People lounging on the grass
the tents, they form design,
displaying wares that no one buys,
the walkers stroll with their canine.

Arts and crafts and food vendors,
it's a human carnival;
they're shaded by the trees,
the shapely elms stand tall.

The boys are throwing Frisbees,
there are picnics in the making;
there are people in the shade,
it looks like naps they're taking.

It's noon-time at he Courthouse square,
and the fair is simply bustling;
panhandlers at the corners,
it looks like they are hustling.

I take the public viewing in,
amused at their charade;
the only thing that's lacking...
tomorrow's grand parade!

Basking in the summer sun,
warm breeze against my face;
spring is now an afterthought,
of spring... there is no trace.

The heat is dry and sauna-like,
there's no moisture in the air;
the humidity is nil,
in cloudless skies so fair.

The shaded porch is refuge.
to Sol's intensive rays;
a novel "kills" some time,
of endless, sunny days.

My day begins at five a.m.,
with coffee and a walk;
it ends at nine p.m.,
with mundane, t.v. talk.

This is my retirement,
the golden years fly by;
at peace, with solitude,
that's me, myself and I.

Give us now, our daily bread,
feast upon the staff of life;
know the peace of love,
that subdues all strife.

Know the bliss of joy,
that stems from Him alone;
that lifts your every burden,
from which you can't atone.

That removes all blemishes,
that used to bring you down;
that caused you all the pain,
that caused your brow to frown.

Be blessed by His abundance,
that never knows an end;
that shelters you from harm,
that comes around the bend.

Give us now, our daily bread,
the food that Christ can give;
the strength to face tomorrow,
the happiness to live.

I am done with my addictions,
the smoking and the drinking;
the "running"  after women,
what was it I was thinking?

Truth is, I wasn't thinking,
and so, I rolled in sin;
with no thought of tomorrow,
or places I had been.

I was young and ignorant,
couldn't see the road ahead;
couldn't find my way back home,
and I got lost instead.

Was it me or was it Spirit,
that turned my life around?
that shed the evil doings,
that made my body sound?

Like to think it was the hand,
unseen,  but strongly felt;
that softened up the toughness,
that made my anger, melt.

'Twas the genesis of faith,
the steps I took toward Him;
that freed me from my past,
and took away the sin.

It's Your morning Lord,
take me where I want to go;
away from all the politics,
of public face and show.

Away from Trump, Obama,
let me hear the Holy Spirit;
let me feast upon your Word,
draw my soul to where it's near it.

Give me peace of mind,
not the broadcast of a killing;
take me safely to Your shelter,
let Your blessing make me willing.

The choices made are all too wrong
don't they know the path they're treading?
without You to guide them,
they pick roads they now are dreading.

It's Your morning Lord,
I sing out with praise;
keep me free of evil,
all my live-long days.

You're really too **** far away,
to realize,  I matter;
too aloof from contact,
for my heart to shatter.

So I send you unread messages,
don't know if you got them;
there seems to be indifference,
we cannot mend or hem.

That's the way you wanted it,
me cut off  -  and ostracized;
I tried to swim to safety,
but the water was too wide.

Your forgiveness never came,
you seem to stay within a shell;
you taunt me with your silence,
for me  -  a living hell.

You're really too **** far away,
to reconcile the matter;
my poem is now in limbo,
just useless,  wasteful,  patter.

Outside, the snow is gently falling,
the fireplace is lit and burning;
I read a book, that I've been stalling,
inside of me, the heart is yearning.

Yearning for the days of times ago,
for the love of my New England days;
when no reason was enough to know,
the why  and wherewithal  of ways.

To find the joy, in just the simple things,
to find a peace, that envelopes the soul;
a snowfall, that such a scene does bring,
to garner joy,  that makes one whole.

My love is writing poems to stir my heart,
she sits,  contented,  by the open fire;
of my life,  she is the major part,
I look upon her with sweet desire.

New England winter on this summer day,
brings back a memory that's fine;
it was  my thoughts that were at play,
I drink the last of summer's wine.