As June Concludes...

 A question. A big question on my mind... "Why?" Why do fundamentalist/Nationalist Christians think that berating people is the way to their heart? When I ponder that question, the answer I rest on the most is this: They don't. They don't actually want to build relationship with the people they are casting judgment on. So what exactly is the piont except to be self-serving and arrogant? While I believe that is mostly the point, I don't think that they believe they are being arrogant. 

Yesterday I attended a PRIDE picnic. Set up right at the perimeter, was someone with a sign that had LBGTQ+ colors/symbolism for the background with the words, PRIDE comes before a fall. And a bible reference. My friends at the PRIDE picnic were concerned that someone vulnerable might hear the rhetoric being spun and be injured by it. But as I sat there I wondered.... just WHOSE pride were they talking about? I know it was meant to berate and belittle the PRIDE participants, but the gall and arrogance of someone who would mimic a PRIDE banner to draw attention to themselves and to further endanger lives of vulnerable people makes me think they are so misguided by the word PRIDE that they can't see their pride and arrogance. 

Two things I have been learning about in my life. The LBGTQ+ community and the Bible. I've done a fair amount of bible reading this past year. And yes, we pick and choose what we are going to read about. But we also pick things by the Book, not by one chapter or one verse. Generally I get the opportunity to understand what surrounds certain passages that are becoming near and dear to me or that have been near and dear for a long time already. I am gaining knowledge of context and why the author penned what they did and who their audience was. I am reading alongside a friend that I would consider to be quite far on the conservative pendulum swing. And we often do not glean the same things from the reading. So I pause here for a brief second to say: "how cool is that?!" God knows where each of us is at and one author penned one passage and it hits home for each of us in our different walks. Wow. I am more and more in awe of the God who loves and saved me than I've ever been.

I am also more left-leaning than I've ever been. Those prayers prayed for me.... Lord just let her understand where you are coming from and not her own perspective? I don't think they are getting answered the way it was expected. I know I've been surprised. Pleasantly and often. How many times have I heard a well-intentioned person say something like, "God is a God of comfort." And I think what does that have to do with what is happening here? Whichever "here" might be happening at the moment. And as I've sought the Lord, I feel like I am seeing... "God is a God of comfort..." He comforts me when I hurt, He reaches out to the unreachable, He sees the forlorn. The more I am learning about God, the farther left I lean. I know that breaks my momma's heart. She prays for me to be saved. From what I am not sure. I've been and am being saved from the throes of addiction, the sneakiness of the desire to not feel certain things at certain times and the pull of the bottle that once was my very best friend. I've walked in a hell that some only imagine and some can't imagine. And I have been saved. I have been given a reprieve. Which allows me to seek God and seek life. And to learn more about my own selfishness and destructive ways and my own desire to drown my soul in death and destruction. 

But I digress... 

What is the draw for people who consider themselves to be Christian to "call out" the behaviors they consider vile and to tell people that they have been saved by Jesus Christ as if the people they are addressing couldn't have been saved by the same Jesus. It's ignorant and arrogant. 

This summer, this fall, this next year.... I will continue to pursue Jesus. I want to know him more. I will continue to ask him these questions. And I will go where the winds of change take me. My beliefs are ever evolving. 

But I know this: Jesus loves me. He forgives me from all sorts of vile things in my past. And I want more of that kind of love in my life. I cannot afford to shake my finger at anyone. 

This was a free download. Not my photo. 

Father's Day: Dear Dad

 Dear Dad:

Today I miss you incredibly much. I joke about today being my day since my kids's dads were not really present and for the most part I played the role of mom and dad. But you were there. Not always. Not maybe to Mom's hopes and expectations, but you were part of my life. You were my shelter, my saving grace, a safe place in the chaos. 

I miss you more I can express. I miss your smile, and that twinkle in your eye. I miss you saying... "hello Sweetheart!" or "Carrie.... it's your Pop-oh!" or at the end, the last year or so... "you're one of my dolls..." or "Awww, you doll." I miss your hugs, and little peck on the forehead or even sometimes on the lip. Just a quick peck. Not a weird thing. 

To say I miss you is so small in comparison to these feelings. My life has been forever changed. There's life before Dad died, and life after. They are not the same. 

I love you and miss you. 

