Love Never Loses its Own

True love never dies
For love never loses its own
Love is only as far away as the tips of the fingers.

Un lieu de paix

There is a special place, where quiet people go
when times get tense and mean
a place where life seems much more calm - and truly serene.
A place where gentle spirits can go
with wounded hearts or fearful souls -
un lieu de paix - a place of peace,
where sounds and fury all cease.

Far away from noise and prying eyes,
where soft sounds and quiet times abound.
Un lieu de paix - a place of peace,
away from all the turbulent sounds.

Days of blue skies, green meadows and slow moving streams -
a land of quiet and pleasant dreams.
Purple flowers brighten slow walks along a country road,
red and yellow ones too,
Never knew what they were called -
just beautiful color - like a rainbow's hue.

High overhead fluffy clouds float by,
colorful birds soaring on high.
A place of peace - where children play
with the sound of small voices laughing
while echoing calls of a dare
as they chase butterflies and dandelion blooms
that drift like small parachutes through the air.

The smell of fresh baked pies set out to cool
drift through an open window.
An old rocking chair waits on the porch
a place of rest from the warm day's sun -
comforted by an old dog lying sleeping nearby
makes this world a place of quiet - and fun.

Away from all the noise and confusion of the day -
to a special world of escape from the fray.
A place where quiet people go
when times get tense and mean
a place where life seems much more calm - and truly serene.

A place far away from sounds and prying eyes,
where soft sounds and quiet times abound.
Un lieu de paix - a place of peace,
away from all the turbulent sounds.

Closets of Our Lives

Dark shadows drift against a wall
deep gloom penetrates the prisons of our souls
things that live from a darkened past
dominate lives that have surrendered with continually downcast eyes
keeping us locked in the closets of our lives.

Locked in a perpetual state of the past
prisoners of tear-stained days
and continuing nights of gloom
not allowing a light to break into our hidden rooms
lost souls surrendered to a darkened past
keeping us locked in the closets of our lives.

Walking through the shadows of today
memories of a heartache of yesterday
weigh heavily on us each passing day
keeping us locked in the closets of our lives.

Living with the trials of our lives
bitter tears streaming down pale cheeks
not able to walk in the light of day
keeping us chained to the wall
of the closets of our lives

Clenched fists pound on locked doors
screams for help go unheard
bitter tears stream from blood-shot eyes
keeping us locked in the closets of our lives

The turn of a key is faintly heard
the call of a voice softly through the door
brings signs of faint rays of light
as someone opens the closets of our lives.

A day of hope has arrived
help comes at long, long last
as a smiling face is seen in the bright of the day
freeing us from the closets of our lives.


Dedicated to all of those individuals who feel trapped in the darkness of their lives, and to all of those persons who aid in unlocking the Closets of Their Lives.

Time

There is a time for everything we are told,
a time to enjoy, work and then grow old.

As a season comes and goes,
time moves through our lives as quickly as a wind that blows.

For every day that we are given,
there is a time for things that must be striven.

For work that must be done,
there is little time for things that are fun.

Time can be a friend indeed,
but only when we seek someone in need.

Our time on earth is to be spent,
doing things that are meant.

When our time is finally at an end,
then it will be determined how much we have sinned.

The time in this life that we have spent,
will determine where it is we are to be sent.

The Big Easy

Brash lady of the south, home of jazz and blues,
party town USA, brawling port of the nation,
melting pot of cultures, the city of Hope,
and Queen of the Nile of the Americas....

.....She's the Big Easy..

Yes, I know there is Bourbon Street where you rub shoulders with pimps,
prostitutes, drunks and movie queens,
And, you stand shoulder to shoulder and jostled and fight for the cheap beads thrown from a Mardi Gras float,
Walk the narrow, crowded streets and listen to the mournful moan of the blues, and the rhythm of jazz being discovered as it drifts through the narrow alley ways,
Feel the sweat and the clamor of the docks, with the exports
of the nation being loaded on the mammoth
ships for all the world.
Sip the strong coffee and wash down the beignets, savor the dripping poboys and famous oysters Rockefeller, and smell the aromas of the seafood preparer of the nation.

She is the queen city of the Nile of the Americas - the
mighty Missisip'

- don't apologize for her being
a lady of the streets,
the birth place of jazz
the queen city of the mighty river of the nation
good food,
fun time
fast people....

