I hate to brag, but I have won every single writing contest I've ever entered-- that is, if there was no second entry.

I don't expect all days to be exploding with topsy-turvy happiness. I don't expect an easy living.I don't expect to feast on all new tastes, or to see all the brightest colors. I just have a soft spot for seeking the best of available options.


I'm waiting for the sun to sharpen on the horizon, to describe the landscape to me, to point my direction through a new day in which my left hand knows what my right hand is doing.


I decided that today I will improve my art-- the art of thinking, reason, poetry, observation, consideration, dancing, playing, eating, and sincere appreciation of vallant efforts of all others.



One by one,
They string ambition,
Declare stance upon the ground,
Allign intent against all chances.
One by one,
They stretch enterprise to arm's length,
Allow for misconception,
Shoot substance toward a unique spot on the board.

I think the highlight of my life, other than the birth of my daughter, was the day I realized the error of my ways. As a teenager, I wasn't worth two-bits, but now, after years of loosening my intensities while increasing my grip, I have altered my predispositions to increase my personal worth to a staggering buck-and -a -half. I hope I'm not exaggerating.


My dad is dead. I wish I could tell him I finally got a novel published, even though it's pretty much lost on the Amazon log. Oh, I know the book part would not impress him. He didn't care "words from turds." He wanted something much bigger for me. Happiness was the desired product. "Hey, Pops... I' m happy!"