Monday, June 15, 2009


Your presence just walked in the door.

I feel you by my side.

You must have heard the other night

When I laid down and cried.

Your presence walks across the room,

And takes me by the hand.

It makes my inner feelings now

Feel oh so very grand.

Your presence stands so quietly

Without a single word.

I thank the Lord so very much.

My prayer He must have heard.

Your presence isn’t really you

With all your wondrous ways,

But with your presence by my side

I’ll pass the next few days.


When I hear a sparrow sing,

Oh the joy that he does bring.

When I hear his springtime song,

Then I know he does belong

Where he can be heard by all;

Center stage, Carnegie Hall.


Seeking what, and where, and when.

Seeking now and seeking then.

Seeking that elusive place.

Seeking out from in the race.

It is there somewhere I know.

Always after it I’ll go.

Never knowing what I’ll find.

Never daring change my mind.

Seeking out and up and on.

Seeking all until the dawn.

Knowing not just what I seek.

Knowing that my drive’s not weak.

Caring not what it will take.

Caring only that I wake

With a joy for what I seek.

With a joy for what I seek.


Scalloped thoughts do beckon

And press to understand.

They meet with some resistance

And pass from hand to hand.

Sometimes they’re placed above the tide,

But get lost in the spray.

Their staying does depend upon

The shift of sand today.

The breeze can gather up those thoughts,

And blow them round about.

But they can gather back again

If breeze be not too stout.

One seldom feels the flowing tide

Could stable thoughts prepare.

But they can gather easily

Out in the fresh salt air.


Reflect upon yourself

Search down deep inside

See if you can reach a thought

That you have tried to hide

If you find one, pull it out

Set and think awhile

Then go back and search some more

To put yourself on trial


Overgrown graveyard,

Moss covered stones,

All titled and twisted

And marking the bones

Of ageless dead faces

All looking the same

There stands a big one

Displaying my name.


Dark moods

Stretching out

Crawling all around

More often here

More often deep

More often stay around

Time is adding to the same

Time is long to go

Something makes it more intense

Exactly, I don’t know

Sometimes I feel

I can’t endure

Till the distant end

Guess I better

Head on out

Go look up a friend.


I’ve often heard

That lonely call;

A far off whip-poor-will.

I’d stop awhile,

And so intent,

Listen till he’d still.

More oft then not

There’d be some more

Quickly joining in.

The first would stop,

And fly away,

And silence would begin.

But as I stood

In darkness still

They’d start up once again.

I’d listen more

And my reward

Would be completed then.



I turned around,

Looked over my shoulder,

And you were gone.

Then I noticed

You were by my side.

Won’t be long now

Before you will pass me up,

And be way out ahead

Leaving me behind to remember

What it was like

Being young.


It’s interesting how I somehow

Feel I shall never reach

That lonely distant strip of sand

They often call a beach.

I swim so hard to keep in sight

That lonely distant shore.

I swim all night. It’s out of sight.

I push to swim some more.

My head slips down beneath a wave.

My mouth gulps water in.

My chances seem to ever be

Increasingly so slim.

Some force is pushing harder now

To keep me swimming on.

If I can only swim some more

I might just see the dawn.

But dawn does come without a beach,

It’s still far out of sight,

And I can push no further on

For I have no more fight.


I’m sober now.

Wish I had been last night.

I wouldn’t feel so bad this morning.

I don’t even remember leaving the party.

I do remember

  • Gripping the wheel
  • Staring straight ahead
  • Trying so hard
  • Not to go too fast
  • Or go off the road.

I notice there’s a big dent

  • In my front fender.

I sure don’t remember that.

I asked my wife about it.

She just shook her head

  • And said it was there
  • When she got up.

My head sure hurts.

I wonder when I got that dent?

I guess probably I’ll never know.

Johnnie just came in with

  • The morning paper.

The headlines read



A memory from childhood days

Of cold and wint’ry blasts,

Keeps coming clearly back to me

And seems to last and last.

I hear the wind there howling

Around the house outside.

I want to pull the covers up

And get beneath and hide.

I seem to feel the house could shake

As wint’ry winds do whip.

A little deeper underneath

The covers I do slip.

I hear the snow there blowing

Against the window pane.

I close my eyes so very tight.

I’m home again in Maine.


A green and empty wine bottle

Lay cracked upon the street.

Once full, once clean, once needed,

Til a soul it chanced to meet.

The bottle full meant many things

To many different folk.

The one that had the bottle last

Did give a gentle stroke.

He held the bottle tightly squeezed

Against his unshaved face.

To him is was the only thing

But him, in this dark place.

He sat against the curb,

And held the bottle tight,

And slowly kept a sippen

Throughout the long cold night.

When that green bottle emptied

The soul detached himself.

He stumbled back into the store

And took another from the shelf.


Early morn

Rising sun

Time of peace

And inner thoughts

Waking up

Clearing mind

Fresh damp air

And birds are singing

Reflecting back

On yesterday

On last nights dreams

On plans that you have laid

Fog still lingers

Robin chirping in the yard

Coffee perking

Dog barking in the distance

All together

Placed as one

Softly, slowly

Day does come


Charlie in the window, he was a pure bred cat.

