A poem of solace discovered

 This Space

Who is that? 

Chittering in the tree? 

I cannot see. 

It's not the cardinal 

or the robin

whose song I'm well familiar with.

I catch a glimpse

from the corner of my eye 

of movement on the sidewalk.

A toad.

Or maybe a frog.

I will only know for sure

if it rains a lot and I hear their song.

Currently I hear

the wind rushing through the green,

the trees, the grass, the newly headed wheat. 

I smell rain

though the sun is bright and the clouds are high.

No foretelling

of disaster to come. 

the calming drum

of the woodpecker

drilling away 

as he seeks to build his home.

Quiet chirps of all types of birds.

And always the rustling of the wind.

Calling me. 

Reminding me.

This is home.

-Carrie Horn

5/18/26

Love of Poetry

Poetry...

one of my passions;

a necessary evil,

a source of joy.

Part of daily survival 

for me.

Like rain to the crops

and hydration to my body,

poetry is a life substance. 

It inspires me

purges me

gives me  courage, strength: a voice.

A voice to shout

to whisper

to tell my story.

To rant and rage, 

to build my case. 

Poetry gives me purpose,

rights some mysterious wrong,

some feeling I can't quite touch.

Poetry gives me a voice,

reason,

a way to purge my thoughts. 

There's a beauty,

a majesty, 

a sense of certainty,

that lives in poems.

I hope the world can read

my emotion

floating 

between the lines,

in the breaths, 

the beating of my heart,

my passions....

my convictions,

my causes,

and quiet certainties. 

Poetry.... 

expressions of my soul.

-Carrie Horn

5/16/26

Open post; free verse Poetry

​Here’s what greeted me Monday morning in my plans. 

Two things I'm passionate about.... causes and poetry! 

Poetry. Free verse poetry. I mean…. How did they know I would be teaching 2nd grade this week?! Seems like maybe something is at work here that is bigger than just me. 

We spent an entire activity time planning our poems with word webs. I decided to have them focus on what they are learning about: Fighting For A Cause. The first lesson was about Susan B Anthony. 

So we carefully constructed our thoughts with her name in the middle. We decided our poem title should simply be Susan B Anthony. Then they were to use the ideas in the web to develop lines and verses.

That first day, every child wrote a prose paragraph. And followed those grammar rules to a tee.  

So the next day we talked about how the rules are different in poetry. That in some ways, there are no rules. But that poems pick up a rhythm. That you don’t have to use complete sentences, that sometimes you make your point by not using a complete sentence. 

Our Susan B. Anthony writing started to turn into poems. Some students realized fairly quickly how to structure the poem using their concept/idea/thought and then moving to the next line to move to the next thought. Some kids said, "I thought we couldn't start sentences with (this) word...." And I said, well, you aren't starting a sentence, you are just continuing your thought on a new line. And the rules are not the same in poems. "Ohhhh......" 

Some students started to pick up on the magic. Finding a rhythm. Picking up on a theme. Getting to express themselves. As I tried to explain to them about how to brainstorm and organize their ideas, I drafted a sample. 

my notes/brainstorming/main ideas

My poem about Mr. Miller's class!

There was only one student who said I did not have permission to share her poem with my poetry group. So I will honor that. But I am including a few Susan B. Anthony poems as well as a few of their free choice free verse poems.

Wolfs/Wolfs eat meat/wolfs travl in a pack.

Legos/they're so fun/they're plastic brick/
they're so fun.

Cat or my fafrit/because cats/ are cute.

Kiwi Bird; The Kiwi bird is a bird 
can't fly/the eat berrys and insects./
The Kiwi bird is fast and speedy./
Kiwi birds live in New Zealand.

And my personal favorite.... 

Ms. Horn
You are the best sub ever/you are nice/
you are cool/you live on a farm/with little dinosaurs.

Saturday thoughts in a 9-5 world

 Happy Saturday my friends. This has been a whirlwind of a week and emotional and spiritual ups and downs. Where to even begin.... 

I am in the middle of a three week sub gig. This has stirred up all sorts of things inside of me and brought some stuggles at home. I am feeling the tug of teaching like I haven't felt since I was a "teacher." I love the connections. I love feeling like I make a difference in the lives of kids. I like feeling like my life has purpose beyond the daily farm life purpose. Here is where it gets tricky. This feeling of purpose is something that lacks when I rely on nature and animals for my sense of self. BUT.... my farm life is insanely important to me and gives a different kind of purpose. It is a peaceful one. But that human connection is lacking. Sometimes I forget how important this human connection is. 

My youngest child has always faced some things that other kids don't. Ummmm.... writing about these things are raw and painful. I find it difficult to share because it means I failed. But I also believe in facing it. And I can't heal what I can't look at. 

This Punky of mine has some sort of attachment disorder. (This is diagnosed by Dr. Me... the one she's attached to). As well as some ways of thinking and processing that would most likely fall on the autism spectrum. The reason I include this has to do with her need to be understood, her need to control friendships and relationships in ways that don't work for the other person. This leads to her having fewer friends than the average person. Which circles back around to me, her main person in her life, and her best friend, her support. I can remember when she became aware that I was the only true constant in her life. That her dad was hit and miss. Mostly miss. And that there's just mom to take care of her. It was and still is a big insecurity for her. This stirs up a need to be with me and a feeling that she is alone all the time, sometimes even when we are together. The thing about that is that it's exhausting for me and it causes conflict with things that other people whose grown children live with them don't face. Like how it upsets her when I work full time. And she says things like "what about spending time with me?" To which I respond.... "You are an adult child living in my home, I should be able to work if I want (need) to". Because I don't feel like I need to check with my child before I accept a job. I don't feel like I should spend my days determining whether or not she will feel secure. But this circles around to.... Mom-guilt. All this guilt because of ways I failed my kids in the first place. I worked a lot when Punky was little. And had to leave her in care that I didn't always trust to be in her best interest. As well as being EXTREMELY human, and not always being a safe place for her myself. More mom-guilt. So do I owe her my time now in order to heal her childhood? Would that even suffice? Is there such a thing as healing? Mom-guilt. mom-guilt. mom-guilt. inner turmoil.... 

