What do you do…?

So I had a conversation with a friend earlier today and we talked about my guy, Lucca. We talked about his beautiful life, his illness, the surgery and his final days. My little girl was in the room with me and when she suddenly buried her face in my chest, I realized she was crying. This was the first time I’d seen her cry for him since about 2 days after he died. I, on the other hand, have had countless tearful days about “my dude”. How was I to know she was still hurting? After all, he was MINE, MY guy, MY dude, MY handsome man!

I held her close and stroked her beautiful, dark, curly hair. Neither of us muttered his name and neither of us acknowledged her tears- we simply hugged until they stopped.

I don’t know if this was anyone else’s “right” way of dealing with this type of thing….

but it was ours…

 and he was too!

Playing with Words

I went through the alphabet and wrote the first word that came to mind in alphabetical order then I put them into a poem. I think it’s pretty funny. Read it and reply…

Alternative, Barracuda, Catastrophe, Eventful, Dramatization, Faithful, Gruesome, Harmful, In, Jubilant, Kaleidoscope, Lemon, Maniac, Norway, Opulent, Precise, Quirky, Resentful, Shameful, Tantalizing, Unfortunate, Victory, Warranted, Xylophone, Yearning,

Zany

Playing with Words

As an alternative to dinner

we decided on the barracuda

which turned out to be a real catastrophe.

Without a full dramatization

of the eventful season we had, simply put,

we have been forever faithful to the cause.

Albeit gruesome or gross,

there were no concerns of harmful fish bones,

in fact

and we were jubilant when we

looked into the kaleidoscope

to find a lemon yellow redfish

with the personality of a maniac.

Much to our delight when took the fish to Norway we were

pleasantly surprised at the opulent and fanciful ways of the people.

We were extremely precise in our movements

around this quirky little town

not wanting to attract any resentful stares

while parading around in our shameful ways with our fish.

Our tantalizing habits drew much scorn

which was an unfortunate way impress others.

But our victory was won when we

walked into the room

and heard a xylophone play in the distance and

had to resist our yearning to

overpower the townspeople with more zany written rhetoric.

The Art of Adoption

The art of adoption: FullSizeRender-3

What’s it mean to adopt an idea? That’s simple it means to choose that idea.

Ok, how about a way of life? …simple again, that just means you change your life to fit another mold…

What if you adopt a new way of thinking? Well, that basically means out with the old and in with the new.

So what’s your take on adopting a puppy? (smiles) That means you get to take it home and keep it!

    Adoption is an art in it’s purest most precious form. All the research and book reading in the world could never give you a more clear definition, description or understanding of the feelings you’ll experience through adoption – than simply doing it will give. When you adopt another human being, it’s like receiving the Olympic torch.… either the birth mom hands it to you or it is passed to you through an agency liaison… Either way, once you accept it, it’s your job to keep it burning …for always and forever.

Just our opinion… what’s yours?

A Winning Hand

We were thrilled to be featured on belleofthecarnival.com today. In our haste and excitement, we failed to edit and re-edit our description so there are a couple of grammatical errors. No biggie, we think you’ll get the gist of it and we’re certain that you’ll enjoy the poem “A Winning Hand”.

Belle of the Carnival

I am overjoyed to share with all of you Rochelle Harris’s warm and touching poem “A Winning Hand” on this Poetry Friday.
A winning hand
Runaway Nuns and Leprechauns is a collaborated effort created by me, Rochelle,  the primary writer, the jokester and the wild child and my partner in crime, Yevette, the editor in chief, prayer warrior, and resident heckler.
I grew up in a very small town in Mississippi. My grandmother was the “Mother” of the Baptist church in our rural community. One Sunday during the Easter season, the Sunday school teachers were assigning parts for the upcoming play. I stepped up and said to the teacher “I want one”. Although I was only 4 years old my grandmother assured the teacher that I was capable of memorizing and reciting a poem.
I was so excited that I learned my poem in record time but,,, when I got up the following…

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Different yet the Same

Different Yet the Same

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mom plus mom

sittin’ in a tree…

k-i-s-s-i-n-g

……………………………………….

alarm clock, tick tock

pillow and sheet

rise and shine, say your prayers

socks- happy feet

cereal, oatmeal

grits and toast

water, juice

coffee- dark roast

hurry, hustle, lock up

work flow, school

business, bills, teachers

tool box- tool

dance, tennis

karate and voice

basketball, piano

active- choice

dishes, turnip greens

chicken and cheese

flatware, pots and pans

family time- please

night cap, curtain rod

pajamas and nails

toilet paper, shampoo

shower curtain- sails

alarm clock, tick tock

pillow and sheet

on your knees, say your prayers 

angels to greet- 

                                                                                                        …………………………………………

                                                                                                                                   or

mom plus dad

sittin’ in a tree

k-i-s-s-i-n-g

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