having what I want

Doomed to roam the world

Bringing justice to the dark

I wont know love or bring the light

But my hammer strikes a spark

Coffee and Leather

Coffee & Leather

Unsmoked cigarettes

Words & Tea

Guzzled with regrets

Remembered rambles

Filled with remorse

Ancient ships

Blown off course

I didn’t love you

With all that I had.

I saved some for me.

Am I bad? Are you sad?

Sharp in the vein.

Blood in the glass.

Drink all the pain.

Don’t give hurt a pass.

This aroma.

This smell.

This pain.

This well.

I sweat these smells and swirling thoughts

Linger on the rush of Past.

I get high on who we were.

Too bad stinging smoke won’t last.

Soap and Cigarettes

His office smells like:



and cigarettes.

Like a dentist with a habit.

He shares a building with a lawyer who is never in.

Yellow legal pads

On top of a big desk

In a dark/cluttered/slightly-open-doored room.

Everything a-soak in cigarette smoke.

Even the paintings.

The open area that could be construed as a tiny lobby is neat, but dim.

Ashtray on every surface.

Perfumed with solace and solemnity.

I stare at a picture of a stream inside a wood.

Looking for any sign of reason, beauty or good.

Radio softly plays country music.

It’s cold outside.

Wet snow.

But it’s warm and dusty here.

The fabric on the chairs is stiff and speckled.

I’m waiting in the waiting room

For nothing but myself

I simply want to be around

Spending minutes off the shelf.

There are old editions of:

Field & Stream


National Geographic

Something tells me

I’m outside his demographic.

No. I’m waiting for him.

Just for a friendly face.

When he sees me, he says, “Hi!”

He seems like he likes me.

That’s unusual.

When you grow up in a rural area,

Any excuse to see people,

Whether you need their services or not,

Is a reason to put clothes on and be seen.

I want to be seen.

He’s like a dad.

The kind of dad you want your dad to be.

But he isn’t.

But it’s enough.

“I’m fine, Doc. Thanks for asking.”

Blood and Bones

Stripped to the bones.

Blood on the teeth.

Breathing fire.

Sweating out the grief.

Pour the oil.

Light the flame.

Whisper your prayers.

Invoke my name.

Burdens on my back.

Lightning from above.

Thorn in my side.

Peace like a dove.

I fly away.

You’re still in a cage.

One of your making.

Iron bars of rage.

I am saving you.

Yet you throw me away.

I will love you forever.

Even today.


Paper hearts

Hung by a string

Ripped apart

Torn and dangling

Beautiful banner battered

Fluttering and tattered

Hearts on display

Like it’s Valentine’s Day

Easily broken

Not unlike mine

Withered words unspoken

Clinging to the vine

See you around

I’ll be here on the ground

Picking up the scraps

And pulling bootstraps

Let me be your feather bed when you need a place to fall

no one’s ever flawless

everyone makes mistakes

somewhere deep in this solace

is the place our heart awakes

give grace and be open to receive

simple premise that promises perfection

dare hope and we shall believe

let this be our invocation

Good Night

Words are straining

Light is waning

Pulse is fading


Born again

Back from when

Where Ive been


Now I fly

On rhythms high

Do or die


Through the ceiling

From numb to feeling

Nerves are healing


Eyes on fire

Loves a wire

Worlds a liar


Move Me

If I am the immobile mountain, move me.

If your love is the mountain, then I shall be the one to climb.

If your summit is unknowable, then let me dangle from your shadows and shelter.

Let me live at the foot of your love.

Rock and Bone

love is no flower

love does not blossom and shrink

love is rock and bone


I’ll chisel out a bowl

Carve out some good

Cradle you to my mouth

In a handmade spoon of wood

Show you all my kindness

Grant you every gift

Scoop out all my sugar

Shake down snow through my sift

I’ll believe all your words

I’ll watch all your stars

I’ll follow all your moons

I’ll heal all your scars

Meet me here

Come close, Dear

Love is near

Trembling fear

It doesn’t have to hurt

Not everyone’s a liar

I just want to warm myself

Beside your lovely fire



Snag the tumbler’s groove


Feel the numbers move


Slowly find the spot


Untie this puzzle’s knot


The lock upon my heart


By brick, take me apart


These walls are falling down


Alarms are shaking sound


Of time, you rescued me


For the first time–free.