So back to other thoughts.... should I pursue a fulltime teaching gig? Reasons to do this: insurance, retirement, less financial stress, I am good at teaching... it gives me a sense of self and fulfillment. Oh, and I love being a teacher. I gain a certain prestige. Both in the community and in my own head. Reasons not to pursue this: losing my disability, less time for farm stuff, I come home exhausted every night, politics of teaching: planning to meet standards and district expectations, I don't know what my body needs or if it can actually handle teaching full-time. 

What I generally circle back to is this: I'm pretty happy being a sub, I can choose to work or not work, and this way I can give my knees (and my carpal tunnel) time to recover from working. I love working on my farm. You can't tell from driving by. Because I have limited time and limited energy to give to things like clean up, mowing, and so on. But I do. Love my chickens, ducks, goats, cats and even my damn dog. I love the sunsets (and sunrises which I seldom indulge in). I love taking a minute (or hour) to blog and think and chew on ideas and write and study the scriptures. I love this freedom that comes with my disability insurance. 

So (secretly) I know what the answer is. 

But these are thoughts and emotions swirling in my head and heart. So now I say again, Happy Saturday my friends. 

New month, new day, new you

​I freely admit my heartbroken-ness over the poetry challenge ending. I was prepared not to like it. I had an expectation that it would be an intimate group of writers who wouldn’t easily accept this strange one. The surprise was so pleasant. It was an intimate group. But so accepting and inclusional. So intimate in the best way. 

Where will I share my writing? My soul? Opinions? And who will comment and encourage me? I’m seriously asking. Because it’s so edifying. Ego boosting. 

Yesterday was Poetry Friday. Who knew there was such a thing?

Well I know now. So prepare yourself. 

Today has declared itself to be a day full of randomness. Randomosity. Not singularly themed. 

We’re at a suicide awareness and prevention walk. So my mind is overwhelmed with heaviness. Or is it my heart? I’m overwhelmed. There’s a lot of joy here among people. But there’s a heaviness as well. 

Talking with family about end of life plans. Like funerals. How I asked kids to play some certain songs at my funeral when I die. Will they remember? I don’t know about “they….” (The mysterious they), but Carolyn will remember. It would surprise me if she didn’t. But I won’t know. I won’t be here. When I say what I want I either begin or end with…. But a funeral or memorial  is really about you, the living, not me, the dead. So you do what you want! Oh…. If you’re curious, I did NOT request AC/DC, but I did request Amazing Grace. And there’s a Rod Stewart song Called Forever Young.  Not the Bob Dylan song. Oh…. I forgot this one: Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd. 

Oh, back to suicide prevention. I’m not suicidal today, but I do choose gratitude every day. Especially for the little things, like how we saw a little family of geese— the goose, the gander and 3 goslings. I saw some beautiful flowers this morning and they brought me joy. Im confident I’m growing old. I have started being reminded of something from my youth by nearly every mundane daily experience. The flowers remind me of my childhood and the peony bushes in our yard and when I was fairly small, we had beautiful irises in our back yard. 

Today I thank my god for joy. Joy in every small moment. Not every moment I live. But there are many glimmers every day. For this I’m grateful.

These were some of the lovely irises we saw today.

Ode to this Gathering of Poets

 April draws to a close

and the last period, exclamation point, ellipsis, question mark 

has been finalized. 

The last little glimpses of my soul

have been exposed. 

This is the end, 

the jumping off place, 

the place where it all starts to change. 

I'll write my little verses,

with no one to admire my work. 

I'll still think I'm so talented.

I will pine for readers,

yearning for responses. 

I'll miss the validation, the comraderie....

my new found friends. 

-Carrie Horn

4-30-26

Music Describes my Life

​“Welcome to the show

Step inside 

Step inside”

This starts playing in my head 

as I think about my life.

I think about

The chaos that described 

2020; Covid.

This feels a little bit (lot)

The same.

I feel the mire

Pulling me down 

I can’t breathe. 

Someone laughingly says 

“My life is sh*t show!” 

And I say….

“Mine too. Mine too.”

I hear the carnival music

And smell the carnival foods 

As the familiar theme

Plays in my head.

But this is real life. 

And as I feel myself go under

Another anthem rings through my head

“Save my life I’m going down for the last time….”

-Carrie Horn

4-29-26

Poetry writing

​I’m sad now

Thinking of how the days of poems

Are coming to a close. 

Do I have to stop writing poems daily?

I guess not. 

But the thrill of checking for a response

Or two

Will be gone. 

What’s that? You’re hungry?

But of course you are. 

How much time before kids come back?

Can I write and eat. Both?

Oh gosh….

I dunno. 

10 more minutes Care

You can do this. 

But I need to review plans. 

Oh yeah 

Where are those plans?

Wait. 

You’re not done. 

Are you done? With the writing?

The poems? The distractions? 

Writings not the distraction….

Lesson plans. 

That’s the distraction.

Really? 

I need another coffee.

Maybe I should check the lounge. 

I still have 7 minutes. 

-Carrie Horn

4/27/26

The Song on the Breeze...

