Happy Thanksgiving back.

Simply, I mean my old familiar favorite books. This, first in a series, Top 10 List is a compilation of the books that shaped me, resonated

In the midst of the loneliness In the midst of the pain Heaven’s ear hears The unspoken strain The primal cry The stoic weep Heaven listens—

I mistook silence for forgiveness. I mistook silence for a Christian response. But in that moment of asking for my silence, he took away

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Normally, I will not be able to keep up with all of the awareness days, weeks or months that occur on social media. That’s not to say I’m insensitive to the wonderful causes and initiatives, I just forget easily. But this year, I was keenly aware of my own miscarriage twenty-one years ago that I thought I would include this story here and now. It was Labor Day weekend 1998 and I had already been to the doctor earlier in th

We loved the thought of you while you were in my womb I am sorry, little one, that my womb became your tomb, You were fearfully and wonderfu

This is the latest Barn Painting entitled Acid Tears. It has been in my mind for quite some time. This is the first time I’ve painted on wood. I chose a 5x7 piece of wood that mimicked barn siding as my ‘canvas’. Cosmetics were my only medium. This time, I painted a ‘face full of make-up’ onto the wood as described in the poem Blood-Bought Bare. Foundation, face powder, lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner, blush and mascara were my primary mediums. Because of an issue with orientat

Last, it is a simple store and not much more. My goal is to offer Barn Paintings, journals, notecards, photo prints, and mugs.

It’s important to tell the people in your life caught in abusive situations the truth. Both the victim and the victimizer.

But there was nowhere to go In the trailer built for two I was trapped in a cage Like a tiger at a zoo.

{Trigger Warning} One thing every kind of Abuse does is make you a captive. It limits your freedoms. It makes you a prisoner; it ...

Right in the mix of conflicting feelings of loss swirling around my senior, my graduate, my last born — Grandma season arrives. These little

But the withering, the withering Of spirit and soul The withering of the flower’s bud Is fall’s harvest goal

That there’s nothing to lose And all to gain

That’s the thing about armchair quarterbacks— that perfect American idiom— where a person can have an opinion or judgment about nearly anyth

Because suffering alone is better by far Than to constantly be wishing upon a star And taking the sacred kin with me Out into the raging sea

It’s not like the years between wanting to die the first time and wanting to die the next didn’t hold heartache and pain, depression and los

There is no such thing as red lipstick any more.

Leaving us blood-bought bare

Lipstick on canvas.