Charlie in the window, so patiently he sat.

Charlie in the window meets people when he can.

Charlie in the window, he met the garbage man.

The window was the front part of a downtown Brooklyn store.

The window was his favorite place, for it was near the door.

Most days he stayed inside the store and never ventured out.

This day he slipped out through the door, as it did open stout.

He walked around the corner, then to where the alley sat,

And gathered in a garbage heap beside a cute stray cat.

He looked her in the face that day, and asked if she would stay.

She nodded quickly to his face, and asked if he would play.

They romped around that garbage heap, and scattered several cans,

Then scampered back on top of it, and sat there holding hands.

They were so happy on that pile of refuse left for days,

And Charlie in the window he just loved her reckless ways.

Their pleasure ended shortly when, the garbage man he came.

He cleaned up all the garbage, and though it was a shame,

Poor Charlie in the window then lost his cute stray cat,

And Charlie in the window, so patiently he sat.


Oh nighttime you descend

Like falling rain

Upon a window pane

Or the closing of a book.

You cover all

In your own way

To end the day

When only lovers look.

And though your strength

Resides within the mind

And is so hard to find

It daily conquers all.

So come in silence

And in silence stay

Till break of day

And bring your darkened wall.


Oh precious dainty rosebud,

Dripping moist with dew,

With gentleness you open

To live the long day through.

Each fragile petal slowly bends

To reach the early light.

So patiently you’ve slept throughout

The long and lonely night.

Moist dew in tiny droplets

So slowly trickles down.

On top of daggered shaft

You sit as like a crown.

As dew drops slowly fade,

And bud full open spreads,

Great beauty is exposed

In lovely flower beds.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


There the Lady Slipper lay

Broken on the ground

Withered in the blazing sun

No more heart shall pound.

Yesterday it stood erect

Reaching to the sky

Looking at it proud and straight

Beauty to the eye.

Fragrant blossom pink and bright

Sending forth it’s spell

As I left it yesterday

Living strong and well.

But as I did chance to pass

Going home today

I was shocked and sad to see

There the Lady Slipper lay.


Tis cold and freezing, bout twenty below.

The howling wind is whipping the snow.

The sky is dark, the day so bleak.

Looks like it might snow for nearly a week.

The temperature drops a few more degrees.

The cold wind is whistling through the trees.

The snow starts falling to the ground

To pile in drifts without a sound.

The flakes of snow are soft and dry.

Each flake drops slowly from the sky

To add its dainty little size

To drifts that are so slow to rise.

Tis cold and freezing, dark and bleak.

The type of place I yearn to seek.

To there I someday will return.

My heart again will never yearn.


Just outside my window

There sits a tiny bird.

It gives a tiny cherr-up

That hardly can be heard.

A small white-throated sparrow

With perky streaked crest.

Today he sits and preens himself

To look his very best.

Although he doesn’t show it

It’s cold outside today.

That’s why I sit and wonder,

How can he be so gay?

But he just sits and fluffs himself

To ward off all the cold.

About this chilling weather,

Does he have to be told?

It seems to me that if he knew

He’d try to make it better.

If he’d just come and sit with me

To get out of the weather,

I’m sure he’d like it better here

Then out there in the cold.

About this chilling weather

Does he have to be told?


I saw the devil in him fade

As he danced within the shade,

Imagination working overtime,

And I did love him.

In his small and simple way

He brought beauty to my day,

From where I did not know,

But I did love him.

I knew he’d never know the joy

That I felt for him, my boy

With feelings at that point I could not hide,

For I did love him.

So as he danced within the shade,

And the devil then did fade,

He was mine – my little boy,

And I did love him.


Shining bright, great sun is high

Sky so clear and blue

Riv’lets trickle over rocks

Moistness is the dew.

Infinite does seem the way

Many seem to go

Those that look so deep inside

Never seem to know.

Color sways as breezes blow

Bob-o-links do fly

Buttercups are out there too

Reflecting in the sky.

Meander through the fields of grass

Take the whole scene in

Rest upon a pleasant hill

Banjos then begin.

Surface thoughts that float along

Often plucked at will

Take a thought and put it down

Then the breezes still.


I walked across a lawn today

And saw a butterfly.

It fluttered down close to the ground

Then up into the sky.

It was a pretty shade of blue

Tho interspersed with red.

It fluttered here. It fluttered there,

Then to a flowerbed.

It picked a rose still moist with dew

And fluttered there to it.

Then as I silently looked on

It settled down and lit.

It went about its business there

Like I was not around.

So I stood there just watching it

And dared not make a sound.

It took the nectar from that rose

Then to the next it went.

It did the same thing to each one

Until they all were spent.

And as I watched it like before

It fluttered to the sky.

I watched it go till out of sight

Then softly said goodbye.


A dandelion grew today

Up to the point of death,

And as it dried with naught to say,

I took a deep, deep breath.