 First things first. I'm cheating just a smidge on this post. It's Sunday. My day to be home. Not to take a drive. Here is where my serenity lies. 

So I'm on my porch in my ole rocking chair, watching and listening. To the rustling of the trees as the wind gently sways their branches. The goats are bleating because that's what goats do. and birds are calling. The roosters are crowing and the ducks are pleading with me to set them free. The air is damp and chilly. As it can be this time or year. It stirs wonder and awakens my soul. I take a sip of my Sunday coffee, blissfully strong and a little bit bitter, with just a hint of something softer. Sunday coffee tastes better than Monday coffee. Relaxed and blissful. The wheat in the field still green but tall and starting to head. It dances in the breeze, majestic and choreographed. It creates its own rustling sound, the music of my forefathers with their Turkey Red Hard Winter wheat. Hardy and resilient. Just like the souls of the mennonites who brought it Kansas. It is my family's heritage, softly moving in the breeze to the rhythm of the wind, the motions of the dance, captivating and awe-inspiring. I hear the birds creating their own songs and mixing their harmonies. The peace and stillness laced with life and song. The barnswallows are back. Swooping and careening and singing and sailing. They are forging their future and finding their nests. Who will inherit the nests of the past, who will relentlessly attempt to build on my porch, only to have their hard work torn down again and again? 

Sunday Vibes

Today is the day

the coffee tastes best,

    strong and black,

    hot and steamy.

    Only a small hint of bitterness... 

I pause to wonder, 

is there a deeper metaphor here, 

the depths of my soul,

finally learning to give warmth,

still holding a hint of bitterness?

What do I hear on the breeze, 

and see in the air? 

Are they gulls of some kind? 

They crash my party 

With both majesty and mayhem

stirring up chaos 

and grandeur.

Mixing their melody with the harmony

of a killdeer or two

calling out,

the song of a songbird too.

What is that warble? 

A robin? A whipperwill? 

A call of a pheasant joins in the song

all playing on top of rhythm 

provided by the wind.

Barnswallow swooping, 

gracefully,

in tandem,

like an olympic champ.

They careen and they call

and look perfectly in sync

with the world of my farm.

Wind on the trees, 

wind in the wheat,

in my too tall grass that cries to be mowed.

Theres a chill in the air

carried across the breeze

calling beware

a reminder that Springtime in Kansas

can mean chaotic weather.

My slice of heaven

time with my creator

sporting a safety yellow hoodie

my favorite one of all time.

My coffee cooling quickly,

reminding me of Dad

(because he, like God, is everywhere)

and his magical ability to

 not only drink lukewarm coffee

but still enjoy it thoroughly.

Not a skill I've yet acquired. 

I'll refresh my cup and ponder some more. 

The sound of roosters

calling to... who? 

I'm not sure. 

Maybe their hens, 

maybe to me,

maybe to prove

their voice is strong.

The wheat acoss the road

waves to me

beckons me

invites me to play. 

And old piece of farm equipment 

planted in the field 

like a prop for a photo shoot.

I'll oblige you there.

I sip my black coffee

and ponder my Sunday. 

Not shaping up as I'd planned,

mother nature herself,

the sudden, spontaneous, changer of plans.

I now hear the chime that makes me smile

my windchimes I love, mix with

a new voice on the wind.

I'm not sure who, but adding its melody

to the background music. 

The band's all here,

the instruments are vocalizing,

harmonizing as

a kitty comes trotting

across the yard

her prize in her mouth...

and the circle of life

keeps going round

to the harmonious sounds.

I sit in my rocker and rock to the rhythm

and sip my bliss and 

gather new songs 

and give thanks. 

to my creator. 

-Carrie Horn

4-26-26

I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes

​What was that word?

Woke?

Is that some kind of joke?

I’ll take your word and I’ll raise the stakes

Because your word is a perfect descriptor 

Not an insult's as intended. 

Passion. Passionate. 

That’s what I call it. 

And to the “Christian” right I say,

I read the book, 

The words in red, 

The ones that explain

WWJD to me. 

I love people. 

Some are poor. 

Some are addicts. 

Some people I love 

Have different spiritual beliefs than me.

Some are black and 

Some are brown. 

Some are Asian 

And don’t speak much English.

Some came here to escape…

Violence.

Terror.

Warfare.

Drug kingpins.

I can’t understand,

America

Where is your freedom?

Compassion? 

I was always taught

About a great melting pot.

Liberty and justice for all,

Let’s be honest 

The definition of all

Is really, really small.

What about the homeless,

The poor, 

The immigrant, 

The African American

Living and working in our midst.

America

I’m enraged.

And I’m embarrassed.

How can we talk about people

In such labels. 

How can we continue 

To pat ourselves on the back

In the midst of-

Injustice

Immorality

Thievery 

and more.

I’m ready to fight,

With all my might,

For what is right.

So call me woke 

Or whatever 

floats your right wing boat.

I know God 

And I know my neighbor.

Love them both.

Can you REALLY say the same?

It’s not a joke.

It’s not a game.

Say their name.

-Carrie Horn

4-25-26

 

 

Something Lost is Found

 Something lost 

is found again.

This is the theme 

of my life. 

Lose it,

Gain it anew. 

Sometimes I find it again

buy visiting the old magnanimous chain department store

and purchasing a new one

a better one, 

one I pay hard earned money for. 

I'll find the old one

as soon as my purchase is complete. 

If it is a high dollar purchase, 

I will find the lost one

only once the warranty expires on the new one.

Every day I lose my keys,

my glasses, my phone. 

I cannot just run to (discount department store)

and replace those. 

I find myself playing 

who-can-find-my....

more times than I can count. 

Some losses cannot be found.

