The clouds float on the blue,
with a painter's touch;
the sun plays peek-a-boo,
and isn't seen too much.

I marvel at the composition,
that fills my heart with joy;
at Nature's whims and fancies,
of which she now employs.

Much better than a Rembrandt,
more polished than Van Gogh;
there is a touch of wonderment,
of which I do not know.

There is a stroke of God,
that frames the lovely scene;
that captures all the magic,
on which my soul does lean.

On which my thoughts do rest,
instills me with its peace;
that moves my heart with pleasure,
with silent, splendid ease.

A new walk is welcoming,
seeing sights from new perspective;
climbing hills where I have never been,
is my choice and my elective.

The mountain looms before me,
eight thousand feet of pine and rock;
where I get "lost" among the vastness,
with no need of constant talk.

The shadows cool the early sun,
the breeze, refreshment to my brow;
the views are peaceful, tranquil, quiet,
I cannot put in words, just how.

The summit stays in pleasant distance,
I am content to walk its base;
circling in the foothills, far below,
I set my own sweet measured pace.

I will come back another day,
to see new sights of what's around;
today is God's great gift to me,
and in his Nature, I am found.

Tell me not that time does heal,
it's all a fallacy;
it cannot heal the wound,
that You have left for me.

It cannot mend the heart,
that day that you did die;
all I have are questions,
they seem to end in WHY?

All I have are memories,
of a pain that never ends;
that tears the soul inside,
with the sorrow that it sends.

With weary thoughts of gloom,
that do not pass away;
the hurt resounds forever,
I feel it still...today.

Tell me not that time does heal,
you'd be lying if you did;
time, it has not gone away,
it's only now been hid.

I told you
not to
call again,
but you
don't hear
so well,
our relationship
is over,
face it -
we could
never jell.
We could never
share the dreams,
that lovers often do;
we could never
hold the cup
and
drink the lovers brew.
Chalk it up
to fate,
to obstacles
too strong;
we were in a
tango,
where we,
did not
belong.
The fireworks were brief,
one big spark
and one big
frizzle;
it rained on
our parade,
in one long
constant
drizzle.
We could never
grasp the prize,
that lovers often do;
we always came up
empty,

and in a moment's
time,

we suddenly
were through.

I think I can't see evil anymore,
not that it's not there I know
I turn my heart from evidence
of it's ugly show
I look for goodness in the heart
from where the sunshine glows.

The good should always
overweigh the bad
happiness should always
eliminate the sad
memories that contain the good
should be the only ones we ever had.

Smiles should never bow to frowns
no matter how your life is upside down
depression just kills the angry soul
and without, we can be whole
there's more to life than
just one role.

Be content and show your love
be a friend to all that really need
we are our brother's watchman
and for his assistance
we all must heed
if we do not
then all of us will bleed.

A delightful walk at daybreak,
the air is fresh and cool;
clouds adorn the mountains,
and I am Nature's fool.

A hiker with a walker's stride,
I climb about with pleasure;
and gaze at distant visions,
whose lengths I cannot measure.

The breezes keep me well refreshed,
the quiet, grants me peace;
over old familiar trails,
whose beauty does not cease.

In grand September sunshine,
the month my soul was born;
I watch the dance of bowing grass,
on this fine autumn morn.

I tilt my head and drink the wind,
and I glance around the bend;
laughing with sweet regret,
that soon, the day must end.

Engaged in quiet conversation,
I asked how you had been;
you looked truly marvelous,
so nice to see you once again.

How were the kids and hubby?
you showed a picture from your purse;
then said you were divorced,
but things could be much worse.

He gave you pain and alimony,
but not amenability;
on how to raise the children,
on that he'd disagreed.

But you had to leave or wither,
your fruit was dying on the vine;
and when you asked for peace,
he said he didn't have the time.

Is there something I could do I asked,
to smooth out this bad news?
you've already helped she said,
it was nice of you to schmooze.

The hills are calling from my mind,
I have to act or else complain;
that my feet are sluggish ones,
that these days are way too plain.

I wash my face and grab my keys,
my sunglasses and my wide brimmed hat;
take along some water from the frig,
lean down to softly kiss the cat.

So I begin to climb the first of many hills,                                                    the morning's bright with rising sun;
I hear the footfalls of a runner,
he jogs on by, on his early run.

The blood's now racing in my aging veins,
propelling me to carry on;
I view the mountains with delight,
it's now my solitary song.

