Art & Photography

100 School Days

Last week, our Kindergartners celebrated the 100th day of school and I wrote this poem for them.

 100 School days…
 A number larger than ones and tens we would say.
 Oh, a number so big!
 It even makes us dance a jig.
 How much have we learned along the way?
 Many colors like red, blue, green, and even gray.
 100 words read by bright light.
 100 words we recognize by sight.
 Counting to 100 on the path we stayed.
 How many ten frames is 100, Oops, we will save that for another grade.
 100 CVC words such as…c…a…r.
 Sounding it right, makes us all shining stars.
 Our teachers provided us all the tools for our brains.
 Where we all have made lots of reading and math gains.
 100 School days have passed,
 Always practicing our writing with sky, fence, and grass.
 100 School days smarter are we!
 Dancing in celebration with utter glee.
 100 School days…Not letting our teachers down.
 Today, proudly wearing our 100 School days crown. 

Shadow Souls

The bird’s shadow shown on the drawn shades like a movie reel playing a film of somber silhouettes.

The cat looks on in wonder, excitement, and amazement because the bird appears to be closer than before as the day dusks down with the setting sun.

The bird chirps outside unaware of the foe lurking, watching, and waiting.

The cat chatters with uncontrollable delight as the shadow prey grows larger each minute.

Does a possibility exist for the bird to be caught by the cat?

If the cat claims the shadow bird, does the bird’s soul cease to be while the bird outside flies away ceaselessly unaware of the devourment of his soul?

Once the sun has set and the moon creeps high in the sky, only the feline fatale knows whether their shadow selves have become one and intertwined.

The Blind Promise

After 49 years of marriage, surprising Cassandra, the obstinate, was difficult.  She has always had a logical brain like a Vulcan, questioning me when I bring things up as if there is some conspiracy behind my actions.  Even when I proposed she asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

 On our fiftieth anniversary, I handed her a note.  Quizzically reading it aloud, “Blindly promise to take me somewhere next Saturday.  No questions.” She agreed hesitatingly.

Saturday morning arrived; bags were secretly packed in the trunk.  “Where am I taking you?” she asked with probing skepticism. 

“Airport. We are celebrating our fiftieth in Alaska, travelling to your fiftieth state. I always promised we would meet your goal.”

“Alaska? You would have needed me to plan with you? You must be joking?!” Cassandra answered still questioning me.

With loving eyes, I said, “It is true I usually ask you to tell me what you want to see on trips, but this time, I wanted to just whisk you away to fulfill your dream.” Smiling with happy tears, she kissed me like we were teens, putting the car in reverse, heading out to the road fulfilling her blind promise to me so I could fulfill my promise to her.

The Watery Dance in Key Largo

Dancing waters play a continuous tune

Washing away each day’s rays waiting for the moon.


Seas so clean like looking through a thin piece of glass,

Rocks and sandy floors seen as eyes pass.


To and fro the waves “cha cha” as they crest,

Some larger seeming like bigger steps giving it zest.


Peeking into the aquatic world through goggling glasses like a window

Seeing coral, shells, fish, and an occasional barracuda on the go.


Other creatures creep in this deep –

Jelly fish, nurse sharks, and manatees sometimes even peep.


The sea is their dance floor

As humans and birds look on from the shore.


Peaceful music kept on repeat

Leaving the watery bliss always available on beat.



I wrote this poem back in May during the “Safer at Home” time.  I was missing being at school with all of the teachers and students.  A virtual meeting with a few teachers brought this “displaced” feeling to the forefront to bring about this poem.  We discussed what really is the heart of the school – the people who come in and out every day. Enjoy!!

Does a school have a heart?
Does it reside without people only in part?

Is it more like a rib cage surrounding the beating muscle?
Or do the teachers pump the energy in and out as they hustle and bustle?

Brick and mortar prolong the life by standing tall.
However, the little ones ignite life by flowing through the halls.

Two months have passed, almost three
Of missing beautiful smiles and minds of wonderment and glee.

Distance will finally come and go,
Holding on to wait until the world says so.

