In 1972 in Victoria, Canada, a rookie policeman wrote a poem for his girlfriend while driving home in his police car. Dave “the Cop” Richardson gave the poem to his friend David Foster, a young aspiring young musician looking for material for his new band, SKYLARK. Foster passed […]
My Blog: A Potpourri of living life, paralyzed and confined to a bed, how I got this way, how I cope, and my perspectives. I am also a CSA, rape, and human trafficking survivor.
Some call me “Wildflower” because … I … survive … the sights that I see when I venture out, the joy of breathing fresh air, of reading and viewing for which I am grateful, yet I prefer my solace – Scorpio hidden in the universe amid twelve grandchildren and the story of humanity, self-deprecating and struggling with self-esteem and what people say; but there are always sea-foam green, teal, lavender, and yellow Brie, dark chocolate, cherries and the Mediterranean: people ask me for my recipes; I travel virtually and survive wildlife and crime to help fellow victims; I am the Witness, I am the Sentinel: welcome to my musings!
Every great dream begins with a dreamer.
Chapter 4 Tragedy
I wrote this poem years ago, dedicated to my younger brothers and sister, now departed.
A vintage teacup
It’s been a tough month at home.