Carrie Lynnerskinner

Dad and I at Guymon Pioneer Days Rodeo 2013

Jesus was a Socialist

 A lot of bible-thumping, right-winging, conservatives seem to think that their way is the only way to heaven. And, of course, it is the American Way. These conservatives, who don't want anyone to tell them what to do with their religion, sure think they should judge everyone else. One of the things I've heard a lot of times thorugh this transition from right to left, is how Democrats are just Socialists in diguise. And socialism seems to be the mortal enemy here. I know I was taught how terrible it is. And in all honesty, I don't think that is works. Because people are flawed. And greedy. and power-hungry. But the idea that I should/could/would share whatever I have or whatever skill I excel at in order to help another fellow human who is lacking, that is what I understand to the be the basic premise of socialism. Is this right? Is my understanding accurate? Because this concept is how I undersand Christianity to be. And we've been told to take care of other Christians and to make our church our community. I seldom actually see that. And when I do, it is often connected with some form of a cult-religion. And I don't want to be part of the cult mentality. 

But when I think about socialism, living in community, and serving Jesus, I think it falls under the unbrella of Socialism. Of course, I often discover that I have these ideas in my head of what something is, and reality is something different. So I may go off on this tangent only to get educated in the future and say.... "oh, I was really wrong back then..." 

But I'm tired of people getting mad a those christians who are pursuing Christ and also practicing sharing what they have with people in need. I'm tired of hearing this is wrong because it is the dreaded Socialism. I'm just at the point where I'm annoyed with it. 

Jesus would have given me the fruit of his labor. He would have said, "hey, come on in to my garden and grab the groceries you need...." And when someone comes and asks, "Jesus would you help me build something, I know you are a carpenter..." I can only imagine he would say yes.  

I see people doing some of this in the world today. Not usually from the right-wing church. I see it in gossip groups on Facebook, people helping people in need with no expectation of pay back. I see it on Helping groups and pages on social media. Also with no expectation of payback. 

I'm sad that it is more common to see strangers helping strangers than friends taking care of friends. Or really what I mean, the church taking care of the church. and the unchurched. The people Jesus told us to take care of... widows, orphans, homeless, poor, and immigrants. 

Okay, my rant is over for tonight. I'm tired. I purged my soul and spit it out so it will not haunt me all night in my sleep, so I don't lay in my bed thinking that Jesus acts like a Socialist. And having the urge the shout, "Jesus would help others whenever he had extra, or maybe even if he didn't, he'd still share all he had!" 

I don't honestly think Jesus fits any political or social perameters. He's Jesus. He's not a democrat, republican, Libertarian, socialist, communist, etc. These are governmental inventions we made. Humans. And Jesus is not of human origin. He has heavenly realms at his fingertips. But this is another whole post. 

 

Slice of Life Tuesday

 Tuesday is here again. An opportunity to share my posts with a community of writers and readers and to comment and grow. There are some of my favorite things in life.

My slice today starts off being about baby goats. We've been waiting and waiting and waiting. The first possible due date was early May, like May 7. My daughter has been posting pregnant goat updates everyday for nearly a month. Sunday evening at feeding time, my oldest goes to fill waters for animals and suddenly calls out: "There's a kid in here!" and before we can get in there to see for ourselves, she yells, "There's another one!" We were so excited. After all that waiting. 

Yesterday we are outside, letting new-to-us bunnies play outside and eat a little grass. I look up. I see our other goat who's due to kid, and then I see the kid next to her. Then the other one! Both our does kidded within 24 hours of each other! We are so smitten! 

This morning I had the responsibility of helping get mommas on the milk stand, getting kids outside to play in the grass and later, getting them put back away. What a privilege to "have" to be responsible for these things! And we have the cutest kids ever! 

So this was how I started my day. In spite of being sore and tired from my little dog Maddie being terrified of the thunder and lightening in the night, keeping me up and forcing me to sleep in the living room, not in my bed (sadness...), it was a pretty awesome start to my day. 

baby girl... she might be a keeper!

Sweet baby boy

Ivy is a great Mom! She nudges them toward the udder, 
she keep them clean, keeps watch over them, and talks to them. 

Poppie is a pretty good mother too... she is feeding them, 
and is very protective of them, headbutting the cats and 
other kids if they get too close! I don't have as many pics of these guys yet.
They are both boys. 

To read other slices of life, click on the image. 

Why PRIDE matters to me

 Staring at the page... wondering where it all went. The ideas. I had a million and one ideas. Now I have none. I know something I want to write about, but I'm scared. Scared because sometimes when I get off on a tare I get mean. Scared because I have said this stuff before. Scared because God is telling me some things lately and they are not really pleasant. Like how the insanely high standards that I apply to everyone else in my life, need to apply to me as well. Yuck. I just read something on facebook about "tone it down" and it didn't really apply, and yet it spoke to me. I don't want to tone it down if it is something I'm passionate about. And yet I know that I listen to people who are passionate, but not assholes. 

So anyways... here goes. 

Why does PRIDE matter? 