Losing my dad,

a loss that is still pain-stakingly new,

after a mere 6 years. 

That's right. years. 

What I am finally starting to gain anew

is a heart full of gratitude

for the memories,

the love, 

the things that my folks did right.

I'll never find my dad again

(well, I plan to see him in the afterlife),

but his love is here 

everyday,

I just have to find it. 

-Carrie Horn

4-24-26

My little Punky in this picture is now almost 22!

A "First Words" poem titled Kansas Wind.

 Searching the internet I cannot find my two favorite poems by Langston Hughes. I did finally find them, but they're imbedded into another poem? I am not sure. And I think the title of the one I love most is: Little Dreams, but it could be Slum Dreams. I can't find it as a stand alone. I wonder now where my book of his poems ended up. It's not a thin little book at all. I bet it's over 2" thick. Here is the one I was referring to. In my 50's now, this has had a place in my heart since I was lost teenager in high school. 

The little dreams

Of springtime

That bud in sunny air

With no roots

To nourish them,

Since no stems

Are there-

Quite detached, naive,

So young,

On air alone

Slum dreams are hung.

-Langston Hughes

free to use or share image found online

Here is my attempt at using the beginning line as a starter prompt. One word per line in order to encourage my mind. 

Kansas Wind

The wind rushes through the grass and trees,

little critters float on the breeze,

dreams are swept away.

-Carrie Horn, 4-23-26

The call of the wild

​I love evening chores. At least twice a week, maybe more, you’ll hear me grumble and say, “I hate _________” fill in the blank: goats (most often), dogs, cats, ducks, chickens, roosters, etc. But really, I love choring. 

The evening wears on, 

Times runs thin,

And twilight rules the moment. 

As the sun disappears 

And evening stretches to night 

I see them silhouetted 

in the treetops. 

Then I hear the Huh-hooooo huh-hooooooo! 

As one calls to the other. 

Then there is a Hooo-hoooo 

Of a response. 

And I know they both are there.

I rejoice about it,

Then I take a pause 

And think

“Where are the kittens?” 

“Where’s Maddie?”

I say to them-

“Pick on critters that aren’t pets!”

And I call out “huh-hoo huh-hoo!”

They call back and assure me

They’ll pursue an easy meal

No matter its status. 

I remind them that Maddie

Is not Kevlar protected.

No raptor will easily carry her off. 

No amount of huh-hoooing 

will make her vulnerable this time. 

Their calls are thrilling

And always just a little chilling. 

-Carrie Horn

4-21-26

Crazy Squirrel Train of Thoughts

 Today I'm overrun with so many thoughts. I can't seem to narrow them into one poem. I woke up to an angry tangle of muscle and joints and nerves. Chaos, it seems, in my body. Aches and pains and realism. Yesterday we worked our asses off. Well, one of us did, but me, I didn't have one to begin with. I got that from my Dad. He used to talk about no-ass-atall. That's me. Anyway.... we cleaned the back room. Guess what? Those pine chips in the brooders... dust. They create LOTS of dust. Sometimes it was hard to see because the dust was so thick when we cleaned, moved, re-arranged, and swept. 

I'm rereading this and thinking about the randomosity of it. the adhd-ness of it all. and i think... that's my life. So much changing from one thing to another in the middle of the first thing because in my mind if I do thing number two it will make thing number one easier to finish. Or because I need a break, a mental pitstop, if you will. or because I have adhd brain. 

I'm so grateful that my kiddo is learning to go with the flow. Because I am just a random mess a lot of the time. Well, random anyway. and mess anyway. Okay, yes, a random mess. 

I find myself drifting a lot. And remembering. I must be getting old. All the stories in my brain. Many (most?) have to do with my Dad and funny moments, randomly dropped into ordinary tasks. Sometimes not so funny, but always pleasant. Because my dad just wasn't mean. He was never a hard task-master or a mean parental unit. He always, always, always erred on the side of love.

No, that's not totally true. But in regard to parenting, it is. But when I'm being honest with myself I know that he also bought into that whole, "love the sinner, hate the sin..." thing. I guess it really made me mad when he labeled people as "the sin." I love so-and-so and he/she/they are always welcome here, but the (significant other) is not. Is this how you love the sinner? 

But I recently told my cousin, once they die, they are elevated to sainthood. Nothing they ever did is to be held against them. It's complicated for me. Because there are some things about my dad that I'm not okay with, and for sure society calls a sin. But he's gone and those things are swept under the rug. I remember my dad as love. He loved. a lot. and though there are times and ways he didn't, he was a good example of love. 

Where am I going with this? To be honest, I'm not sure. I think it's just an emotional dump and the brain and heart. Because the wheels are turning too fast. There's just so much in there, going round and round and looking for a stopping place. 

I'm grateful today that it is certain thoughts and thought patterns that need to get off at the next stop. I'm grateful that don't win today. Today I don't wish to exit the ride. That's progress. That's peace. I'm so very grateful for this. 

And now, here's a little random poem. Born of chaos and randomosity.

Random City

I woke today with chaos 

in my brain and 

my body as well.

Aches and pains and regrets

doggedly pester my body.

my arms, my hands and wrists;

my back, my legs, my joints. 

Please dear God, 

give me some relief.

I woke today with randomness

running amuck in my brain.

No discipline

it drives me wild with 

thoughts, emotions memories.

I lament that fact that I have Noassatall.

And then I giggle as this is 

from my dad. 

He also suffered from

this disease.

Ha. not a disease at all. 

Right?

Just a flat backside, 

where other people 

have an ass to work 

and overwork.

I never have to worry if I say

I worked my ass off.

If you want proof, 

just look.

