Lies, falsehoods, and anything else you want to call it because in this life we are buried by it. Bull… or so I believe it is and how I wish I could speak of my own innocence but I’m not innocent; why is it people have to stick their noses…

This writing is a thought that came to me. For some reason I really don’t understand, they usually ends up rhyming.

Milk Haiku.

A poem about the ten plagues in Egypt.

This poem for my mother, is filled with memories of life on the old farm. With it, I added a little, hand-made barnyard scene.

This story was written with tears in my eyes as memories, even some forgotten it seemed, poured from inside. Grandpa’s farm and vacationing with my brother there gave happiness to my childhood that otherwise seems blurred, if not gone. I had been on Facebook a while when I had an invitation to play FarmVille. What great fun and now I can play a game where I can pretend to play on my Grandpa’s farm once again!

My Dad Always Had Big Dreams.

Although we lived for months in adjoining farms I never knew that my farm girl existed. Upon such a realization we decided to see if we have what it takes to have a relationship.

An amazing story.

Cows are loved for their beef and other products. The way we treat them often raises questions especially when they become our sacrificial lambs for the offering.