Self Help

I can do it, myself
Famous last words – right?
I didn’t need someone else’s 12 step’s.
They wouldn’t find me sitting there holding hands and singing “kumbaya” like some pathetic teenage drama queen.
I could stop whenever I wanted.
I just didn’t have time right now.
Later, when time wasn’t pushing on my back like the north-eastern winds – chilling me to the bone.
Later, when there was peace and quiet, to work through the need.
They didn’t want me to try this today, or even tomorrow. Not if they wanted to live.
Okay that sounds a bit drastic. I wouldn’t kill anyone would I?
What kind of person is willing to kill over a cup’a joe?
But some days, when I have had only one.
and the printer runs out of ink,
and the tires have that squeak.
When they’re rub’n down that last nerve to a nub
What do they want from me, anyway?
A girls not made of stone.
I can do it myself
Just not yet
yeah, later


Free Verse

I want my grave
to be empty of all the dreams I had
An empty grave, filled
with naught but a rotting corpse
Knowing I have set them free
Living now beyond my mind
I can die

Frosty Night

Frosty kisses nibble
around my ears and neck
Pink cheeked and breathless
I dance within his grip
Icy arms grab at me
sends me giggling
through the snow
snow flakes caress
his touch, I know
though dark descends
hiding indiscreet tryst,
Lights sparkle in the night
I make my Christmas wish
And yet he breaks my heart
I’m lonely once again
That wicked boy Jack,
a Frosty dream,
his love I can not win.

Drabs the New Black

“It’s a tragedy.”

“I say the tragedy is how you’re gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on. So shine the light on all of your friends because it all amounts to nothing in the end.”

“What the hell does that mean.”

“What do you think it means, love.”

“It means you’ve been drinking again Billy! Damn It, I told you it doesn’t look good, you home drinking by yourself.”

“I can’t worry about how things look, love. Look around you. The flat, the clothes, the friends. It’s poison to your soul. What is this tragedy anyway.”

“He is going back to her. I don’t understand it.”

“What’s to understand? He is her husband after all.”

“But she is just so, drab!”

“You cant worry your life away, love. Drabs in. Have a drink.”

“Drabs in? Where do I get it?”

“You get it, or you don’t. Stop trying so hard, embrace your beautiful mess.”

“Oh Billy. Pass the Pinot.”

— — — writing prompt: One Fine Line (Friday)

“I say the tragedy is how you’re gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on. So shine the light on all of your friends because it all amounts to nothing in the end.”

— — —

Worth It

Today it’s easy
to leave it all behind.
When roads grow steep,
When heart aches creep,
Filing corners of my mind.

The long haul isn’t used
for Sunday walks in the park.
They’re nights of dread,
of an empty bed,
wandering in the dark

When sea’s are high
and darkness blots the sun,
hold fast and wait,
it’s not to late,
loves worth it, when it’s won

Panning for Dreams

Dip your toe in
swirl the depthImage
If you want to find
shimmering sunlight
in the silt
Gems locked in your mind

only way to know
tis gold or foolish dream
is to pull it out
and test its strength
but you must get in the stream

When I was a little girl – my grandfather used to take me panning for gold in the mountains above our home. There are lots of things that glimmer in a mountain stream – some of it is fool’s gold and some of it is real. If you sit on the bank wondering – it won’t do you a lick of good in the end. You have to be willing to get wet if you ever want to get the gold. I was thinking about writing and that maybe my book isn’t all that great an idea, maybe just a foolish dream…and the above poem came to me. Maybe its a fools dream, maybe not, only one way to find out.

Davida Dean Returns

My Short Story, Sister Warriors, was featured on Cavalcade of Stars today. Thank you Jeannette for the feature, I am in great company on your site.

Jeanette Cheezum's cavalcadeofstars

Sister Warriors
By Davida Dean

The slate sky’s dense clouds pushed her down the road. The sound of her boots crunching across the brittle weeds shattering an unwelcome silence, even the birds had flown in fear. She could feel the Battle Witch’s voice grating in her ear, “Kierlana, pick your sword up, damn you girl,” but she hadn’t the strength left.

“Treat your sword like your lover.” The blade scared voice chastised, “Care for it, keep it clean and true and it will not fail you”. Her bloody fingers slipped upon the hilt. The jarring bounce, as the blade glanced off the rocky soil, caused a moan to slip her lips. She knew she should care for the sword better, but she didn’t know why. The memory of the Battle Witch’s voice seemed alien.