It ain't there. 

And again I laugh 

but now I also shrug

because where did that come from?

That is the chaos of my life.

my brain doing as it will.

interupting the working part

to interject the random part.

I must confess

it's never boring in here.

-Carrie Horn

4-19-26

Free Verse poetry, my life travels in a circle

Today I did not follow a prompt. I just went with the flow of my heartbeat. Yesterday I just skimmed the prompt and this might have fit in there better. But I didn't get to write yesterday, life had other plans.  Today I wrote about the cycles we find ourselves in and how they go around and around again. 

Life Travels in Circles

Did you ever notice... 

life travels in circles?

Circles of hope,

circles of grief

circles of cycles

That go round again

and again.

Did you ever notice... 

seasons always change

and when they come around again,

nothing is quite the same?

In another season,

I buried my emotions deep,

but as the Springtime evolves

I find my thoughts 

take root

shoot up,

find light, 

reaching for the sun.

My thoughts once buried

are exposed again.

They are new

and green.

New shoots of thoughts

taking hold deep down,

yet showing off new growth 

in sunlight's splendor. 

Tender and delicate

they need tended, 

pruned, 

maintained. 

They grow stronger in the sun

than they ever did in the grey.

Thankful for the rain

that feeds these little shoots

and causes them to stand strong,

because summer's on it's way.

Now established and strong,

my thoughts will have to stand

in times of drought and sun.

Sometimes wilting, 

in the face

of summer's heated sorrow. 

My life is like a garden,

renewing itself in Spring.

To face the heat, 

the dying off,

the burial of wintertime.

The cycle goes around again.

I wonder if you noticed...

how life travels in circles?

-Carrie Horn

4-18-26

just a free download pic, because... why not? 

A story about starting over

Starting Again…​ Again

This morning I awoke

Slowly,

Not before the rays of sun

Lit up the horizon. 

Oh no! 

I’m late!

How could I have slept right through that alarm?

I stop.

Pause. 

Pray. 

Restart my day….

Breathing in the light,

The cool air,

The fog clinging to the trees. 

I murmur a quick “thank you”

To the powers that be

For the life 

so freely given to me. 

On my drive 

I reflect 

On the life I live today.

So many new chances, 

So many things to do,

New ways to love animals,

And even people too.

Once upon a time

I started a lonely journey

Broken hearted

Beat down

And scared. 

I had to rebuild:

My life,

My things, 

My confidence.

Learning curves…

Sharp,

Squiggly,

Treacherous at times.

Then springtime came

New birth

Regrowth

Tender shoots of new life.

The sun came up,

Golden rays…

Flooding my life again.

Old habits

Creep back in

Isolation,

My old friend, 

Comes to my mind again. 

The voices get louder,

Stronger, 

Meaner.

I fall from grace.

Avoiding 

The life that

I once built, 

that now has

become a lie.

Hopelessness 

Envelopes me

Again. 

I reach out, 

Make a call

Go to a certain place, 

Feel that hope…

A tiny seed,

Sprouting in my soul. 

The sun comes up

The dew on the grass 

Greets me anew. 

Starting over…

4-16-26

-Carrie Horn

    

Spring brings new life

​The thrill of early spring grows green and lush

Birds sing their songs,

New growth bursts forth in its full glory,

Signs of life are everywhere. 

Robin’s voices trill through the air

Filling the silence with song

Sweet choirs take wing.

Birds sing their songs.

My heart has been tilled

Old, dead ideas plowed under.

New, fresh ideas are planted and nurtured.

Soon pushing new stems

Through the fresh soil.

New growth bursts forth in its full glory.

I dread the thought of mowing

That lush green grass,

Holding hideouts for rabbits, mice and more.

Signs of life are everywhere.

-Carrie Horn

4-15-26

Those darn state taxes!

 Today's prompt is to write a haiku about taxes and tax day! Yikes. I had big plans for my Kansas return but apparently so did the state. They found a debt for me to pay. 😢

State Tax Return

Kansas tax return

You were supposed to save me. 

Instead you are gone. 

-Carrie Horn

Grief is all consuming

Today I cannot follow the prompt. Today my heart is heavy, sinking, drowning. I must give credence to the emotion. And let my soul surrender to grief.

Succumbing to the Grief

Some kinds of soul searching produce

grief before healing,

hurt before happiness,

reflection before surrender.

As I bob and tread 

and desperately try to keep my head

above the engulfing current

I realize that the grief

is overwhelming,

all consuming. 

I cannot be saved 

until I surrender.

I have to face the pain,

feel it,

drown in it.

So it will wash away.

I allow myself to be engulfed,

the feelings

flooding my entire being,

enveloping all that is reality.

Going down, 

no longer bobbing,

no longer fighting,

succumbing to the completeness of it all.

Grief.... 

a vital part of my personhood.

Surrender feels like death,

like failure, 

like there's never again to be hope.

Only in surrender 

do I find peace, 

and quiet strength.

The desire to go on.

the resolve that takes.

the strength is breathes.

-Carrie Horn

borrowed a free-to-download image from the internet

The Poetry of Everyday Loves....

 Today's prompt is quite a lot like other recent prompts. But I'm going with the random: in my head things that I tend to love daily. 

Everyday Loves

I love kitty kisses. 

Not just any kitties,

but my loves,

Turtle and Fluffy.

My child bestowed the name Turtle

upon my pretty kitty,

because we had high hopes 

she would be a tortoise shell. 

Fluffy got her name because,

as a small, abandoned kitten,

her fur fluffed straight out. 

Just stood straight out, 

FLUFFY.

So I started calling her the fluffy one.

It morphed into her name. 

