If we poison our children with hatred Then, the hard life is all that they'll know Nanci Griffith - It's A Hard Life Wherever You Go
If we poison our children with hatred
Then, the hard life is all that they’ll know
Nanci Griffith – It’s A Hard Life Wherever You Go
a Rainbow Bucket List
a Rainbow Bucket List

There are things I can disclose

Alas, there are things that I cannot.

I am the surface of things

I look much like my senses.

Never been to handle with care

Though, I know many who have been there.

Trained well in the art of pulling the drapes shut

Living on the outskirts of love


Being the dark horse.

I am neither in your life

Nor am I defined by intercourse.

Makes no difference to me if you hide

I work my way out from the inside.

I am the sweat inside your heart

Upon the day you think we will never part.

Radical as it maybe

There will never be an end to people like me.

Forever born unto those who refuse to see

Blackened souls of vanity.

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Ever Heard of Lisa Jane

Have you ever heard of Lisa Jane?

She was what many would call plain…just the same.think

All guts and glory

She never referred to the same old story.

There were some that said, she happened to be sane.

Silhouetted times two…she looks of a Great Dane.

And, so, with starkness, Lisa Jane could be found singing that forgotten song.

Not a singer was she…

the words were all wrong

Singing, singing…

where have all the years gone?

My Mae WestJust the same…

a bystander may wonder…

God in all her infinite wisdom

Oh, how she had made such a silly stick figure blunder.

Way down yonder where the dogwoods bellow.

In an attempt to keep time with those in tow.

Here again, we find, Lisa Jane.

Remembering again, she should be…

for all intensive purposes

stick figure sane.

But alas, she had lost a love.

And, than again and again…

IT has little do with men.

Wondering all the while…

couldn’t her mistakes just be…

a proud sense of style.

stand up 2 day
stand up 2 day

Hard to know what went wrong…

her radio fades in, same old silly love song.

Lisa Jane will never be just like all the rest.

Lisa, practices the hand on a hot stove…


To that,

her mother will attest.

Lisa Jane vain with plain.

Bought stock in miscued near misses.

She is I, and I am, they.

We are all weakened by the phantom romantic kiss.

Lisa has yellowed out the men on the list.

To the Lisa Jane of the world

romance is only a romantic man-made creation

love is only lovely to superficial values

marriage is only bondage to the ‘lies’ others tell you.

Lisa Jane,

always vainly plain

always singing the praises of responses unconditional

always, always, miming the traditions of the traditional

My Momma’s Pride

Conventionality bars the truth from the bias
Conventionality bars the truth from the bias

Back before Rainbows were known to exist other than in the light of day…after a fresh and linen covered spring rain, I had thought something amiss.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like the God I had been shown. It had been more of a fear based and obscure presence that never released its grip on me.
Hatred, hangings, crosses to bare and/or bear and sins over running my beer mug! How distant the feelings I had been? No further away than the ache within my heart.
‘Was I bad? Had there been a mistake? Will this strange and unusual creature of habit…Me, change her ever-present freak stripes?’
Did I know gay? Brevity, maybe? Men with odd tastes for polyester and spangles. Or, perhaps, the ‘gay’ twenties where the roar came from the pits of rooms locked behind store fronts with no names.

Do Not Pester the Pride!
Do Not Pester the Pride!

Somewhere between the playing out of roles: Who gets to be Sabrina and who gets to be Farrah/Jill? Somehow linked from one end of the Good News Bible and my passion for watering down my ache. Between the sheets and not discrete attempts at playing ‘straight’…it all came out wrong like a bad love song.
I cried, of course, I shed tears…I do to this day.
How is it my parent’s child cannot be straight? What a disappointment, once again, in the normal kids rule class?
It is a shame my grandfather disowned me with words.

‘It is an abomination to mankind and a sore on the ass of the world’, he would have most likely whispered loudly to his uniformed friends.
The train that took me so many times before into a land of semi comfort and acceptance left South station and never looked for me again.
How difficult it must be not to know where to begin your history…when your past has been clouded by bias and poor judgement by the powers that be.
In the end, I sat a six-pack down on an oak table in the heart of This Land is Your LandNew Hampshire. I shook and wondered what will become of me? I waited until she arrived. She held my tiny hand and fresh kissed skin when I arrived in this world.   And most likely, I will hold her hand as she departs for greener pastures.
‘I have something you need to know…I can’t hide it anymore. It’s just how it is!’
No response from her or a language of body movements would have helped. The room seemed shallow and filled with demon ghosts from confusion past.
‘I am GAY! I’ve tried to not be…but it just ain’t working.’
These were the rhetorical words that still carry the burden of my nonconformist ways today. A forever covenant… in which I feel safe enough to unveil even the darkest of truths.

Go answer your calling  Go and fill somebody's cup  And if you see an angel falling  Won't you stop and help her up
Go answer your calling
Go and fill somebody’s cup
And if you see an angel falling
Won’t you stop and help her up



“Oh, is that it? I was waiting for you to figure that out…Well, dear,  as long as it will make you happy”
We never really understand the understanding statements we make until the clouds lift and we see the light. My mother, bless her sainted heart, most likely felt she didn’t say enough.
My mother had said with few words what the world should be learning everyday:

…as long as you’re happy…

Really isn’t that all that matters when it comes to matters of the heart?