She's the city that never sleeps,
The play town and work place of the nation,
....A lady like no other lady.....

.....She's the Big Easy.

Won't You Come On In

Won't you come on in.....
won't you make my day...
you've got my heart in your hand..
tell me that you're going to stay.

I can't help how I feel
I want to be your man
You've got my heart in your hand
So won't you come on in.

It's all I can stand
I need your love
to give me a lift
So, won't you come on in
won't you make my day.

You mean everything to me
you're the sunshine in my life.
The smell of your hair
the touch of your lips
send me to paradise,
so, won't you come on in
won't you make my day.

The thought of your leaving
the loss of your smile
and the touch of your lips
is more than I can stand
so, won't you come on in
won't you make my day.

Won't you come on in.....
won't you make my day...
you've got my heart in your hand..
tell me that you're going to stay.

Long Way to Go

No time to waste
no time to rest
got to get on my way
'cause times gettin' short,
an' I got a long way to go.

When I got up this mornin'
grabbed a quick cup of joe
jumped into my car
and down the road I go,
'cause times gettin' short,
an' I got a long way to go.

No time to smell the roses
no time to see the sights
got to get on down that road,
'cause times getting short,
an' I got a long way to go.

Why all the rush?
Why all the dust?
just running on down that road,
'cause times getting short,
an' I got a long way to go.

Each day that goes on by
is one less that I have,
don't have time to waste,
no time to fool around,
'cause times getting short,
an' I got a long way to go.

My Children

Beauty...resilience...timelessness...strength
the facets of a diamond,
each cut differently
reflecting the light
giving it a value.

Children are a gift
each a treasure,
all have a value
that is beyond measure.

Individuality...skill...talent...personality
traits of all - each child cut differently
from the other.

Measured like a diamond
cut a trait apart,
their strengths
added together, become a family.

The Window

Protected from life
Hidden from view
Alone in my room
With little to do.
I sit at my window
Safe from the world
Looking out at people
Going about in a swirl.

Whether a marriage or loved one
that has been lost,
Or maybe a business of which I was once boss,
Now all is gone and with nothing to do
I sit at my window
Safe from the world
And hidden from view.

A world of hurt
Do I see
A retreat from life
is safer for me.

Like an animal hurt and
withdrawing from life,
hiding from the world and all of its strife
I sit at my window
with nothing to do
Not willing to commit to the care of a few.

There was a time
in this life I know
when I would come and I would go
Now I hide away from it all
Not willing to venture out from this closed-in stall.

With nothing but a window
to the world that I see
hidden from sight
and all who would love me.
A sad time is had
A lost life is bad
But my window is all that I allow to protect me.

Dedicated to all of the hurt and gentle people unable or unwilling to share their lives with others.

Rivers of Time

Like rivers of time / our lives drift by /
as seasons / providing the trees /
which acquire soft, green leaves / and then in time /
turning red and golden / shed their leaves.

Travelers in time are all / like a wind
sweeping across the plains of life / visitors in a temporary land /
enjoying moments of bright sunny days / filled with fun and joy /
soon to be followed by sudden storms /
and then dark hours / followed again by
the brightness of the day / rivers of time /
carrying each traveler through his day / waiting /
waiting for the next to arrive /

Time an ever moving thing / a river /
carrying each person / in turbulent white water /
or calm flowing streams / through all events of life /
then stranding him on a rocky and barren shore / or
other times / gently laying him upon soft and lush meadows /
to rest as in a quiet and calm place /

Finally on the appointed day / a call goes forth / and
the wayfarer receives his summons / to quickly go /
moving through time / to stand in a queue / moving to an unknown space /
together with others summoned / to appear at some distant place /

The queue is formed / the line moves forward / the time has arrived
to board / those great ships of time / like the giant Leviathan / casts
off from near harbors / and then ever moving / to arrive at some distant
shore/

Like rivers of time / our lives drift by / a season at a time /
travelers all / in a moment in time.

I am who I am

A restless soul am I
never satisfied with what I find
seeking that which is new to me
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

Torn between the rules of life
following them causes me much strife
bored with the same old humdrum
always moving on to something new
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

Other folks are just like me
searching for answers on a restless sea
tossed about like a ship without a rudder
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

Recurring tasks becoming boring so soon
following the same old game is a downer for sure
Restless by nature, always seeking a new game
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

New sunrises are exciting for sure
new days always bring hope for horizons not seen
searching for the mysteries of life in a never ending game
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

Life is but a challenge to seek
mysteries are but puzzles to solve
each day is but a day to enjoy,
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.

