Moon Drops



Perhaps Revlon blended a dab of vanilla
together with red raspberries,
dusted with flecks of gold for shine.
The dresser was forbidden,
temptation lured me.
Her keys jingled,
screen door slammed to solidify the plan.
I raced up the stairs…..two at a time.
Checked the window to be sure,
slowly slid open the bureau drawer.

There they lay.
Still little soldiers in perfect formation.
Housed in a tattered box that checks were delivered in.

They were waxy,
made my nose twinge with each sneaky whiff.

No particular order, maybe by color or mood.
Softsilver Red #425 next to Hot Coral #712, both snuggled near the favored…….#590 Lilac Champagne.

The fluorsence of that mouth, those lips.
They loved, laughed, supported, scolded, smiled,
staunch as they walked through loss.

Palest of skin against the pinkiest pink.

A simple stain of color?
I think not.

Full Of Hope

Mother/Daughter Love

A poem inspired by a special Mother/Daughter bond.


I took notice

when we were kids.


What they shared

was different from anything I witnessed.
More genuine,

a beautiful bond.
They created a language familiar to them.


Spoken like a string of inside jokes,

A dance of tenderness and devotion.
A morning tap on the wall

produced a perfect glass of Florida Sunshine,

A cure for whatever ails you.
Frosty winter afternoons,

filled with steaming Pyrex bowls

of tomato soup and tasty tuna sandwiches,

made to order.
The dance has lived on through the years; deepened.

Although the choreography has changed.

True love remains.


Thankful for beautiful memories!
Debbie Hope



She is drawn to nature
as a moth to the light.

The solace and peace
allow her to breathe, deeply
and rest, finally.

The dizzying dance
of the concrete world confuses her,
she cannot find her footing in that place.

Ah, but the sway of the trees,
song of the birds,
kaleidoscope colors of the sun,
and swoosh of the ocean,
fuel her weary soul.

For my beautiful friend

There’s room for everyone

I’m a real woman,
A true girl’s girl

Hair dyin, lipstick wearin,
Pocketbook lovin, pedicure sportin,
Jewelry wearin, perfume lovin,
Forever dietin, hard workin,
God lovin, kinda girl.

While earnin a livin, in a mans world,

You know what I mean……

The beer drinkin, cowboy boot wearin,
Trash talkin, alpha male behavin, sports talkin,
Hard workin, quintessential Man’s man world.

Thank God
I have learned to love my pink cheeked, lip stained self,
while livin in the same world.
We can bend, but will never break.
There’s room for everyone 🙂

Summer Bounty


I never would have imagined that when I placed a hard, brown nugget deep in the nearly frozen ground, that time and nature would have whipped that bulb into this stunning and vibrant blossom.

Whatever challenges you are facing in life, rest assure there is something beautiful waiting around the next corner.

Tender At The Bone

It was a sweltering summer night in the middle of July. I remember it vividly as it was far too hot for me to fall asleep. I tossed and turned until eventually the intense heat and humidity drove me downstairs to seek refuge in the somewhat cooler living room. This was before my parents splurged and installed window air conditioners in the bedrooms, and the possibility of the slightest relief was worth the effort to move downstairs.

I silently slipped down the steps and set up a makeshift bed on the sofa with a set of our finest polyester sheets. Thread counts meant absolutely nothing to my Mom. She was all about a bargain, so the cheaper the sheets the better.

The windows were pushed open in the living and dining room to catch any breeze that dared to float through the night. I plumped my pillow and settled in trying to find the slightest bit of comfort between the lumps on the couch and the scratchy sheets.  I started to doze and was awakened by the slam of a car door and saw my Dad making his way up the driveway to the front door, stopping quickly to pick up the keys he kept dropping. I could tell he was a tad bit tipsy as the friend who dropped him off yelled to him and waited until he was safely inside before he drove away. It was a Friday night and my Dad enjoyed having a beer with his friends at the Legion, where he served as a Commander in previous years. He felt comfortable there and they were his kind of people; down to earth, loyal and lifelong friends.

He stood at the door for quite some time trying to find his house key and successfully manage directing the key into the lock. I couldn’t help but smile, as each time he dropped the key and managed to find it again he would say, “atta boy Tom”, and congratulate himself out loud. It’s an interesting experience to see your Dad after a few beers when his spirit was relaxed and carefree.

My Dad was truly one of a kind. I know many say this about their parents. But, my dad truly was. He was hard-working, kind, and would literally give the shirt off of his back if it would make someone’s life a little better. On the cold, rainy day in December that we buried him there were hundreds who came to pay their respects and share their stories about the man I called my Dad. I loved my dad more than I could understand at my tender age and on this hot and humid night in the middle of summer, I saw straight through to the center of his soul.

He was able to make his way in the house and took a seat at the dining table. I doubt he saw me feigning sleep on the couch as he walked past. He plopped into his chair at the head of the table, put his head in his hands and started weeping. My Mom was upstairs asleep and didn’t hear any of this. I remember thinking how private this was and that I shouldn’t be witnessing this, but couldn’t drag myself to get up and run back to my bed. I was stunned at this display of pure emotion and never, ever told a soul – until now.

He cried for quite some time in between laying his head on the table. I couldn’t imagine the source of his pain until he started mumbling. First quietly to himself, and then louder until I could hear him out loud from across the room. On that night he cried for his parents. He weeped so deeply it was as if he just lost his parents and they both passed away years before. I had no words and was too young to process the pain and loss he was dealing with. It scared me to my core. He eventually pulled himself together and made his way up the stairs to bed.

He never said a word about this and neither did I. I started writing about this memory quite some time ago, and found it interesting that I decided I would take time and finish this story on the eve of Father’s Day. Funny timing for sure. I know that he missed his parents and felt their loss deep in his spirit, and i understand this for sure.  It doesn’t matter how much time passes, the memories are embedded in my soul and I can draw on them for the rest of my life and this is a perfect gift.

Wrangling A Poem

It is said, food is sustenance –
purely and simply.
To that I say, 
a poem is most exquisitely the savory and sweet 
nectar which feeds the soul. 
They’re meant to be slivered into bite size pieces,
swirled around and sucked on.
Much like one enjoys a fine wine,
allowing it to roll on the palette,
noting the high and low notes,
identifying the complex and subtle elements.
Emily Dickinson, Mary Oliver, Lou Lipsitz, 
Maya Angelou, Walt Whitman, Pablo Neruda
soothe the weary spirit.
Pick one, 
sink into a comfortable chair,
lose yourself in the what if.  
Chew on the fat, roll around in the grass,
graze on the possibilities. 
Collect them, soak them in, 
let them fill you.
Eat freely from the banquet of poems,
you will never be alone.
Full of Hope
Debbie Hope