in crystal does she reside
frozen, she will abide
until the time he finds a cure
body will not mature
timeless until he succeeds
she is his wife-- Nora Freeze

Asked the baker to his wife,
"Sky was filled with light,
know you what occurred last night?"

Looking at him, she replied,
"Beauty fell in love with Beast."

Gathered at the castle now--
hall filled with dancing--
cheers sang though the crowed room:

"Tale as old as time, song as
old as rhyme, Beauty and Beast."

safe in her husbands arms with peaceful sigh
now slumbers youthful wife while dreams beguile
storm's thunder passes: some ire others mild
clap in the air, from lover must she pry

babe's cry rings out in starlit sky
and mother rushes toward her child
was he awoke from storm, or's ***** defiled?
with turn of little light see smile that's shy

she lifts him up from crib of purest white
on changing table she lays little one
fresh, no new diaper, she picks him up and
his eyes gaze up with the shade bluest bright
love sounding in voice, mother hums to son
she starts to rock him back off to dream land

shimmering through trees
wind reveals in shadows lay
newborn fawn by doe

a fierce guardian will stand
with flaming sword
guarding Eden's gate.

I found her in the bathroom
With silent tears, facing the wall
We hadn't been back a week, but it didn't matter
Dried eyes, walked out
Teasing again
"Leave her alone"
Glaring, they went to class
"I'm Monica"
"Rachel"

A blank canvas:
Anything is possible.

Will you paint bright colours?
Rainbows and sunshine,
Full of hope and magic?

Or will you will paint darkness?
The grotesque images,
Which strip away our childhood?

The choice is yours to create.
So what will you paint?

The dragon hunted them,
the babe and his mother.
It followed them into the wilderness,
but they were protected
by the LORD.
In heaven above,
Michael and the serpent fought;
the dragon, the fallen were cast out.

It sat on the the oldest bench
in New York City's park.
There was no one around
to claim the spiral bound journal.
Approaching it with slow steps,
I looked quizzically down
and read upon dark blue cover,
"Please take me home
Share your journey,
And pass me on"
Curious, cautious
I picked it up
and began to read.
Filled with poems
I wasn't quite sure what
to make of it at first.
Yet as I continued on,
I noticed dates, places.
Seven people
had held this book before me.
Seven people
had written tales of their lives.
It started by the river,
with life in a small town
in Virginia.
Traveled West with family of four--
the youngest brother wrote that one.
A new mother found it next
and wrote of her precious child,
her hopes and dreams,
of who her daughter would become.
Her brother found the book next,
then taking it with him on his flight,
he wrote about his war time overseas.
Left in the airport,
a history professor caught sight
of the spiral
smiled at shared memories
before writing a short piece
on his journey home.
Taking it with him, northbound,
it was left at the next terminal,
and picked up by the granddaughter
of  a WWII vet, staying with them
for the winter break.
She penned a piece before heading off to bed.
Tales of life left on the living room table,
The warrior wrote about
a short piece of his life he rarely shared.
A little after dawn the next day,
he followed his morning routine,
walking through the park near his home.
Then, resting on the oldest bench in the park,
he sat the journal down and finished his walk.

Iron shackles bind wrists
to a cold, wet stone wall.
Moans echo down the hall
while chains clank in the night.

Fire flickers on the sconces
lining the corridor walls.

Footsteps draw near.
Someone is walking down the
hallway. The guards speak
of a new prisoner's arrival.

What time shall he arrive?
Where will he be kept?

Someone important--
that's what one said.
Confusion abounds at
this stranger's fate.

This place was built not for
political prisoners to be taken to.

The rest of us forgotten,
the small meal is lost.
Hunger gnarls within:
no food will come this eve.

Philosopher's stone of a different kind,
grant me now this wish of mine:

The ability to speak with anyone--
from future, present, or the past--
regardless of their native tongue,
answer any question asked.

Talent will not to me be constricted,
to my descendants shall it be passed.
Wisdom shall become depicted,
as our knowledge is amassed.

Scholars, engineers, artists, and writers--
endless possibilities for who we become.
Fabric of time, personal cyphers:
this knowledge begets new freedom.

Velvet sky stretched out
    above my head
Night caresses with
    sweet words--
Wind moves around me.