The sound of hoof beats echoed down the road and her heart lept in her chest…

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Flag Burning: The future of a nation

Recently, my boys joined the Boy Scouts. I had not given much thought to the Boy Scouts in years, even though I was a Boy Scout as a girl. My eldest son had asked to join scouting several times, but we were so busy living our day-to-day that it never seemed to happen. My husband finally took the request in hand, after a year (possibly more) of my son asking if he could join, and found a troop in the neighboring town.

My eldest son has always been a boy scout, if you know what I mean. Honest, hard-working, good kid who cared and worried about others. Now, he was a Boy Scout, donning his uniform with pride. My middle son joined the troop with his older brother, and found he really loved it as well. Since they both attend a very small private school, I was happy that they were meeting other boys their age. I didn’t stop to think beyond the social element that most “children activities” give. Boy Scouts teaches something sorely lacking in today’s youth, something I have begun to see blossom in my sons. They were good boys before they joined the BSA, but I see something growing in them that makes me proud. Leadership skills, loyalty, honor, community activism and respect.

Respect; for authority and for our nation. It is teaching my sons that to be a good leader, they must also be good followers and scouts. They must learn to respect their leaders, parents and authority figures. I see my sons stepping up in their troop as leaders and it makes me proud.

My youngest son recently joined the Webelos. This is the transitional organization for the BSA that helps turn Cub Scouts into Boy Scouts. Webelos actually stands for “We’ll Be Loyal Scouts”. Last night he earned his “Bobcat” award. We went to the packs yearly campfire and watched as the young scouts preformed skits and songs. They received their awards and then the Pack Leader called for silence.

He explained that since the creation of the Boy Scouts, they have been tasked with a privileged that for years only two organizations had, the Retirement of the Colors. The burning of the American flag that has become to worn to fly.

Calling the young Scouts to attention he described the history of each flag; where it had flown and how it had served its country. He then asked that we formerly salute each flag, reciting the Pledge of Allegiance one last time. My eyes welled with tears as I not only Pledge two flags, but in my mind’s eye, each soldier that risked their lives, the police officers and fire fighters who serve for this flag every day, and the doctors and nurses who put their lives on the line when America needs them. The American Red Cross volunteers who go fearlessly into disaster zones and the everyday Americans who spring into action when their fellow-man calls.

These two flags represented a great nation. A nation that the rest of the world calls when they need help. A great nation of people who are the Scouts to the rest of the world. In this time of elections, economic upheaval and unrest, we can lose sight of how great America is, and how much the rest of the world depends upon us. These flags where more than just pieces of cloth, they where symbols of a battered, but great, country.

After we saluted the flags, the Pack Master, ceremoniously retired and burned the flags. Each young Scout, and all the parents, stood at attention and saluted these two flags until they were fully retired.

Then we respectfully left the camp ground and returned home. What a difference I saw in those young boys. As they collected their flyers for the food drive next week and talked about earning

their merit badges, I saw hope for our country. The contrast of these young men compared to what the world would believe America is today; Hollywood, Protests and the Occupied Movement is stark and hope filled.

With the Occupied Movement on TV and in the news, and the sensationalist nature of our media, to often I view our future Americans as a group of pampered and indulged parasites. Demanding they be given jobs they have not earned, hoImageuses they have no right to and a life style that they are not willing to work for, gives voices to a fear that Americas future is dim. The face of angry, dirty mobs burning our flag can make you fear for the future of our country. The burning of our flag illustrated to me all that could be wrong, and all that is right, with our Nation.

Last night I was reminded that these vocal few are not the future of America. My Boys Scouts and the Girl Scouts who attended this campfire are where our future lies. Today there are over 6 million Boy Scouts active in the USA. It is estimated that since its start, the BSA has touched the lives of 70 Million Americans. This is where our strength and drive lies, not in the unruly few who want their 15 minutes of fame.

These young people are the future of our nation, and they outnumber the entitled few. They work hard to gather food for those who need it. They do community works to earn their Eagle Scout badge. They are our future soldiers, police, doctors and leaders. They are the kind face that gives you First Aid in your darkest hour, the leader of a search and rescue that brings you home safe, and the helping hand that brings warm clothes when you need it. They have values that the Occupied Movement have long forgotten, or possibly never known. Our Scouts restore my hope in the American Future. And I am proud my sons are a part of it.


