This is my book: smashwords.com/books/view/69…

#nurture #vss365 #SnowFoxNightSky Nurtured by Cowards Every brutal dictator is born twice— once from flesh, and once from the silence of those who kneel. Cowards nurture tyrants with their lowered eyes, their sealed mouths, their trembling hands raised only to applaud. They dare not rebel against the throne of terror, yet somehow discover courage when they see someone standing upright. Then the cowards swarm. They bite the brave, drag them into the mud, and call obedience “peace.” Cheap souls— they ask for little. A handful of fodder, a promise of safety, a place beneath the master's table. Feed them, and they will bark. Point them toward the rebel, and they will tear at them as though courage itself were their greatest enemy. The dictator does not stand alone. Behind every iron fist waits a forest of bowed heads. Behind every prison waits someone who whispered, “Better him than me.” Behind every extinguished freedom waits a crowd too frightened to hold the flame. And this is the darkest joke: The tyrant may wear the crown, but cowardice built the throne. So let them feast on their master's scraps. Let them fight for crumbs and call the chains a blessing. I will not join their feast. Let the dictator point his dogs at me. Let the cowards surround me. Let their voices become a storm and their hatred become the night. I will still stand. I will not kneel to a throne built from fear. I will not become fodder for another man's kingdom. If I must walk alone, then I will walk alone. If I must bleed, then let my blood mark the road. And if the whole world bows its head before the Devil— I will raise mine. Not because I am fearless, but because fear has already taken enough from me. The Devil may command an army. The cowards may feed it. But they will never teach me how to surrender.

thought we were doing a War of 1812 rematch before I realized South Alabama was playing Kentucky

Wow!

Start selling booze in the stadium, the parents are all hammered and all hell breaks loose.

Cascade Public Library on July 10.

The Con Shoppe in Monticello, Iowa on July 26. A wonderful place.

Saturday Gold Out at Xtream.

I thought Iowa State would give up that stupid black and white look when Matt Campbell left. Guess not.

#PrayerMap 036 Write a prayer about your past, present or future. Prompt (optional): ORDINARY

The world did not end with a Big Bang, There were no nukes no villains, Our remnants are still here, Holding Scripture shouting Rules, We love without desire, What we #nurtured as soul gone, Like the Moon, we ask, Quite predictably, "Why are you staring blankly?" #vss365

Even as adults it's good to have people who #nurture us. Folks who look after us, encourage us, challenge us and help us be the best version of us. #vss365

#vss365 #Prompt #Nurture Day 11 - It is a joy to #Nurture as we turn Care Givers Years of tender new beginnings. Our hours poured into other bodies. Our sleep given away. Our hearts learning that love can be exhausting and still give love. 💖💘💖

I hope you have a good tomorrow. Take care and stay safe. Night, everyone.

#vss365 #darkpoetry Morning light Peeking above the window sill Wearing her white chiffon wedding dress Mascara lines down her cheeks run Threatening to tear that damn dress Thinking if she jumps through the sunlight Will she turn into an everlasting Monarch butterfly A morbid reckoning her thoughts #reckon In the darkness there must be a saviour light

#vss365 I came to face A #reckoning 1 not sure Ought be mine The beast I face Is beckoning & says On me he’ll dine His giant form Is threatening I’m in An awful bind My arm a blur As spins my sling & slows The march of Time I pray the arc Of stone will sing & victory Be mine

at any bedside she can sit & recognise in the one who lies there a life that exceeds the grave & unsettles memory she knows how quickly people #reckon & walk into the traps of easy answers so she listens for what her own words had almost covered #vss365 #poetry

#reckon #vss365 #SnowFoxNightSky The Devil Will Outlive Me I reckon the Devil will not exist in twenty years— or so I tell myself when the nights become too long to measure. Perhaps I will live longer than him. Perhaps I could sit still, hands folded in my lap, and wait for the dark king to become nothing but dust. But what is death to a dynasty? One Devil falls, and another rises wearing the same ancient shadow. The throne remains. The crown remembers. The darkness breeds its heir before the grave has closed. So I stopped waiting for a funeral that would never end the story. The Devil was never one creature. He was a root beneath the world, a black inheritance passed from hand to hand, from wound to wound, from generation to generation. And I am so tired of fighting the leaves. I want the root gone— not blood, not bodies, but the buried thing that keeps becoming the Devil. Yet tonight I cannot even find my shovel. So I sit beneath the dead tree and listen to its branches whisper: You will outlive him. And I wonder whether that is a promise or a sentence.

Reckon with this silence,
it remembers us. Your glance unsettles dusk,
my defenses quietly fall. Even the stars seem nearer,
your nearness alters time. I ask for nothing….,
Yet I leave changed… #WritingCommunity #Poetrycommunity

Still cute. Still adorable. Still modest. Still in your hearts.

Photos from Wednesday's trip to Dubuque. A bit of downtown.