I reach the crest and I am labored,
with a quiet, sweaty tiredness;
but for my efforts, I'm rewarded,
by an inward, soul-filled happiness.

I wouldn't be alarmed
if you should go;
I've never been afraid
of mice you know.
I wouldn't watch you
take your leave;
I've never been the type
to sit and grieve.
I won't shed tears
now that you've gone;
we were miscast
and never got along.
I'll clean and wash
just as before;
prepare my meals
shut every ******* door.
With closed curtains
I'll cherish privacy;
I'll be a glad recluse,
if by chance, I need to be.

I'm dressed in blue and green today,
the colors of the mighty sea;
the color of the earth and sky,
flow in my veins through me.

Bicyclists climb distant hills,
'neath clouds of silver-grey:
bright dots among the landscape,
pedaling their hearts away.

I've never seen the grass this high,
nor so many shrubs in bloom;
Queen Anne's lace, lupine flowers,
dance in a breezy tune.

The monsoon rains have come,
with all it's frightful power;
with hard and driving force,
instead of just a shower.

Half a year's total comes quite fast,
flash flooding in dry creeks;
but nothing escapes water,
as it's own level it soon seeks.

Then the sun regains its throne,
once more, the sunny reign;
dispelling all dark clouds,
over shadowed plain.

What is this song today?
that I hear in my head;
that implants memory,
that to my mind does wed.

It's the song of Nature singing,
with eagles flying high;
with clouds a-swirl in heaven
in thunder's mighty cry.

It's the sound of lovers laughing,
from the scent of some sweet vine;
that invigorates the senses,
and stirs the docile mind.

It's the song of tearful joy,
when the music is just right;
the comfort of a peaceful sleep,
that takes us through the night.

That's the song I hear today,
that's the song that never ends;
that's the sound that heaven loves,
the music that God sends.

Nothing grows in concrete,
it's hard and unforgiving;
it don't allow for growth,
for things that nourish living.

No thing grows in cement,
it stifles out each breath;
where oxygen can't thrive,
it results in only death.

Concrete is for building,
walls we cannot climb;
barriers that separate,
where the sun can't shine.

Cement is for highways,
to speed us all along;
in chariots of metal,
apart from Nature's song.

Nothing grows in concrete,
it has no heart or soul;
the more we do without it,
the more that we grow whole.

The splattered skunk lies
spread eagled on the road,
creating a new white line,
where none existed before;
I fly on by at seventy-five
wrapped in  my race car mode,
the skunk is mangled badly,
his inner being has no core.

Huge black ravens hippity-hop,
as I close the gap between us,
nonchalantly, as if to say,
hey- I was here before you;
I watch them dodge me and
I mutter out a silent cuss,
the mess is hardly recognizable,
a mass of protoplasm I call goo.

The stench of dying musk prevails,
gets you coming and gets you going,
I breathe though my mouth,
but the odor still is prevalent;
there are dead animals on the street,
dried blood not longer flowing,
bigger ones can wreck your auto
or leave one hellacious dent.

We **** them this way or another,
with guns and our pollution,
some that were, are now no more
extinct, or **** close to it;
I wish we could pass a law
or come up with a resolution,
that saves all creatures from our wrath,
before the day we rue it.

I have no green thumb,
the flowers see me coming
and laugh,
the roses are smothered
by the aphids climbing
their stalk;
they pay no attention
to my consternation,
they just balk.

I have inadvertently killed,
green plants and their seed;
no matter how I fuss and fume,
for me, they have no need,
they often seem not to care,
when I set out to ****.

I cannot tend a garden,
no matter how I try,
somehow, they see me coming,
as if to watch them die,
regardless of my sigh.

My thumb is never green,
I can't control my nurture;
they wither on the vine,
look as if they've been tortured.

I must choose another hobby,
before I lose my mind;
a thing that don't mind dying,
as I learn not to be unkind.

Peace fills my heart,
when I think of You;
content with life and love,
Your presence make it so,
and always see me through.

Peace reigns in my mind,
when I sing Your praise;
safe in Your loving arms,
with Your armor on,
as I live out my days.

Peace dwells in my soul,
my thoughts are free from sin;
I block the barbs of harm,
turn aside the lust of eyes,
don't look back at where I've been.

Peace is my great spirit,
from the anchor of this flesh;
avoiding paths of pitfalls,
resisting great temptation,
of things that cannot mesh.