Middle Child Syndrome

The Saturday morning air lay heavy with mischief and possibilities. I descended the stairs, my short pudgy fingers grasping at the railings to keep me from toppling head over diaper. The shortness of my legs in contrast to the height of each step was a source of constant frustration. Their design had to be part of the maternal wardens over all plan of oppression and control, I was sure.  Both feet safely landed on the bottom sidewalk, I relinquished my hold about the steel rod. Keeping a leery eye out for Bob, the rooster, I trotted out into the wardens private garden. 

Remembering well the terror of the Warden’s “NO!” last time I had ventured here, I kept well clear of her sweet pea vines.  Sweet though they may be, the joy of plucking each tasty morsel from its pod was short-lived, and the punishment of leaving empty pods on the vines for the Warden to find lasted often into nap time. I decided it was best to avoid an early nap all together. I eyed the mulberry bush.  It’s bright purple and red berries looked like a delightful snack, and as far as I could remember, SHE hadn’t said anything about them.

 Filled with excitement, for my tummy was yet again empty due to her neglect, I ran through the carpet of crunching walnut leaves, the rustle of my diaper keeping rhythm with my small feet.  The size of my back side and head in comparison to the horrible stubbiness of my legs and toes left me wobbling a bit as I ran, almost tumbling again to the soft green earth.  It amazed me  that “She who must be obeyed” found my stubby toes and legs edible, often pretending to nibble on them.  Had she any idea the sort of things I put my toes in, I doubted very much she would put them in her mouth, no matter how recent my bath. I would squeal with delight at the thought of her realizing where my feet and been, and the horrified face she would make, if she only knew.

 At last is arrived beneath the wide branches of the mulberry tree.  My fingers grasped at one of the bright purple gems, squashing a sticky sweet juice between each digit.  The purple juice ran down my arms, staining everything it touched.  The tartly sweet berries were consumed with a zeal that left me marked by their passage on face and arms.  I loved the way my pale skin turned a dark purple with each berry.

 Curiously, I crushed a few and rubbed them on my legs.  The juice turned my skin a rapturous shade of purple.  So caught up in the delightful painting of my flesh, I did not hear the Wardens entrance to the back porch until I was covered in the goo. She would not like this, she never liked it when I had fun.  I had best cover up the evidence.  Casting my eye around I saw the nice thick mud under the walnut tree.  Wet, from a recent watering, it would do just nicely.  Scooping up handfuls I smoothed them on my arms and legs. Realizing that my face gave the game away as assuredly as if I had not placed the camouflage at all, I rubbed into my hair and all over my face.  Now, if I just sat very still under the tree, she would never see me and I would be free.

 “Young lady, its time for lunch.” She who must be obeyed called out.

Lunch, how could I eat lunch! I was full of delicious mulberries. “You better not be eating my sweet peas young lady.” She called out.  Descending rapidly down the evil stairs she cast her eyes about the garden for me.

Shrinking back against the tree I tried very hard to think like mud. “Mud, mud, mud” I whispered over and over again. 

 “Mud?” She repeated.  Drat, she had heard me.  Leaning forward, I attempted to lift my backside from the ground.  These diapers, I was positive, where there simply to keep me from making my escape, their bulky content rendering any movement impossible.

Just has I achieved a standing position she exclaimed “Oh for PETES Sake!  What did you do!”  Holding me out from her body she took me hastily back to the wash room. “We will just have to hose you off right here.  There is no way you are going into my house covered in mud.” 

Yanking my shirt from around my over large head, she mutter, “what is this mess made from? Walnut shells…good lord this is a mess.”  Turning on the sink she dumped me into the basin, scrubbing every inch of my body. “These clothes are ruined young lady. I can’t imagine what your were thinking… just what…” Her speech failed as the purple hues I had added to my skin began to emerge. 

“Gary…you must come out here this instant.  Your eldest daughter has painted herself purple!  Yes, I know you’re holding her sister…but come her!”  Looking to the mirror in the laundry room, I grinned.  The whites of my eyes and the white of my teeth where the only thing that resembled the girl I had once been.  A dark walnut mop lay a top a purple grinning face.  At last, I had achieved success!  That would teach them for fussing over the new baby and ignoring me.  Now everyone would notice me.  I was purple!