Who Needs Ruby Slippers?!


If life is a bowl of cherries,
Without you it’s the pits.

If life is a puzzle,
Without you the pieces don’t fit.

If life is a song,
Without you there’s no rhyme.

If life is forever,
Without you there’s no time.

Roasted Figs and honey

IMG_20140803_030444Figs and honey, there is nothing funny

about a treat as serious as this.

Like rose bud lips and dancing hips,

Try and find a sweeter kiss.


Had Eve herself, found figs instead,

She would have kept them all within.

And Adam would found her happy,

In that there is no sin.


So if you dare, share your find

and bring a smile to faces.

But remember when you are all alone,

there are no social graces.



Just Eyes


Just Eyes
Judd Mortimer Lewis

I think I do-Nay; I know I do–
Like blue eyes passing well;
Not simply just because they are blue,
But–well, ’tis hard to tell!
And then, again, It isn’t hard–
I think I like their hue
Because– because of my regard
for you; your eyes are blue.

But were your eye of brown or gray
I’d tune my heart as true;
But to brown eyes or gray eyes sway
Instead of eyes of blue;
and I could sing with all my heart
To eyes of slaty hue;
Or black, black eyes whence lightnings dart,
If they belonged to you.

I think my first sweetheart had eyes
Of iridescent brown,
As sweet as vestal litanies;
Her tresses tumbled down,
Half hid two pink, delightful ears,
And sometimes–when she’d frown–
Heigh-oh! where was I? How the years
Hark back to eyes of brown!

But eyes of gray, or brown, or black,
Or iridescent hue,
While they are sweet yet, seem to lack
A something –is it you?
It must be you; were your eyes gray,
Or brown beneath their glam
I’d bow me in the same old way,
And love you just the same.

Judd Mortimer Lewis- my great Grandfather

Judd Mortimer Lewis is my great grandfather.
He has the honor of being the first Poet Laureate of Texas.
I think he speaks for himself.
The photo graph of the lovely girl is my grandmother at the age of about 16, Jessamine Lewis.


A Tree called Life


IMG_20140403_110051 [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
By E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without i t(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet )i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

Ribbons and cake


In honor of Spring, I bring you April in an apron.

I smell lemon cake served on floral china and can hear the cackling laughter of girls in a garden.

Put a flower in your hair, set the table and invite the girls over to celebrate a new world of verdant green sprouts, sunshine and fresh starts.
Notice I tailored the accents to accommodate your wardrobe in any color hue from daisies to day lilies; and yes, it is reversible for the “versatile” you.

Spring is in the air and oh!, look, you’re wearing it!!

Hop In!


It’s a Ford.  It runs.
It has been running for a long, long time. There are more new and rebuilt parts than when the engine first turned over. And it looks..welll…seasoned.
In a word, reliable.

The animals on the ranch barely break their grazing when Dads Ford is bouncing over the caliche ranch roads.

The family history is to take our vehicles all the way tothe dump. Bailing wire and duct tape are the glue, respect and loyalty the grease.

Step into my Heart

Now, wait, just take a moment…listen.
His voice is melting. He isn’t on stage with a pack.
He is singing just to you, and while the sentiment is dripping with
swagger and suave, you find that …he means it; Welcome.
The unsung hero of sentimental torchies is saying, “I love my life. It is sweet and it is easier than you think ”

From the wink to the drag that filled a poignant pause to the little fidgets, he had tasted the sweetness of life.

It is easier than you think…



Just look at that face! The tractors of the American landscape are true unsung heroes. They have been willing to do our bidding from the early morning starlight to the last ray of golden sun.

We had a tractor barn on the farm in south Texas. The earth beneath the tires of that big John Deer was ground to a very fine soft powder. I loved feeling it sift between my toes; it smelled of oil and gasoline. It meant work well done.

You don’t need to hear the engine sputter and purr, or feel the jerk of a gear in place to know their service.
It is written all over their face.

Pure Poetry



Home, My Little Children, Hear Are Songs For You
by Robert Louis Stevenson
COME, my little children, here are songs for you;
Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new.
You must learn to sing them very small and clear,
Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear.
Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall,
Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all.
So when night is come, and you have gone to bed,
All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head.