A poem I did

I heard about a site that offers prompts and encourages folks to write a poem in response to it. The prompt I responded to was a photo of a ladies hair brush with lots of hair in it. The brush was sitting on some rich looking fabric.

I’m not sure if this is really a poem. Maybe more a story, but it hits me in the feels, even though I wrote it…

Like many redheads, she was a force to be reckoned with.

I never tried to tame her. Even If I could have, why would I want to?

She said it was why she married me over the handsomer, richer ones around her.

The one thing that came close to taming her broke me.

She used to sit in this chair in the morning sun, her hair aglow in that light as she stroked it with the brush. She would tilt her head just so, with her eyes closed, and bring the brush through, one hundred slow strokes every morning. It reminded me of a lioness in the wild. She never tamed the curls.

She pretended not to notice me when I watched her.

The first clue was when too much hair was in the brush each morning.

Near the end, when there was nothing left to brush, she casually tossed the brush into the trashcan by the bathroom sink.  “I guess I won’t need this anymore”.

I retrieved it later.

Puzzled, she saw it. Picked it up. Looked at me, looked at it, raised her eyebrow, sadly smiled, and set it back down.

New Post at my project against Domestic Violence, and, the straight guy did what?

It’s been too long since I’ve posted here! The last post was about my Domestic Violence project and the show at the Dover Art League. I just posted a new post on that site. I admired this survivor’s courage and grace. She’s been through the wringer in ways that would break most. It hasn’t been all nice and pretty like a Lifetime movie, but she’s kept going.

This last weekend I set up another show with Natasha down at CAMP Rehoboth in Rehoboth Beach Delaware. The show was in conjunction with the play “Stop Kiss“. I was so moved by the work they’re doing at CAMP Rehoboth that I joined them.  Yeah, the middle-aged (well if middle is half of 112!) straight white guy became a member of an LGBT advocacy group. They’re doing great work. They’re open, kind, inclusive and caring.

I didn’t really see the connection until now, but both actions are part of me saying “enough is enough”.  I started the Domestic Violence project when I had to do something after finding out how bad it is out there for women. There’s a legitimate fear in the LGBT community that things are going to backslide for their basic human rights. I was told this weekend at the show about some outright gay bashing that just disgusted me. I don’t get it.  I can’t stand by and do nothing in that arena either.  I doubt I’ll be marching around in a leather thong in a pride parade (no one wants to see me like that!) but, Hell yeah, I’ll stand up and say “no more” and “fix this”. 

I usually don’t talk about the things I’ve given too, or people I’ve helped. I think it’s unseemly to do so. I’ve supported individuals behind the scenes because doing it publicly makes it seem like I’m doing it for my benefit, not theirs. (hey everyone, look how awesome I am…) Usually, the right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing… but in the Domestic Violence and LGBT arena, it’s important that old white guys, who might not have a dog in the fight, stand up for others.

I do have a dog in this fight though. I have friends and family in the LGBT community (no, some of my best friends aren’t gay… ) and I know way to many women (and men!) that have suffered from domestic violence. And as Martin Luther King Jr said: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

The truth is, I’m a little concerned about advocating poorly, saying something grossly white male priveleged, or ineffectively, but, I can’t just do nothing.  I hope others will join me, work against Domestic Violence, and go join CAMP Rehoboth!

My Response to the Still Waters show at Dover Art League in October.

I’ve been processing my reaction to putting together the Still Waters Show at the DAL in October with Natasha. And doing the opening and talks.

I’m a better photographer than writer, but I wrote this little bit. It’s been stewing inside:

I saw you at the show.  I saw you walking through looking at the photos, and reading some stories. I saw your pain. And grief. And the catharsis you felt, even for a moment.

I heard you at the opening. Or at the artist talk. Or some other time. I heard more than you said when you said “Thank you for doing this”. I know you could have said more, but didn’t. You didn’t have to say it; I know you had this in your life.

Sadly, there was more than one of you. That was one of the drivers for the show and the project.

I’m humbled by the courage you showed coming to the show. I hope you found some peace and healing. More than one of you said you did.

That made all my work worth while. I’ll keep doing this. I have to.


To be clear, I’m not necessarily talking about a specific person. Or people.

I want to thank all the folks that came out and the folks that supported me, Natasha and the work.

There was a nice TV report about the show. 

The show made the largest newspaper in the state too!

I especially want to thank the survivors that made the show possible. Those that came, and those that couldn’t.

I started my part of the project a few years ago. I didn’t know exactly how it would work, but I knew I had to start. The work isn’t done, it’s really just started. But I think I’m on the right track.


It's Emotional. It's Personal