And now, well, 

Fluffsy-wuffsy,

ain't so fluffsy anymore. 

But she knows her name, 

so Fluffy it is. 

But I digress. I was just planning to freefall

and write about all those loves, 

not just those two crazy bottle babies 

that still call me Mom.

I love... 

rain in Spring

and ducks splashing in puddles.

I love Duke the dog, 

who might also we called 

Gargantuan.

He's kind of rotten, 

not enough training,

and a little too much puppy.

But I love his derpy goofy self. 

I love... 

how my very own Ed Sheeran,

the cat, 

who thinks his name is Eddie,

and loves me in his possessive yet aloof kind of way.

I love... 

how my kiddos

count me on their friends list.

and even act like I'm a best friend, 

trusting me with their

fears, triumphs, failures, needs,

all of it.

This is my favorite love.

It tells me I've grown, 

changed, 

become trustworthy.

I love.... 

Jesus.

Because he loved me first.

I don't love Christians.

Enough said.

I love...

Spring

and all the new life it brings:

kittens, chicks, goat kids....

vegetables, flowers, houseplants.

I love tiedye. 

The process, 

the outcome.

The thing I call 

"the magic of tiedye,"

which is really just the mystery of...

I can think it will look like this,

but I won't really know 

until it's rinsed and unfurled and revealed. 

Art that mimics life. 

I think my life will turn out like this,

but I won't know until it is later unfurled. 

I love that. 

-Carrie Horn

One of my favorite people ever... 

Another favorite human

Turtle

Fluffy

 

The magic of tiedye.

He is probably larger than appears. Duke.

I love...

I love lazy days, which only materialize,

when I create them, and set them free. 

I love how the rules change 

each time I engage in "my day off..."

Maybe I drink coffee and blog all day,

and maybe I do load after load of laundry.

Maybe I get dressed; maybe I don't.

I love sugar candy, in an obsessive kind of way,

consuming the entire bag,

box, or other container. Who doesn't have a 

hidden pleasure, one they don't easily confess? 

I love Springtime, and new life, and babies.

Baby kittens, baby chicks, new to this earth goat kids. 

Wobbly feet, fluffy feathers, fuzzy furr.... babies. 

I love a greasy burger,

with all the trimmings. 

Cheese dripping off the sides,

grilled onion and jalapenos,

piled high in the gooey delight of 

American cheese. Not cheese product.

Some days I inlude the trimmings less essential:

lettuce and tomato and pickles. 

Who am I kidding? Pickles are essential.

Even on a jalapeno burger. 

I love my children,

born of my womb,

or not so much so. 

Some of them raised me,

all of them teach me, 

how to be a human, full of grace

and forgiveness,

not so black and white as I once was.

I love the grey areas,

because few things are ever black and white

and I take issue with those who say they are.

I want to lay down an example here, but my mind 

is suddenly on vacation.

I love lazy days,

when people don't judge me,

don't see me, don't know me. 

I love lazy days,

they make the productive days so much more 

significant. 

-Carrie Horn

Dear Hippie Chick Farm,

 Dear Farm that I love,

Your an oasis in the desert 

of my life. 

Your greenery and growth

are a blessing and a curse. 

Requiring time invested 

going round and round 

on the magical machinery 

that shortens the growth

of grass and weeds and the dreaded

pig weed. 

Every day I chase the chickens

and count the eggs 

and watch those little raptors

race for the cat food.

Elvis the Rooster 

calling his girls

when he find something tasty. 

Goats that bombard me

planning their escape

while I slip in and out of the pen.

Cats, cats.... everywhere cats.

Much as I love them

they are a lot.

A lot of crying, purring and such.

A lot of grey stripes and tails and 

toes. 

Everywhere a cat. 

These are the things I love most.

Thank you dear farm

for bringing me solace, 

tranquility,

disguised in the form of chaos,

and satisfaction

that comes from chasing the critters

big and small

dawn to dusk and beyond.

Your simplicity

and complexity

both intrigue and inspire me.

Thank you for the life your give me.

-Carrie Horn

I love our rainbow, though we are trying to add to our diversity of color.

In Poetry We Say... "

 Today's format challenge is "In Poetry We Say" as a response to some cliche` saying in English. A few examples she threw out there for us to try were: "Such is Life," "It Is What It Is," "That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles," or "Let Bygones Be Bygones..."

I'm gonna try "Through Thick and Thin..."

I Will Be Here For You

In English we say,

Through thick and thin,

but in Poetry we say,

trudging through the 

muck and mire

I am here.

Where the veil is thin

and death is well-versed,

I will be here.

When life is bulging at the seams

and friendship is 

neglected

I am still here. 

-Carrie Horn

Kitten Cuddles (so she's not a kitten anymore....)

 Unconditional Love

Calm kitty cuddles overcoming calamity

giving my heart a much needed boost. 

Comfort and caring

for a beloved pet

to whom I am "mom."

Remembering the early days,

bottle feedings, snuggles and naps.

She holds my heart

in ways I didn't know

a furry friend could.

I've always loved the critters

but very few cross that abyss

and live in my heart in a way 

most of my pets do not. 

Purrs and perfection,

soft kitty fur

pressed against my skin,

as we snuggle and cuddle

and shut out the world.

Our time together is precious

putting perfect purrs in perspective.

-Carrie Horn

Forgiveness in a word, is never accomplished with a word.

 Forgiveness.

One little word.

Looms large.

Never small,

knowing that forgiveness 

is not a word at all! 

An act,

action,

gesture, 

event. 

Forgiveness requires

my heart to be humble,

and my contrition

to be complete. 

It is seldom a feeling,

but an ongoing

purge. 

