Public Posts

When the darkest night falls,
there is no sound or noise.
A gradual sliding of grey to black

Are there feelings
in the words I write?
Do they bring meaning to
or are they just trite?

I write the words
which will soon bring
forth the joys,
a good life thing.
Be kind to others,
take children under your wing
and the joy of this life
will bring words we can sing.

There is no love,
like a lost love to thee,
for what you once wanted,
you can no longer see.

Comes the end tomorrow
or just another day?
I don't know the answer,
so please let us pray.
Pray for forgiveness
of our sins of yesterday.
Stand up to the reality,
have the strength to stay.

Being obsessed
with another
isn't healthy
for you.
Your mind,
doesn't work
like it's
supposed to.
Jealousy, Rage
other emotions,
will do
much harm
to you
and harm
those who
love you.

I received another shipment
of Tulips today.
Over 50 I must plant,
along with Daffodils,
Crocus and Hyacinths.
Apparently, when I ordered
I forgot I had ordered some others
so I have approximately 75 total plantings
left to do before a hard freeze.
Now can I find room in my yard
for finding a spot to place
may be extremely hard.

Never more to hear the sweet sound of your voice.
Never more to hear the laughter when we rejoice.
Why does this World of ours
Relish darkness and not the Stars?
All the joy which life will bring
Is best expressed when we sing,
Halleluiah, halleluiah.

The words are wrong,
they are from a song,
I remember, from long ago.
"Someday, when you're feeling low
and there is no place to go,
I'll be thinking of you
and the way you look tonight."
Apparently these words
which came back to my mind,
written by another.
A beautiful song,
now stuck in my head,
the melody lingers on,
along with the words,
of this most beautiful song.
The Way You Look Tonight
by Dorothy Fields
and Jerome Kern

He fell to the Earth,
centuries ago.
Trying to fly,
as a bird can.
He was Icarus,
who made artificial wings,
using wax, feathers
and many other things.
The story was told,
but so hard to track.
He came too close
to the Sun
and melted the wax.
Falling to Earth,
like fluttering down,
to be immortalized forever
as an inventor renown.

I heard in the distance,
some unusual sounds.
It wasn't a barking
but the baying of hounds.
A noise best described
in books from the past,
about the darkness and Moors.
A literary blast
of criminal activity,
occurring when last
seen in the moment,
a horrible view,
of another life,
about mostly you.

How near the Earth?
How far the Sky?
Questions posed, over the years,
with physical numbers.
Is it now a clear answer?
Or must we question again?
To the end of the Earth
and travel some more,
to see the greenest of grass,
in a rain forest we see,
with echo's of bird sounds,
as we peruse dreams in our life,
while walking the byways,
crossing river and stream.
Climb mountains, with abandon,
meeting New World cultures,
unlike any we know.
Aren't all those events, important,
in this World so grand,
in a land of plenty,
with a forgotten man.

Entering the dim lit room,
it smells of dust
and looks of gloom.
A small light, on the table,
to brighten the space. There is
a jar, of multiple items, some
wooden matches, pennies and
such. Among the items, I see a ring.
Interesting, I thought, a ring lays with
forgotten memories, of love and pain,
about two strangers, who are un-named
lays there in repose, with a dried up Rose.
What a story it must be,
a lost love; an old reverie,
of romantic days, in years gone by;
I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry.
Are the pictures, on the wall,
in this room, of a young lady and
a young man, whose name was Jim?