Pale glow beams softly
    from the sky
Luna charms, melodic
    whispers---
Dance in moon flower

I am a mother
I have three children
and I teach them daily
I teach them to play, to speak,
when it is best to be silent,
and how to hunt.
I have a spouse,
we are loyal to each other,
mated for life.

You fear me, hate me
simply because I exist.
History has portrayed me,
my kind as evil,
especially in your fairy tales.
Yet have you ever wondered
how many of those stories
were actually based upon my brethren?
Or, why, in these tragedies,
do you portray, a single predator
when you know we are a pack?

We are a small group,
mostly eradicated by your people.
Though we are beginning to
have births, growth--
we are still too few.
You cannot speak my language,
do not understand how we
protect each other,
provide for each other.

For a while you guarded us,
but now you call us a danger.
What have we done to you?
Why are you hunting me? my family?
Do you hate me because I survived?
because I did not die out when you
invaded, destroyed my home?
Do you hate me because you fear me?

glancing out the window,
cold slumbers on the ground
illuminated by morning's glow

alabaster trees--
hidden secrets lie within
this silent world

staring up at tallest tree,
whose seed has danced around the moon
I am awed how we are one

Mist begins to form
Thunder rumbles overhead
I feel my lips smile

Moment by moment
The sun's rays cannot peak through
I walk through the storm

Droplets fall on me
Lightning flashes overhead
Wind flows spiraled path

Rejoice in this brief
Sporadic moment of peace
From the light's harsh glare

Twirling in the rain
Simple pleasures of the past
To be a child again

Continual pour
Lasting longer that I thought
Day is nearly gone

Dancing by the moon
In the quiet of the night
Gentle rain falling

Every Christmas, birthday, or any other holiday
              where gifts are exchanged,
I am asked the same question,
"What would you like?"
Don't you know by now?
It's not gifts I want.
I don't want jewelry or clothing or  money or trips;
I don't want new books--though you know I enjoy those;
I don't want chocolate or a new phone.
Don't you know by now?
All I want is to spend some time with you.

Forest:
silent until
one truly listens to God’s
plan…then, sound burst through…and one hears
Nature

When asked, "What colour is the sky?"
Most people answer, "Blue."
But I have a challenge
That I must ask of you:

Next time the sun is setting
Or's about to rise,
Look up, I ask of you,
Look up into the sky;

Tell me of the colours
Of the purple, red, and gold,
Floating in the wind,
In the sky so very bold.

Next time some mentions,
That the sky is blue,
Remember there are more colours
Which can inspire you

.                                            Father, forgive
                                             them,” are the
                                            words You cried,
                                             while nailed to
                                            the cross which
                                            should have been
                                            mine. At Calvary,
                                             You conquered
                                          death and covered
all of my sin, so that I may enter heaven and spend eternity with You.
“Why do you love me?” I ask, most every time I pray. I am not worthy
of Your love, but freely You give it anyway. I mess up time and again,
yet you forgive it all. I’ll never fully understand, at least not while I am
still here upon this earth, and even then, after ten thousand years, I’m
                                          not sure I will. Yet
                                        continually I’ll praise
                                        You, and thank You
                                          for each new day.
                                          For all of  the joys
                                          in my life, and for
                                          the suffering too.
                                          Every trail in this
                                        life you have given
                                          to me is a way to
                                        praise who You are.
                                        It’s a way to rely on
                                        You day by day, to
                                        think of others first.
                                        And every blessing
                                         You pour out is a
                                         gift to share with
                                        all of your children.

In this time of my retreat,
I have a mission to complete:
To take the time and self reflect,
To give myself some introspect.

I'll meditate, first day alone,
Concentrate on my atone.
Twist and contort, (I'll do yoga too);
Each new level I will pursue.

On day the next, I'll pray and read
About the one who bled for me.
He's alive, oh sweet bliss,
That I shall not fall into abyss.

Sunset and then sunrise,
The new day brings a surprise.
For on this day, I shall explore:
Hike until I can trek no more.

On my last day without a word,
I'll think about what I've not heard;
And then I'll journal it all down
These qualities which are renown.


Tomorrow shall bring noise again
And with the sound, women and men.
I'll have missed the human touch,
But times they can be a bit much.