Unfortunately, I have spent much of my life in a place where my mind is racing and I am so very eager to move onto what I feel I should be doing next.  The challenge of this lifetime has been to overcome the need to do it all or be it all.  The blessing that yoga has given me is the awareness of how I have allowed my life to be governed by my thoughts and that thoughts no longer need to control my life.  The practice of postures and meditation have allowed me to be aware that it is not necessary to respond to every thought that passes through my head.  Instead of seeking peace and serenity in the outside world, I have achieved the ability to create the serenity I seek no matter where I am or what is going on around me.  It’s these insights that inspired me to write the following poem-

So much confusion raging in the head

From thoughts that, even in our bed,

Find us in a state of fear and dread

Rushing to be terminally dead.


I must do this

I mustn’t do that

I should do this

I shouldn’t do that

I need to be here

I need to be there

I must have this

I must have that

I mustn’t have those

All this thinking keep us on our toes.

The yogis say the mind is like a flame

To shelter it from anguish is our aim

Until at last we waken and we find

We are no longer living with a

Terminally boggled mind.


It begins with a shattered, shapely scene

Of color across my computer screen.

My eyes scan over pieces and I find

Shapes and colors begin to stir my mind.

Yellows, reds, and whites of varying hues.

I look closer and find that there are clues

To mentally place the pieces in a spot.

It seems to be an overwhelming lot.

And, then, my fingers finally find the place

That moves a tiny piece into a space,

Until a circle comes across a hole.

At last, I have achieved a happy goal.

And click!  I find the pieces meld and fuse.

Then look back at the segments and I muse.

Will that be my move or is it another;

This one, that one, or perhaps the other.

No, not that one.  It really does not fit.

I take a breath, relax, and then I sit

And look again.  At last!  So there it is!

The perfect piece will fit and so it tis.

Until at last through hours I am carried

And find the pieces happily met and married.






The assignment in creative writing was to write a poem about a piece of art.  I went to the Sandzen Gallery and found that I was drawn to this painting because it differs from the paintings that I associate with the artist.

Rockport Harbor 1948

My eyes rest on the village that sits upon a strand

Guarded from the waters.  Stone protects the land.

Houses painted colors of muted shades of leather;

Terra cotta, white, and tan, ripened by misty weather.

Windows look upon a sea whose silent edges hem the stone.

No raging waves to sweep and crash.  The Village seems so all alone.

No human mars the stillness.  No seagulls sweep the sky.

No tiny crabs to scuttle.  No life is passing by.

Here sits this silent village where waters lap the shore.

The very same waters that washed away the gore.

For World War II has ended leaving in its wake

Death and destruction, a peaceful world to make?

Time will pass.  The artist someday come to find

The boulder, frenzied colors that fill the awed mind

With strokes of lavish paint applied with such ability,

But I am drawn to the quiet village and its tranquility.


While waiting in a state of anticipation for my great-granddaughter to arrive, I will share a poem that I wrote for her.

She is on her way from Texas with her mom and dad and they will be attending their first Kansas family reunion and also having the opportunity to enjoy the Midsummer Festival here in Lindsborg.

The poem came from a poetry writing workshop at the White Peacock.  It was hosted by the poetry club of Bethany College.  Those attending were invited to write a crazy phrase on a slip of paper.  The slips were exchanged and poems written.  I had fun with-

The So Sad Monkey


The so sad monkey

Hiding in its tree

Hanging from a branch

Swatting at a bee.


The so sad monkey

Why are you so sad?

Have you been mischievous?

Have you been really bad?


The so sad monkey

What you may need is love

Perhaps a lady monkey

Your monkey honey dove.





God weaves the fibers of the Universe

Creating the String that is my lifetime.

On the String I slip the pearls of experiences;

People I have known

Places I have been,

Knowledge I have gained,

Loves I have experienced,

Disappointments I have overcome,

Goals I have achieved,

And shattered expectations.

All these encapsulated within

The opaque spheres

That I have placed upon the String

So that I can touch and twirl them,

Savoring the taste of memories.

The necklace grows longer as I age.

Until at last the String weakens and breaks.

Pearls scattering into the Universe

Waiting for another String to be woven.

This poem came from an exercise presented in my Creative Writing class.



Is it a cunning mind that moves its fingers over

The piano keys of human lives?

Clanging the levers of society,

Jingling the coins in its pockets,

Twanging the strings,

Rotating, swiveling, slippery as a gas

Permeating the atmosphere.

Is it a cunning mind behind the

Mechanism of Donald Trump,

Or is it just Noise?


My Playground

I know few people who have lived next to a cemetery.

Yet in my youth it was my playground.

In the country it lay placidly under the Kansas sky

Surrounded by undulating fields of wheat.

The huge, red brick church was the foundation

Whose bells rang out for Sunday services

Heard only by the silent many entombed

Within its consecrated ground.

The founders and members of the church’

Were my companions as I romped

Amongst the gravestones, oblivious

Of what they might have thought.

I was not intimidated by their tranquility.

I had the songs of meadowlarks,

The hum of bees, the  whisper of the

Wind that stirred the nearby grain.

The stones characterized my friends.

A picture embedded in the granite

Brought to life a gentle mother,

Or a face of stern authority.

And even without a picture as a guide

Markers revealed the character

Of my muted playmates;

Angels carved into stone,

The dates of birth and passing,

A favorite Bible verse,

Immovable sprays of flowers;

Lilies, daises, and roses.

I climbed, decorated, and rode

Imaginary horses made of stone.

I was respectful, never stepping on a grave,

And therefore, I always felt welcomed.

A small child and her dog

Bringing life to those who has passed.

Did they listen for my childish songs?

Feel my feet dance over the grass?

Appreciate my gifts of wildflowers

Gathered from the nearby ditches?

The cemetery was a safe place.

No one there abused me, berated me,

Complained about my enthusiasm

As I chased butterflies during the day

And fireflies during the night.

My playground was a place of peace

And when I return to visit as an adult,

To visit those of my family

Buried there, I treasure the moments

That I had as a child when the

Cemetery was my playground.





I walked along the sidewalk.  Spring surrounded me.

Looking to my right I saw the tree.

A canopy of leaves was there within the park;

Limbs outstretched, life flowing through its bark.

I moved and touched the tree.  It felt so strong, so stable.

I dropped my bags and found that I was able

To reach the lowest branch, so with a heave

I climbed on the limb amongst the leaves

To lie face upward.  I looked up to the sky

And in that moment I discovered that I

Was transported to days when I was young,

Stretched out in joy and wonder, breathing in the sun.



OM, Hanuman, leap for me.

Instilling within me your courage

To overcome and conquer obstacles.

To take the mighty leaps of faith

When I am yearning to serve.

Embracing your spirit of

Bravery and perseverance.

My I find the fiery devotion

Of your expanding heart.

Reaching farther than is possible.

Knowing nothing is impossible.

And when my courage falters

And my faith is wavering,

OM, Hanuman, leap for me.

This poem came from an exercise in my Creative Writing class.  We were given several pages of titles of poems and invited to write our own poem using one of the titles.  Of course, I was immediately drawn to this title, what with my being a yoga instructor.  Hanuman, the monkey god, preformed amazing feats of courage that came from his willingness to serve.

Today is Mother’s Day.  For me, there is no service greater than that of a mother.  There are times when being a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother can be overwhelming.  Yet we carry on, turning to whatever we chose to believe has the power to carry us through.  Hold onto faith and hope.  The rewards are priceless.

It’s been forever since I have added to my blog.  Now that I have completed a Creative Writing at Bethany College I will revive my blog.  There will be poems and short stories that I will share over the summer.  Enjoy.