Here, I share poetry I’ve had published and poetry as yet unpublished. These will include complete published poetry books soon. Please enjoy!

The Brook (Boulder’s Sadness)

I wrote this piece after hearing about the mass shooting that took place in Boulder, Colorado in 2021. The shooter entered a grocery store and killed 10 people. Years earlier, I had lived in one of the Quonset huts just outside the university there. The poem shares my experience with a group of bullies there as an 8-year-old on the playground trying to protect my two sisters. It ends with a question I couldn’t help asking myself when I heard the report on the news. This poem was published in The Voices Project. It can be found at the link in the file.

Ode to the Commode

I wrote this poem as I ended a surprise stint in the hospital. My method of dealing with challenges is to find humor. This one had the nurses and, ultimately, doctors laughing. I hope you enjoy it. It is my ray of light in what was a dark moment.

The Hidden Face

This poem is a bit more serious. In a great writing class (yes, I still take writing classes because I can always improve), I was challenged to write a piece on the side of me people don’t know. This is what I wrote. Reflecting on myself gave me an odd chance to realize where I’ve been and where I am.

Invictus Renewed

I have long since hit the age of reflection and wondering about all the what ifs in life. On good days, I am at peace or even happy with my life. On rough days, I wonder about the paths that are gone, the times I haven’t had with people I love, and the hopes I once harbored without even recognizing them. This poem was written on one of those days…a prayer for reconciliation…

The Wedding

Years ago, I married a man who had the best of intentions for our life together, as I did. Sometimes, though, two lives don’t mesh as one hoped, and each limps away, the world saying they’re a little wiser and they feeling a little flattened by the steamroller that is life. This is about that time when through no fault of our own, lives did not mesh.

My Grandmother’s Hands

I wrote this poem recently. Life at 70 is different from life at 20, 40, or even 60. Body parts just start showing their age, and with that aging comes consideration of how those parts broke down. I sat one day contemplating my hands, now with age spots, wrinkles, thinner skin more clearly displaying the veins beneath the surface, and I found myself thinking about my grandmother. Her hands reflected a life of love. That’s how this poem, published at this link (https://rootandbranchmagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/04/r-and-b-volume-xix-final-layout-edited-1.pdf) in the Root and Branch XIX by Ivy Tech Community College, came to be.