I close my eyes

To listen for your words

They feather down on me

Like a flock of birds

When I find my still

And meditate on choice

I climb through clouds

And hear your voice

My sunglasses sprinkled

With drops of rain

I don’t mind

Transcend this plane

I open my eyes

And see your worlds

Kaleidoscopic prisms

Rainbow swirls

Colorful snowflakes

Buzzing like a hive

Dancing on my vision

Proof that you’re alive

I pray to you

Bring me peace

Only then

Does my calm increase

Thank you

For your amazing display

I am humbled and awed

By your magic every day

Lost In Space

Where am I?

How’d I get here?

This is my worst nightmare–

My greatest fear.

Not just surviving,

But reliving the violence.

Transcendent anguish

Memory movies play in silence.

Broken homes.

Parents screaming.

Shattered lives.

Splinters gleaming.

I am kidnapped aboard

Taken back to Then.

I am rock-bound, starship-wrecked

Instantly on that When.

The initials on the side of my rocket are P-T-S-D.

Where’s my comm? Where’s my calm?

Lines severed. Where’s my tether?

Frozen and suffocating in my suit.

From the outside, a floating feather.

Getting off of this horrible world?

No escape for me.

The flight was lost, guidance tossed,

Capsule crashed in an alien sea.

I may never see home again.

I can sit, give up and die.

Or I can make my way back to you

And fashion a means to fly.

Find tools.

Bang out a space.

Write a manual.

Picture your face.

Soaring over the ice,

Breaking the gravity of Past.

Riding out the rocky belts,

To land by you at last.

I’m home.

Sorry I left.


There are moments in this life where the entire world slows down for just a second. Noises are blurred, images are paused and focused. And for a brief, fluttering instant we can experience a perfect communion with the eternal; a recognition of the divine. This moment hangs on like a perfectly formed raindrop, clinging to the surface of the present, waiting for the next moment to be bumped forward and resume the electric pace of the ordinary.

God’s-Eye View

What if for a second

We merely supposed?

The galaxies in space

Are God’s mind exposed.

We finally have a picture.

Epic record we can see.

The mind map of God–

Light history.

Swirling bright clusters

And exploding gas clouds.

Firing synapses

Appear in star-crowds.

Expanding chemicals

Racing through the brain.

Magnetic fields

Of electric rain.

Solar wind.

Asteroid belts.

Polar flares.

Rock that melts.

Endless black holes

Worming their way.

Tunneling and tumbling

Through a Kubrick ballet.

If the Universe is

The eternal God-Head,

We are cells broken/

Spoken from dead.

Four words are a Gun.

Let there be light.

Shot out *big bang*

His bullets bring life.

Twisted orange, purple threads

Make lightning-quick connections.

Worlds ignite through invisible wicks,

Catching fire in all directions.

Heavenly hosts

Beat their wings.

Angels rocket

And pluck their strings.

And as they play

Their creative tune,

Planets are framed,

Hung with a moon.

If God is the mind

Then the body–different worlds.

A collection of organs

Filtering systems like pearls.

Braid the planets together,

Necklace Space-time.

But we threaten to steal it

With biological crime.

We. Are. Cancer.

We eat up space.

Nothing can win.

Everything’s a race.

If missiles are medicine,

If spaceships are pills,

Then we are poisoning the Universe

With the ills of our wills.

We only want to spread our brand of living to another surface. We are bacteria.

If we are cancer? Infection?

Then Love is the cure.

Heart is the fire

To make this Body pure.

If we can see the wonder

Of the inside of God’s mind,

We should:

Respect it.

Protect it.

Project it.

For all the universe to find.