On hot summer nights

In my younger years

I opened my bedroom window

And leaned upon the sill

God's myriad stars

Were a source of wonder

Beckoning my wishes

And watching over me

Cool as diamonds

And almost reachable

But now I know

About light-years

And hot hydrogen gases

And how God's choices

Became Newton's laws

And that stars no longer care

About wishes and little boys

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A little something about aspirations and lost innocence.

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Oh there be times found at hand,

That feels the future bleak and bland,

Where an error simply overlooked,

Does seem to drop goose in pot to cook.

And the essence of a fond farewell,

Does echo loud upon the bell,

As the cards played from the current hand,

Are laid before' as you understand,

That you have been mistaken tell.

For philosophers have urged to know thyself,

And learn play the cards that have been dealt,

But a slight trick in common sense,

Is to learn the art of self defense,

As caution may carry a heavy weight,

When misproportionally used to relate,

Or unrelate due to mental health,

That lacks through thoughts of unseen stealth,

And mulls over and through a fog so great.

Yes I be one of uncertain days of yore,

When my only wish that I should go before,

Another day begins and I tumult about,

In the rough and tumble of my mental bouts,

And should I wish this on any other,

I would not deserve a mother,

Nor life of any sort rich or poor,

But like a prison without a door,

Could see no release to my stress and bother.

But then one day in my prison of mind,

A friend he came to let light shine,

Upon my sordid state of torment,

By quoting from the New Testament,

In words that did light up my soul,

And once again I found me whole,

As he glowed as if the son of mankind,

Had engulfed him to remove my blind,

And he be of the highest heaven bold.

So now I am able to want my life,

To continue with or without strife,

Preferably without but at times 'can't be helped,

That I do return to my less than mental wealth,

But even in my dark and sombering times,

Having been touched by spirit divine,

Can strive and stretch to catch the like,

Of the God in man that in all can arrive,

To place the whole back into line.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem is in thanks to a beautiful man who is now dwelling with the Great Spirit.

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My Eagle, so strong, so gentle. He watched me silently from atop his mountain peaks. He watched, as I roamed his mountains, searching every path, resting beside each cascading waterfall, waiting, watching the blue skies, hoping he would come.

I sat upon Gods riverbanks and breathed the freshness of earth. I called out through the valleys where my echo still remains calling, calling... "Come, my Eagle".

Take me upon your wings, carry me where you fly, so I may view the beauty of life through your eyes. Teach me to fly, so that one day I may carry you to new heights.

Let us learn to fly in unison, the breadth, the depths, the heights of life.

Let us have Faith in our flight. Let us be strong in communication of kindness, love and laughter.

Let us be this.

Let us be more, than this.

Let us, be.

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so perfect, serene

to behold it is like a dream

a time preserved

a moment captured

a reminder of the past

long since gone.

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Forever Young

Memories of Youth

I feel like I've been trapped in time,

Locked forever in suspended animation,

As if this present life has gone on eternal,

Yet, I know it hasn't.

I have memories of the past,

When I was new, insignificant and small.

Not like today, so seasoned and so breakable,

But, a babe full of life.

My mama was young, sweet and fair.

My papa, the lord of the world and the heavens.

I was ten. I could fly. I could carry a tune.

The earth was my oyster.

Then, I was fresh, pleasing sixteen.

My future was bright. I would be a great dancer.

I caste my fate to the winds without trepidation.

I lived in rose pointe shoes.

One day, I was twenty, so strong.

No pain was too great. No challenge could claim me.

I loved life. I ate life. I swallowed it down whole.

Breasts so firm, lips so full.

And then came thirty, sensual.

I laboured unmerciful with athletic grace.

I loved with a power one could never perceive.

Such coquetish passions.

And I dreamed of faraway stars.

They filled deep chasms of joyless nights and salt tears.

I danced all alone, in my heart, in my children.

I was beautiful.

I remember all of this. It's past,

But, it seems that these memories are still right here.

They come and they go. They don't linger, but, they happened.

I believe that, right now.

Now, I am fifty. I am old.

My hair is becoming grey. I'ver learned I can't fly.

If you read this, know now, it's not all that I am.

I am beautiful.

Will someone indeed remember?

This is who I have been forever and ever.

Will someone remember other than the one who is

Locked, suspended in time?


Author's Notes/Comments: 

I think as we  grow older we want to be remembered for our youth & beauty, as well.

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My Sunshine

As the sun takes its first peek from behind the mountains,

Its warm smile spreads across the land.

Stars fade away and left no sign of the crazy party they held last night.

Moon shyly hides behind the vast blue cover.

Your smile came up behind my locker door as you try to make me smile.

All unhappiness, fear, sadness disappear into thin air as you held me close and whispered in my ear,

"Good morning sweetheart.'

You, are my sunshine.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Once found my sunshine but sunshine does not last forever.

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The Start Of The Day

When I awoke this morning the world was frosted with a delicate mist of snow. I made a pot of coffee and watched while the finest drizzlettes of powder shed off the batting above. The stream bumbled over itself in a seemingly frantic dash to get somewhere before the deep freeze. The lights from across the way have gone out now, making ready for the day. Each time I look up from my writing the snow is heavier. I'm drinking my coffee black and unsweetened and even so I can call it a perfect start. I hear my boys breathing deeply, a little bit of snore now and then. To have them close by is my idea of perfect.

Yesterday we barreled up the canyon bee-bopping to rap, rock, reggae, hip-hop and funky punk. They made me laugh 'til I cried. I seem to be the perfect audience. Sweet Erik, being only 17, is in the middle of the 'Know It Alls'. He often lets me know how I should have done this or that better than I did. Sometimes it makes me feel as though he doesn't much care for me. But then he does last night he held out his arm for me to take while we crossed an icy patch and then when I started to withdraw he squeezed my hand so I wouldn't let go. That small gesture was all I needed to erase a years' worth of careless remarks.

I could sit here watching the snow, drinking black bitter coffee and listening to my children breath forever! These tiny single flakes sometimes floating lazily, sometimes almost thrown to the ground, sometimes swirling in dizzying confusion; each built from an invisible mote; each different

from the next - and they say there are no such things as miracles.

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"Images of Beauty Queens"

by Jeph Johnson


As images of beauty queens dance page by page on by 
The magazine I'm holding, I've forgot the reason why 
I see the ones the others want to make their dreams come true 
But page by page they dance on by and none of them are you


Author's Notes/Comments: 

1992, 2017


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"Nocturnally Innocent"

by Jeph Johnson


Nocturnally innocent
Free from the revealing
Colors of daylight
Her eyes stark and ocean deep
Open wide and suck
Spiral whirlpools of my vision
I gaze, dizzy and drunk,
Stumbling over misplaced passion
Underground I relive
Melancholy memories of my youth
When all of a sudden

Her youth stampedes
Through this recollection
And she's now convicted too
Guilty yet pure

Author's Notes/Comments: 

1999, 2017


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