Of hatred of old,

and resentments brand new,

that smolder and grow

and make life 

a messy goo.

I purge and I render 

my feelings 

all better,

different, brand new. 

But soon those old voices,

aches, and heartbrokenness

will build again.

I'll talk to God and tell him my plight

and how I forgive 

and that I've set things a'right.

But I know that the work

is never done. 

Forgiveness is a verb,

an action,

a battle won.

-Carrie Horn

I think the word I'm looking for is "Heavy"

 Heavy

like a box that has weights in it, 

or bags of chicken scratch and feed,

I carry this feeling with me.

It's been here all week.

I will call it grief.

Grief for a new friend,

I feel guilty that it hurts, 

because I didn't know her well.

Grief,

and relief,

for a family that I only know

in a small town way.

Guilt that I'm grateful

that it's not me

facing their walk,

their pain

their shame. 

Stigma...

I wish it weren't a word.

But especially in small town,

rural Kansas, 

it's definitely a word.

There is no shame,

but I feel it just the same,

when I face the crisis 

of supporting a child

that society doesn't understand.

or embrace. 

Heavy.

My heart is heavy

like a cold steel beam

facing the loss.

As if it weren't enough...

I remember

a man on a cross

dying slowly,

painfully,

because I am a selfish sinner.

Heavy.

The weight of the gift

is heavy.

My heart, 

dragging these feelings

is heavy.

I will lay it down today

so tomorrow I can remember

the joy

of my salvation.

Knowing that

these things, feelings, baggage,

are still 

heavy.

-Carrie Horn

WWJD?

 I know this isn't a religious forum. But lately everything in my life seems to be spiritual or political and usually with one affecting the other. I was raised to be a conservative, right-wing political and religious person. And I honestly believed that people who were different from me were going to hell. They are not "real" Christians. But as I have gained more information about myself, about the world, about politics, social class, and the beliefs that I hold dear, I am finding that I don't agree with my family and my younger self. I have some to the conclusion that "real" Christians follow the teachings of the new testament in the Bible. And Jesus and Paul both have a LOT to say about love and taking care of the poor and the downtrodden. Not so much to say about how "my" money shouldn't go to pay taxes or to take care of "those" people. Nothing that says that people will be led to Christ by my rants and rages and putting people down and making people feel scared or unsafe. Jesus example would lead me to believe that I should be non-aggressive even in the face of people who are trying to kill me. So the commonly held belief that people should: Hate the sin; Love the sinner by the way of excluding people from church, family, fellowship or by berating them or (someone I love, loves this option) writing them letters telling them to repent or they are going to hell seems to bass-ackward to me. 

Today is Transgender Day of Visibility. My decision to be an advocate and safe place for people who are different from me is especially important today. I am not telling you why, but that's okay. It is still important. One thing I'm learning is that I don't always have the right to tell someone else's story. And I don't have to explain myself in order for my reasons to be valid. They are just valid. 

So happy day of visibility. If I wonder what Jesus would do today in America, I'm confident he'd be giving free hugs to transgenders and other members of the queer community. He'd be going out to dinner with them, or playing a game with them, or hanging out with them, or just letting them know He was there for them. Not attaching that oh-so-important piece where we grade their life and judge and let them know they aren't welcome here because while we love them, we hate the sin. 

I believe that Jesus loves me. And that I want to give others the opportunity to know what that feels like. Because I'm far from a saint. Forgiveness and acceptance are components I deeply value. Jesus would be my friend, and he'd hang out with the people I hang out with. That's what I think Jesus would do. 

Suicide Prevention and a Rant....

 Kansas is in the throes of political and moral turmoil right now. Especially with this new gender law. People with their current gender affirming ID, no longer have a valid driver's license. I have a whole biblical rant about all this stuff too, but all I'm going to say is this, if you come at me about what God says in the bible, make sure you can back it up and that you educate me, not throw shade. But that is a little off topic.... which is kind of how I live, especially since the cost of my ADHD med just went up by $300/month. 

Saturday my daughter participated in a Suicide Prevention Event in another town. We drove an hour and a half to get there to discover that we were one of three vendors. But it was for a good cause and there was no booth fee. So not a total loss, right? 

Set up just across the way from us was Kris Kobach. I was stunned. Kobach has consistently opposed LGBTQ rights, and Transgender rights. What does this have to do with suicide prevention? Did you know that in 2024 the Trevor Project surveyed the LGBTQ community and found that 39% of the LGBTQ+ community have seriously considered suicide in the past year and 46% of the Transgender population have considered it. Kobach has also opposed funding for mental health services, which is a direct hit against suicide prevention from where I'm sitting. or Standing. 

It's kind of blurry and that's okay, because it 
isn't the ladies fault that Kobach is a liar.

I really wanted to go over and ask the lady why the booth was even there. But when I went to the next table over, I heard her talking to someone and she doesn't actually work for Kobach. She probably genuinely thought she was being proactive in Suicide Prevention. So I clamped my lips shut. And that was super hard. I wanted to call out Kobach for his two-facedness. But I know it wouldn't actually affect Kobach. 

The great things at this event included the educational materials that were available for free, the PRIDE booth that was manned by a very informative individual who provided solid information for someone with limited knowledge of gender indentities such as myself. We connected to people personally affected by losing someone to suicide. 

Now, what are the next steps? How do I become an advocate in my community and let kids/adults/all peoples know that this is a safe space and they can talk through their fears, anxieties and disappointments with us? 

I know that God made my LGBTQ+ friends and family. And I know that God loves me. My job isn't to judge. It's to give hope. 

Sometimes You (by you I mean me) Need to Bang Your Head...

