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A dog called Spot,
a black cat called Sue,
left their town
on a horse named Blue.

They were looking for
an adventurous trip,
to the Big City
and new friends who were hip.

Leaving their town
on a sunny afternoon,
they arrived in the city,
a few minutes past noon.

The very first place,
was a park they saw,
where they stopped to rest
and heard a big caw.

What is that noise,
Spot wanted to know
They espied a
very black Crow.

Where are you going
the Crow asked of them?
My name is Sam,
should I tell you again?

A large crowd had gathered.
Many pigeons, a Squirrel, called Jim,
for he had never seen a horse,
at least not blue and so thin.

Come to the pond, over there,
said Jim, pointing his tail,
you can drink, quenching your thirst.
They all sipped from the water,
until their stomachs almost burst.

Sam, the Crow, then said to all,
"come here, the view is good."
The group saw chairs and tables
with people eating all kinds of food.

"I am quite hungry," said Blue.
I can't eat that, is what I say,
for I need me some grass
or at least some Timothy Hay.

They like the park, quite a lot,
as they gathered that day,
saying"we must leave now
and be on our way."

It had been in the gutter,
the longest of time.
A terrible place to remain,
no matter the time.
Some youthful misdeeds,
a long ago time,
never repeated again.
A terrible place for a mind.

Fly away,
oh, Blackbird fly.
Lift your wings
into the sky.
Fly to the beat
of a different drum.
Survey all you see,
flapping your wings,
as you soar,
over the path,
of life in play.
Enjoy your time,
for I know you,
won't stay.
You were my strength,
when the World was dim.
Go your own way,
where ever you must.
Be the brave soul.
In God we do trust.

It looms in the dark
with the voices I hear.
A most troublesome thought
of an unknown fear.

The sound of silence,
a sound which is cold,
as a wind from the North
is blowing. The chill of
the air is everywhere,
cutting through your
lightweight clothes. No matter
the class act you were,
or the sordid life which
you led. What good is
this life, when there is
no joy, no kindness,
left in the World?

The hammer fell,
not once or twice;
one more swing,
now it's thrice.

A hammer beats on
sheets of tin,
making surface marks,
using the peen.

Artistic touch, will begin,
when working on
a scene, placed within
and far beyond.

See the surface,
no longer smooth;
with each stroke
for a short peruse.

I cannot stay.
I must return,
for today's light;
no more to burn.

A patio, secluded, a cozy nook,
I write this verse,
with pen in hand,
surveying this choice meeting place,
where couples, two by two,
meet for a private rendezvous.

A fascination.
An infatuation.
An attraction,
Puppy love.
For jealousy,
or envy
and hate,
why do
we have
to berate,
the love
of another,
more different
than we.
As a
total stranger
was pulled
from the
beautiful Sea.
What happens
now to
the most
beautiful word,
for hate
does not
belong here,
in this,
our land.
Hoping you
now understand.

"The lesson from the past year: Poverty is a policy choice". Read the full article

Go away.
Go away now.
Search for the truth,
search for the how.
Don't wait for tomorrow,
you must do it now.

Shades of night,
replace the day,
as night creatures,
come out to be,
a scary moment,
if you were there,
without a light.