A building is just an empty shell with a face.
Right now, its heart is only temporarily displaced.


In this time of separation,
Remember the intention.
Especially now, there is no time for rejection.
Hold onto your connections!

Connections are now different than before.
They take place behind a closed door.
Away from the maddening crowd of our yore
Voice and virtual command our communication floor.

These times should make you appreciate
Everyone to whom you relate
Whether by blood or fate.
Cling to your connections beyond the expiration date…

Of our locked in world right now and here.
This is only temporary, so please persevere.
Situations are dynamic and eventually move behind us somewhere,
But your connections are static always needing your care.

NYC Sounds

In the early minutes of morning twilight,
There is a certain quiet that lingers.
In the distance, you can just hear
The subway’s wheels screech
Like an owl landing on its prey.

As the dawn breaks,
The hustle and bustle of heartbeats
Move throughout the city –
Getting to coffee shops
Getting to work
Getting to school

Moving to and fro,
Meeting deadlines.
Tourists add to the foot pounding beat on the pavement.
The noises of walking, running, traffic, and talking loiter
Into the twilight of the evening just before dusk.

In places like Times Square,
The buildings come alive
As the lights switch on
Around 42nd Street and Broadway.

Even in Central Park,
The rhythmic patterns exist
With the squirrels frolicking,
Pigeons cooing,
The hot dog vendors selling,
The skaters at the rink swishing,
And organ music of the carousel
Adds a whimsical childlike tune of yesteryear.

The sounds of people never stop,
Repeating over and over,
A similar song from day to day…

Except for that brief period of the morning before dawn.

Ravens of the Ravine

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Out west, there exists the ravens three,
Scavenging o’er the discarded things from thee.

Hildebrand, Rivi, Utaznemco combine the trio
Who fly high and low searching for their foe.

These juvenile birds call the unsuspecting wolf to a carcass they found.
Through trickery, the wolf serves as their assistant slicing open the lifeless mound.

Once the wolf departs, they attack the carnage left with no care,
Barely allowing each other a small share.

Up and down the ravine they search
For the unwanted leftover edibles thrown out as they stop and perch.

The ravine provides a store to survive as of late
As the ravens three begin a search for their lifelong mate.

They go their separate ways on this date
For staying all three as one was never their fate.

The Sneer of the Illuminous Eyewitness

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Oh, my dear,
Throughout the years
You caress the night with your tumultuous tears.

As the moon leers
With suspicious eyes and haunting sneers,
She threatens to reveal your sins and fears.

Your prudent pact for which you adhere,
With yourself you try and stay clear,
But she saw your devilish design and aloud she wants to cheer.

Illuminating the night, she jeers,
Keeping the memory of the one you made disappear,
Leaving you continuously avoiding the truth as you steer.

The lies to all you engineer,
Craving the dawn every morning of the year,
Waiting for the instant she can’t interfere.

Madness ensues as you persevere,
Forgotten items become vivid clues being too cavalier.
Hence, insanity rules your atmosphere.

Syntaxia and the Psychiatrist


In Philosophia, people came from everywhere to conduct research. Philosophia’s libraries contained countless books about every subject ever discovered. A young woman scholar, Syntaxia Clause, had been researching literature, semantics, and linguistics to find her true passion. What she didn’t know was that she was destined for greatness.

Syntaxia quickly exhausted all the books in her interest and felt dissatisfied. She longed for something better. Pondering what to do, she made a doctor’s appointment. The next morning, she glided on the written pathway, a floating road of linen embossed stones of the greatest literature ever written, escalating to any destination a person could choose. Today, her destination was the psychiatrist. When she entered the doctor’s office, she was greeted by the receptionist, “Good morning, appointment Miss?”

“Yes, Syntaxia Clause at 9:00,” answering politely.

The receptionist checked her calendar and replied, “Just one moment and I’ll let Dr. Guideman know you are here.” The receptionist moved into another room while Syntaxia sat down. She was fifteen minutes early. A few moments passed and Dr. Guideman entered the waiting area and motioned her back. They both moved back to his office and sat down adjacent to each other.

“Miss Clause, it is nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Guideman, how can I help you?” he asked.