Morning Mist and Summer Rain

Far away from the noise of the city
I walked in the quiet of a country lane
nothing to distract me this day
but the morning mist,
turning into a summer rain.

I was born to be free from my troubles
born to smell the freshness of the day
nothing to accompany me on my trip
but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.

There are times when I must be free,
away from the cares and worries of this life,
when I can walk alone in this world
with nothing but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.

Sometimes in all my wanderings
I talk with my God up above,
it's amazing what I will hear,
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.

A symphony of sounds are present
from the creatures who live nearby,
from the call of a coyote drifting on the wind
to the birds in their nests where they lie,
all add to the beauty of this day,
when filled with nothing but a morning mist....turning into a summer rain.

My love for life is all around
given by a God who cares from up above,
it is seen most clearly on a country lane
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.

Where Have You Gone Little Boy

Where have you gone little boy
with the dark curly hair
and the skinny body.
I used to see you run and play
and chase lightning bugs and baseballs.
Where have you gone little boy
with the sparkle in your eyes
and the giggle when you chased the butterflies.
Where is the laughter that came with practical jokes
and flowers picked by the side of the road to
surprise your mother as she met you at the door.
That little boy is still close by
only now he sits in his overstuffed chair
and dozes in the warm spring air
No longer chasing butterflies and baseballs
but contenting himself to watch foolish things on
that idiot box.
Why don't you come out and play little boy
Life is not much fun, when there is no one to run and play with.

Memories

Life is full of memories /
of times past / and present /
times from my childhood /
of running in the rain / crying /
because the raindrops were hitting me on the head /
and my mother calling to me /
I'm here / don't cry / it's all right.
Children chasing butterflies / and playing
ball in the neighbor's field.
Watching the sunrise / and the stars telling
me to have a good day / just before they went
away.
Walking down a path at a summer camp / fishing in
a favorite spot / and catching a bass that I'm still
talking about.
Building a raft with a best friend / cutting trees and
logs / and floating them in a warm summer breeze.
Walking in the moonlight with a first girl friend / and experiencing
our first warm kiss.
Holding hands and dreaming dreams / and walking barefoot down a dusty
road / kicking up dust / and feeling it sifting through bare toes.
Seeing a first born child / holding it tight in my arms /
looking into its eyes / and seeing it smile back.
Hearing a child ask / 'what are moonbeams, and where do they go?'/
Holding a child as it goes to sleep in my arms /
knowing that the world is all right / because daddy is near /
and there is nothing to fear.
Memories are mine / and wonderful to share /
as time races on / and grandchildren gather in my arms /
Watching them chase butterflies / and ask about moonbeams /
and rainbows / and catch a first fish / and tell me /.....
......I love you big daddy.

Bread Basket of the World

the quiet of the spring day was broken
by the noise and shouts in the fields
belching smoke the great iron beast
dropping its sharp blades into the soil
took large bites into the soft belly of the earth.

warm and moist the soil yielded to the blades
as the monster moved quickly forward leaving
straight lines of soil like long ribbons
behind

following was another of the beasts
smoothing the rows and carefully planting seeds
into the long ribbons of soil

the season of planting had begun
and another year awaited for the time
when the soil would give up
the long awaited harvest of its crops

the call of that grand lady welcoming all
to our shores with her message: bring me
your hungry and tired, and we will care for them, was being answered

America's feeding of the world's hungry
had begun, and the great food basket of the country
was about to be filled

the first tender shoots began to appear -
small and fragile at first - and then with the aid
of a soft rain grew stronger and taller

looking over the fields the long green ribbons of
the manna of the soil - soybeans, corn, sugarcane and
the once king of them all, cotton, now relegated to
a lowly position due to cost and price - all were about to fill the
breadbasket of the world

the great crops of the South all in one of many fields
spread out as far as the eye could see
great green ribbons - swaying in the soft summer breeze
majestically saying to the world that the time would soon
be near to fill of the baskets of the world

another season, another planting, another feeding -
the busy cycle had begun as had been done
since the earliest days of the nation

corn planter, bean puller, cane cutter and cotton picker
of the world, the great smoke belching, iron monsters of
the fields had begun their work

rest would not be an option until the work was done
and the plates of the world filled with the products from
these southern fields