Peace that passes understanding,
it's the only peace worthwhile;
to follow His commandments,
and it's to Him alone I answer,
through all trouble and all trial.

The rains beat wildly
against the hard earth;
seeking entrance to the womb
that gave them birth.

Causing flash flooding,
in gullies all around;
minor flooding in
several parts of town

The gusty winds blow
havoc,  with all things light;
enabling some of them,
to rise in unexpected flight.

Tumbling in the rain swept street,
they spin and race in fury;
like startled things they fly,
in one big, storm-filled hurry.

Monsoons hit the Arizona plains,
dust storms, hail and lightning,
thunder booms her mighty voice,
when close, it's rather frightening.

The leaf is set to fall,
crimson, yellow, brown;
'tis the autumn of the year,
when all the leaves come down.

I love the crunchy sound they make,
when the foot falls ******* them;
the dying leaves surrender,
now broken from its stem.

They dance across the highway,
they swirl and churn with glee;
but do the people notice?
sometimes I think, just me.

In the hills of old Vermont,
the maples are the best;
so bright, the falling leaf,
so separate from the rest.

Like us, they are unique,
with the fashion show they bring;
they call tourists from all states,
and cause one's heart to sing.

I blot the sun out with my thumb,
don't want to burn my eyes;
it's hot enough to fry an egg,
someday, by god, I'll try.

I'll place it on my car's hood,
in the middle of July,
in desert heat outside of town,
I will let it fry.

I'll take a magnifying glass,
in the case that it need be;
and my widest brimmed hat,
so the sun will not scorch me.

I'll take along some pinto beans,
huevos rancheros of a sort;
on corn tortillas with red sauce,
if it's good, I'll take snort.

A Mexican fiesta dish,
with jalapenos too;
then I will burn my mouth,
before my meal is through.

The bench I rest on,
is not fully in the sun;
but today is rather mild,
and my walk is nearly done.

The quiet is a stranger,
the traffic's almost nil;
no breeze to stir the air,
the pace of life is still.

Bill William's peak is to the north,
a mountain man of years ago;
the hills of Prescott to the south,
bask in the morning's glow.

In 5,000 feet of altitude,
I am parked upon this bench;
reflecting on life's journey,
and its sometime monkey wrench.

I note that I am satisfied with love,
daily walks; music and good books;
my mind contains glad memories,
of life's ever-changing looks.

The morning's light is soft and tender,
I sip my coffee - greet the day;
the hummingbirds are sipping theirs,
the world is silent in its play.

The sun is climbing in the heavens,
spreading warmth, erasing dark;
the rains that fell from days ago,
slowly lose their puddled mark.

The summer's touch is halfway gone,
it's such a subtle blend of light;
when days grow short and fold,
the evening, with the night.

The seasons come and quickly go,
in life's great passing scenes;
leaving fading memories,
of what their passing means.

The morning light is soft and tender,
it will not last too long;
I greet it with a lifted cup,
and welcome it's sweet song.

Fall graciously or do not fall at all,
sin you do not know befriends you;
you do not care to listen to its call,
you are changed, when all is through.

You fell from grace and hurt your soul,
maybe you did not know wrong;
but your conscience knew inside,
that this was not the same old song.

An angel of light she looked to you,
her mystery a sought desire;
she caused your fall and wound,
and burned you with her fire.

We can't know all there is to know,
we're blinded by the golden veil;
we cannot hear our loved ones cry,
when we  begin to fall and fail.

Fall graciously or do not fall at all,
you have no guide, but one;
ignore him at your soul's great cost,
you've a battle yet, that isn't won.

Your blood spills haphazardly down my shirt,
as I hold your still warm body close to mine;
savoring the moments of your last breath,
as our souls and spirits inter-twine.

Your last words to me were garbled,
I could not make them out, I swear to God;
perhaps you cursed me with your dying breath,
but what the hell, that's not so odd.

It was not me that took your life,
it was a shot that came from over there,
the bullet pierced your skull and brain,
and I could only stand and stare.

Too late to save your tortured brow,
too late to stem the awesome bleeding;
but it's a mortician, not a paramedic,
that soon your being will be needing.

I ease you gently to the ground,
on top of leaves that now are falling;
with autumn's colors mixing with your blood,
and my eyes are full of tears- (I'm bawling).

You were to good to die at your young age,
you'd a life that was not yet half done;
but no one can determine their demise,
that fall beneath the dying sun.