“Well, my entire impression of my life is unsettled. My existence remains in a manner of disconcertedness and unfulfillment.” she responded uneasily.

“Why?” he asked.

“There is nothing left to research. I possess all the knowledge of the English language in terms of grammar and proper writing. I can teach, but I’m not sure if that profession would be suited for me. If I don’t teach though, I could become a writer or even study different languages. I don’t know if any of these occupations would make me feel fulfilled. What should I do?” she pleaded.

“You have your whole life ahead. Let’s do a series of tests and figure things out,” Dr. Guideman responded. He gave her some written tests first, followed by some verbal tests. They also discussed more about her life and experiences. After leaving her for thirty minutes to score her tests, he came back.

“Miss Clause, I can’t find anything wrong with you. You have one of the healthiest minds I know.” Dr. Guideman explained.

“Dr. Guideman, that is great to hear, but I still feel lost. Please help me, I need to have a purpose.” Syntaxia exclaimed.

Dr. Guideman looked at her with sincerity. He took out a set of glasses and slid them on his face. The glasses had square purple lenses with antique gold wire frames. Syntaxia eyed him cautiously as he looked deep into her eyes, reaching into her soul. As he delved deep, a laser like beam connected her eyes with his through the lenses. As their souls were connected, he had a vision of what Syntaxia’s true calling might be to fulfill her destiny. With his realization, he yelled, “Be right back! I think I have the answer you are seeking!” He ran out the back door leaving Syntaxia waiting again. This time for two hours.

She studied the small office memorizing every inch of it before Dr. Guideman came running back in with another gentleman carrying a small container. “Miss Clause, I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but I consulted with my apothecary, Dr. Pharma.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Clause. Dr. Guideman told me your dilemma and we cannot let you leave without providing something to help you. You have so much potential. Here is what we are going to do,” pausing to hold out a small container jeweled in rubies sparkling as the gems hit the lights, “please try the contents in this container here in the office first. We will test and if everything works properly, you may take this home.”

Syntaxia asked, “What’s in it, and what do I have to do?”

Dr. Guideman took the oval red box from Dr. Pharma and unlatched the lock with a tiny key revealing what looked like a creamy, light yellowy substance. “Miss Clause, I need you to take a spoonful and eat it. It is a special kind of butter prepared specially by Dr. Pharma. We think this is all you need to fulfill your destiny.” Dr. Guideman expanded.

“I’m not sure. Butter? It does look like butter, but…butter?” she quizzically responded.

“Yes ma’am. I have been working on this formula for years. The cream comes from top bred cows and the churn comes from an ancient family of churners. It is said to have magical powers.” Dr. Pharma said.

“I guess I’ll try anything.” Syntaxia replied as she spooned out the butter.
“Here is some toast to spread it on.” Guideman added.

She buttered the toast and ate it all. “Doctors, I feel a little woozy. Uhm, I hope I don’t…” saying as she vanished.

Dr. Guideman and Dr. Pharma both screamed as Dr. Guideman exclaimed, “Dru, I told you we shouldn’t experiment like this! We might have killed her or banished her somewhere horrible! I’m not letting you talk me into this again.”

“Usher, I’m sorry. I thought it would be full proof. It worked on my former assistant, Blaz the Giant, he grew from 7 to 9 feet and is now leading the army. Not sure why she disappeared. Back to the mixing table.” Pharma replied.

A week later, a young woman entered Dr. Guideman’s office and asked the receptionist to see him. The receptionist showed her into his office where he was working at his desk. Startled, he looked up to see a woman dressed in red from head to toe, wearing a pair of nerdy glasses, and a cape standing with the might of a god. “Miss Clause! I am so happy to see you! I was afraid we’d killed you. Eureka, the butter WAS a success!”

“Yes doctor! The butter you gave me changed my life! It fulfilled my destiny. I was enchanted with special powers and transported to the land of Grammarcy where I am now The Grammarian, correcting all bad writing for mankind. I have you and Dr. Pharma to thank for it. I’m sorry it took me a week to let you know, but I have been very busy.” she said proudly.

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