 Tonight was unwinding as a pretty chill Saturday evening. I was making a queso dip with beans in it, like Chili's skillet queso. It was coming along nicely and I was pretty excited about sitting down to eat and spending time hanging out with my kids. I had this little bit of mozzerella left over in the fridge and it needed to be used up, so I started to cube it up and throw it in the skillet. But then I got busted doing that thing you're not supposed to do (holding the object you are cutting and cutting toward your skin). And after bleeding through 4 or 5 bandaids in an hour, I thought maybe it warranted a trip to the ER. So me and the eldest took off toward the town with the better ER. We listened to music and talked about the good music (in the 80's) and talked about life. And laughed. Apparently we'd each stressed over this cut and the adrenaline rush made us funny. Or we thought so. And let's be perfectly honest here, we usually think we're funny. But we were giggly goofy. So we get checked in, and the nurse calls us back, and cleans my cut and wraps it in gauze and tells me to keep pressure on it. So I do. And soon enough the Nurse Practitioner comes and looks and says "It's closed itself off, you just need a bandaid. You're good to go..." We giggled some more. And signed dismissal papers. 

All the way home we jammed to some rock and talked. Some talk was serious. Some not. But as we turned onto our road, we were mid conversation when Whitesnake came on the radio. My long time anthem, "Here I Go Again..." Therefore, it is forbidden to talk during the song. And said child felt the need to fuck with the radio. She kept turning it off or changing the station. So after a not-so-idle threat to let her walk the rest of the way in the dark with the coyotes as her companions, she stopped and I was free to crank it up and head bang. Still bangin' as we pulled into our drive. Child gets out. I had to leave the car running so I wouldn't miss anything. But the trees seemed to interfere with the reception, so a little backing up was necessary. Child is watching and laughing. Just Mom, going for a cruise, banging her head to her 80's rock. 

Now that the head banging has commenced. All is right with the world again. Rock on my friends. Rock on. 

So much I don't know

 I could say this about anything in life really. That there's so much I don't know. But tonight I'm referring to sourdough bread making. There is a certain thought that the dough will be forgiving. That it's not rocket science. But a lot of the posts and comments say that it is rocket science. That it is precise and you (me) have no margin for error. 

Is my room/house too cold? What if it doesn't rise or double? What if it does? What do I do with the discard (besides discarding it)? 

Tonight I'm drifting off as I try to think of what I want to write about and I have this sinking feeling I'm forgetting something important. Nah.... you're just worried about.... oh crap! You're worried about those jars of bread you managed to forget about on the countertop. 

oh no.

I guess time will tell. If it's forgiving or harsh. I'm off to see if I can rescue it. 

I am a Swifty

 Yes, I'm a Swifty. It's not about the music. Well, not solely. I like her music. I liked her music when she was country and just a young 'un. But then she started to show how headstrong she was. Having opinions about things that aren't a part of the country music world, or the whole patriarchal society we live in. Shame on her. (haha). Or did she just outgrow the genre? So... I want to say that I get it if not everyone loves her, but I found myself feeling less that understanding when my friend said she wasn't a fan. I asked why. She said because doesn't like that kind of music. Really?! I thought all women were fans. Taylor is a champion for human rights and for women's rights. She's shown herself to be brave when she was assaulted and then was sued by her perpetrator for the loss of his job! Swift counter-sued for $1 stating that she was standing up women everywhere who were not believed when they reported an assault. Taylor is an example of a self-made woman who blew the hell off of the glass ceiling. And that makes me happy. She is known for her generosity to people who work for her; generosity to charities and food banks in the cities she tours in. I know she made generous donations to families of the victims in the KC parade for the Chiefs Superbowl win when lives were lost because of gunfire. This was a devastating event and she took it seriously. As far as I can tell, she is humble. Not arrogantly trying use money to make a situation go away. 

I just like the girl, okay. I continue to read ariticles and posts all over social media that raise her status up to me and continue to make think she's a pretty exceptional human being. 

No one accidentally gave her a bunch of money that she didn't ever work for. I watched the Eras Tour movie. Three and a half hours of running, prancing, dancing, all while singing and never losing her voice control. What? From what I understand that comes from intense training.... singing while running on a treadmill, learning the choreography while singing.... working out, practicing, taking feedback, re-doing practice takes. Over and over. The girl is smart and funny and sweet. Obviously, no one is perfect. And people might act differently when they know they are constantly being recorded. But she seems to be relaxed and just her "norm." 

This girl can sing, treat people with dignity, stand up for herself, champion other women and performers of all genders, oppose indecent treatment of people as a whole, and she's unafraid to speak her truth. No one would say that Oprah isn't an icon because they don't like to watch talk shows. Oprah is a fucking force. Because she is a self-made woman. A self-made black woman. Who should be respected. And these are the things I think about Taylor Swift as well. Okay, I do not think she's a self-made black woman. What I want to reference though is that she had/has a brave soul and crazy nerve to just go after what she wants and maintain confidence and dignity and treat people around her with respect and kindness. She's a fucking force. So how can you say you don't like her because you don't like that kind of music. She's bigger than that. An icon. A representative of what women can do. Or what young people can do. I know she's 36, but I'm old enough to be her mom. She was only 20 when Kanye West pulled his stupid stunt. She's a force because she was just a kid when she started all this. And now at 36, she's still a young woman to me. I don't mean that derogatory, I think she behaves like a mature woman, I think she's eternally young. I don't know. I don't know if I can explain what I mean, but I keep coming back to the facts that she's an icon and legend and she's not near the end of her life in any way or form. She's a freaking force. 

I'm a fan. A full-on swifty. And I am not afraid to shout it out.