A kindred moment,
as friends depart,
with long goodbyes,
doing their part,
to assure we all,
will meet again,
be it sunshine,
or a falling rain.
Hope to see
you next year,
if God is willing,
and you buy the beer.
For a few more Days. Sorry. See you in a few.
Jerry, wishing you a speedy recovery
Oh my!
Thinking about you Jerry, and wishing you a speedy recovery.
I hope you are feeling better and regaining your strength every day,
T'wasnt all fun and games,
although that seems to be
popular way of thinking.
Where are you now, my mysterious child.
We met years ago, when we were wild.
In an age when long hair was offensive,
While the romance at times was pensive.
Do you remember the longest hair,
Bell bottom pants, tie dyed shirts to wear?
Those times of so called "Free Love"
With alcohol infused thoughts not from above,
Determined our views between right or wrong,
Many of our words became a protest song.
Write about those things
you love. Enough hateful
rhetoric in this world.
I'll not write of snakes or fleas,
As I prefer the birds and bees.
Nature provides all with many a thing,
Some with beauty and some that sing.
The color we see, in the morning light,
That disappears in the darkest night,
As life goes on, a single item.
It's a great World, ad infinitum.
Memories are the building blocks of
recalling the love, you had at the moment
and the feelings you have now.
I do remember.
It's been awhile,
The sound of laughter,
That crooked smile.
The eyes so brown,
The dark, long hair,
The girlish figure,
You had no waist.
Walking fast,
Not like now,
When steps do falter
And then somehow,
You stop to rest,
As aches and pain,
Stops you from
Walking fast again.
I love you so,
Even with your mind
No longer there
And words that come
Are of great despair.
What will I do
When your are gone
And I, no longer
Hear our own love song.
I stand amongst these tall,
trees, in Norther Idaho.
We are out, scouting for Elk.
I'm riding a Honda Trail 50.
I'm amazed by the
quantity of tall Fern Glades,
stretching across my sight line.
An open cathedral of ferns and trees.
Visibility seems to extend forever.
I don't recall seeing the beautiful sight
in my home state of Washington.
It probably exists on the Peninsula.
A spiritual moment,
I still say
an appropriate view,
on this warm Spring Day.
A memory of 1964, outside Moscow Idaho.
Where has love gone?
When did it flee,
running with purpose,
away from me?
Will I find it again,
as something you bring,
or is it no longer there,
when it was just a thing?
Just Breath 8:8
I believe our Soul,
flees, when we die.
I don't know if it,
returns for another try.
Another try, for
a better life.
Something to ponder,
or think about twice.
If you think you've,
been here before,
and there is a special portal,
or a brand-new door,
to a different life, then
I now implore,
do your best and
come back for more.
See you in your dreams,
let's not keep score.
Just remember your life,
the time before.
May all the thoughts,
I have about you.
Special thoughts as
ordinary thoughts won't do.
You were my heart,
my soul you were,
for it was always you,
my one and only her.
I write of a tale
from long ago,
bout the place,
the Red Ferns grow.
No one will tell you, I do suppose
They know where the Red Fern grows.
High in the mountains, into the dale,
Following the path of an unmarked trail.
Down through the valley, into the glade,
It's a dangerous journey that you have made.
Past the shadows, down by the spring,
What's seen next, is a beautiful thing.
Moss covered rocks; downed logs in repose,
This is where the Red Fern grows.
Magical indeed is the sight of the scene,
Where the love of another, does not demean
What should be years, months, days and hours
Of caring for others, in this World of ours.
This wonderous place of beauty, I propose,
That all see where the Red Fern Grows.
Inspired by the Novel, Where the Red Fern Grows
By Wilson Rawls, 1961
Compassion for others,
not as privileged as thy,
reviewed from their perception,
of me, not I.
Saying goodbye,
has become tiring,
exhausting me,
in the process.
Dealing with it,
on a daily basis,
yet wanting to
bring closure, but not forget.
I know my beloved is gone.
I know it well.
My current path has become,
a pathway to hell.
Dont Die with Dead,Dear Gerry .
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