I mean, there's a plethora of fundametalists in my life that are ready to attack. To talk about how disgusting it is and how it is an abonination to God and blah, blah, blah.... Christian Nationalists is a label that fits well here. I also hate that. I hate that so many people that I love dearly fit the Christian Nationalist sect. 

But here is why pride matters. I can't say I love these people and then mock them and shame them. With love, comes respect. Enough respect for the human being to treat them like they are intelligent and valued. Do I think everything LGBTQ+ aligns with biblical principals? Eh, maybe not. But I think that there is a LOT of my life, habits, daily routines, actions, don't "pass" on a biblical level. I know I'm covered by grace. See where I'm going? If I am covered by grace, why wouldn't my LGBTQ+ friends and family be covered as well. Well, because, if I'm honest here, in America, we skew the rules to match our white supremist system. Ouch. You know, I know that every day I experience privilege because I'm a white person. With a big vocabulary. And believe it or not, that wordist shit matters. But I digress... 

Isn't the goal of Christianity, of striving to live like Jesus asks me to, to reach other human beings and bringing them into the fold? "Love the Lord, your God with all your heart" and "Love your neighbor as yourself..." Even in the middle of a bunch of self-loathing and self-sabotage, I still "love myself" and give myself a pass for a lot of things. Behaviors. "I couldn't help it," "I didn't know better," "I'm doing the best I can with what I have to work with..." and so on. Jesus didn't ask me this. Jesus said, the greatest commandments are (paraphrasing here)... "Love God" and "Love your neighbor." Know why? Because if I do those things, actually do those things, I'll cover all those other things that God wants from me. If I love God, I'll respect him and do what he asks. If I love my neighbor, I'll accept them, even if they look, love, sound different from me. 

God loves my LGBTQ+ people. God love everyone. He is not American. And I am not his favorite. 

This is the short list as to why I celebrate PRIDE. I don't want my friends and family to think no one loves them and maybe suicide is the answer. I don't want them to think that if Christians don't love them, God doesn't love them. This weird American thing where we think we can hate and bully someone into feeling loved is beyond me. I know it didn't work on me (yes, I'm straight, but always the outcast). I didn't feel loved and I didn't feel motivated to "fit in." I just felt more outcast and more alone. I felt determined to never be like the people who tried to pressure me to be worthy of their love.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Memorial Day and Memories

Today is a Monday on a Tuesday. With yesterday being a holiday. 

Yesterday we took a moment to honor family who have passed on. My Dad, who did not pass away in combat, but who was a veteran. And my grandparents and my "real" grandma. Of course, my grandma was my real grandma, but my dad's mom died when he was 8. 8?! What a burden to carry. Or lay down, but I think mostly he carried it, tucked away deep inside his soul. 

 Anyway.... we had a quick visit to the cemetary yesterday evening and put some things on Dad's grave and visited the others. There is so much history in that cemetary. The Loewens, and Sudermans, and Hieberts, and Penners. And Leppkes. and more. But these are names that overwhelmingly fill the cemetary, and bring up memories of childhood. 

I wanted to stop and talk to Dad a little. But.... too many people. 

So I just acted like I was fine with simply decorating his grave a little and moving on. Shame on me for acting as if. But that's what my family does. We act as if we are fine when indeed, we are not. 

I remembered Dad and all the many times we went to the pond to fish on Memorial day. And times when he sacrificed his opportunity to fish in order to put the worm on the hook and take the fish off the hook and ride kids around on the 4 wheeler and prepare the fire for us to cook our hotdogs. 

Earlier in the weekend, we took part in a craft show to sell my daughter's crocheted stuffies, otherwise known as amigurumis. During this show, they played a lot of music featuring "America." America the Beautiful; the Star Spangled Banner; Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue; Proud to Be an American; and more. Many songs that made me think of my Dad, his patriotism, his love of our country and our state, and his pride in his citizenship, and probably in his service. 

Though he went into the Navy as a pacifist, and pursued things that would only involve peace, much of the community/church etc., did not appreciate that someone of a faith of pacifism served in the armed forces. We didn't really talk about his service until I was fortyish. When I became a teacher. But the American Legion did place a nice flag at his headstone and he had a lovely tribute from the Navy (?) at his funeral. They played taps, and ceremoniously gave him a flag. It was very cool. 

Memories. I'm flooded with memories. The good kind. I'm so glad there's so much to remember and so much GOOD in my dad. 

Dad's headstone. The flag was placed for his service. And we brought the rest. 

Grandpa and Grandma Suderman's headstone.

My Grandma that I never knew, this is her headstone. My Dad's mom, 
who passed away when he was a child. 

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.