50 million choices silenced,
by the scalpel and the knife;
inside, growth has stopped,
outside, there is no life.
Boys and girls, together,
now perish, in the womb;
once it was a  sanctuary,
now,   it's just a tomb.
They will know no laughter,
they will know no tears;
no loving, smiling faces,
no memories of years.
Mother did not want them,
so they were discarded;
thrown away. like garbage,
before the birth had started.
50 million voices,  silenced,
a life flushed down the drain;
the reasons,  brushed away,
in a nation -  we call sane.

In the fast lane,
life goes by too quickly;
the landscape blurs.
I gaze till I feel sickly.

I used to get that way,
on the circular merry-go-round;
I'd get off and fall to earth,
back then, it was, soft ground.

Now the earth's grown hard,
I bend, but seldom give;
the body is more rigid,
each year that I do live.

I walk with caution,  on
ground that's cold and icy,
my footsteps planted firmly,
they know each step is dicey.

I take no unknown risks,
I like my life too much;
to throw caution to the wind,
wouldn't help me much.

Why does love, seem far away,
when she sits so close to you?
so cold at times, like the moon,
romantic at a distance too.

When her sun begins to shine,
I've forgotten all the rest;
I curl myself into her arms,
my head, upon, her breast.

Love does crazy things to you,
if you try to understand;
what's in her heart and mind,
don't try to change it's plan.

She what she is and so are you,
accept that and be glad;
for you never had, such a love,
of all the ones you've had.

Love is not to analyze,
that only brings it down;
love is to enjoy your world,
no matter where it's found.

Father, we pray for a world divided,
by untruths, lies and opinion;
we pray for repentance from sin,
over which You have total dominion.
Search our questioning hearts,
and remove all that's unclean;
gives us strength to overcome,
in the faith and hope, unseen.
Father, please,  bless us this day,
with the knowledge of Your  grace;
with the peace that satisfies,
which we,  can then,  embrace.
We give our burdens up to You,
things we can't solve on our own;
we bow, to worship You, my Lord,
above,  on Your Heavenly Throne.
Father, take this solemn prayer,
and turn it to happiness;
let us then,  be a child of God,
whom You acknowledge and bless.

I awaken, to a sound of silence,
savoring the coffee that I drink;
immune to varied things around me,
I read the word of God...and think.
What's life, without a Savior's presence?
with just a world of men to contemplate?
would I feel secure about my future?
or would I stop and shudder at my fate?
This country now, appears divided,
and a "house" divided cannot stand;
is this what God above intended?
or simply man's, great foolish plan.
Do we really think we are the masters,
of events that happen each and every day?
or is there something higher than ourselves,
that unknown to us, comes into play?
I stand in awe of my Savior and Creator,
who is always,  merciful and just;
who'll give us life beyond the grave,
soon after we have turned to dust.

Passing memories, like leaves
have floated down,  lay still;
on this last day of October
there is a morning chill;
has the year passed so suddenly?
my heart,  now emptied of its fill.
A love has come and gone and
yet,  remains;
the journey comes to rest,
from different trains,
and such memories,  unspent,
they too,  will wane.
Highs and lows,  the roller-coast of life,
gives and takes away,  it's pleasure;
buries deep,  within the mind,  its
secret treasure,
and erases any yardstick, by
which we measure.
To recall some things,  would
only bring us pain;
so we remember, but the good,
thereby,  we've our gain;
although the time and place
are never quite the same.
Like autumn's falling leaves,
we've lost our tethered hold;
the grip that we once had,
was crisp and bright and bold;
but now broken, the bonds of love
grow quiet, still and cold.
;

Whatever will we do?
after we fall in love;
we will we fit together?
as they say, just like a glove.
Or will our road be strewn,
with grave misunderstandings;
like a plane tossed in the air,
with hope for a safe landing.
After we fall in love,
will our union be forever?
will we be rich or poor?
with every attempted endeavor.
Will it be like sweet and lovely?
or will it melt, like ice?
becoming a game of chance,
with each throw of the dice.
With love, there's got to be reason,
you have to involve the mind;
the heart alone is deceitful,
let's pray it is not your kind.

Agape love is God's great love -
for strangers and for friends -
for every human being -
a love that never ends.

Compassion for the future -
for the promise of tomorrow -
when wars will not exist -
in a place that knows no sorrow.

A heaven, here, on earth -
with Christ, our righteous king -
where peace will reign forever -
when all the angels sing.

Where joy will follow happiness -
where the word of truth is spoken -
where there will be no lies -
where nothing there is broken.

A world of constant sunshine -
where darkness is not known -
where agape love abounds -
where love is always shown.

Funny, I don't feel old...
but my age says I am;
this fact I seldom ponder,
as I cover my toast with jam.

Yeah, my skin's starting to wrinkle,
and I bruise quite easily;
and my hair is already gray,
as I sit, sipping my tea.

My mind feels young and eager,
my walking and hiking is strong;
yet the days seem shorter and shorter,
and the nights don't seem as long.

Age is just a number,
birthdays an endless fad;
but I realize in living,
my days are both good and bad.

Funny, I don't feel old,
though youth's a long ago fling;
the heart is always forgiving,
and the soul's a beautiful thing.

Age follows me,
like a puppy, all around;
I can't shake its shadow,
we just go round and round.

The days pass by much quicker,
the nights, they come too soon;
and in between, the hours fly,
with a crass mind of its own.

That's life; you cannot slow it down,
trying - it never seems to jell;
I'm running to a different clock,
some days, it's just as well.

With age, comes greater wisdom,
at least that's what they say;
my seriousness has faded,
but I had it-  back in the day.

So, I relish all the sunsets,
that time provides for me;
as I await the final one,
whenever that may be.

Old age doesn't slow you down
it speeds things up -
you forget things, you laugh at
certain happenings without forethought;
you drool in your sleep
talk to yourself a lot more.
Your taste-buds has memory lapses.
You watch Family Feud and consider that
appropriate entertainment.
The highlight of your day begins
and ends
at the mailbox.
(who writes letters anymore?)
Older friends you know
appear in the obituaries now and then.
Famous people that you thought
were long dead are starring in
a new television series.
You've now outlived six dogs,
and four marriages.
Your hair is gray instead of
reddish-blond (all over).
You soak your dentures instead of
brushing your teeth.
Change the batteries in your hearing aids
on a fairly regular schedule.
Put your glasses on now to read.
Take several little naps during
the sunshine hours...and
thank God for another day of life.

'Twas but a little love
that never went away
it blossomed like a rose
like the touch of spring in May

For the heart was made alive
as the days became more sunny
and the soul was stirred by love
and its taste was kin to honey

Something soft and sweet
something warm and tender
filled my mind with wonder
and the magic that it rendered

'Twas but a little love
that had its winsome way
that led me by its hand
and wouldn't go away.

Driftwood, basking,
in the early morning sun,
beside the stillness of
the water;
the day has just begun.

Warmness, creeping,
up my back and neck,
pastoral scenes abide,
at my call and beck.

Coots and loons, float by,
in a wet and dreamy landscape,
Jax and I are strolling,
it's our eight a.m. escape.

Cormorants speed by,
in fast and hectic flight,
bound for who-knows-where,
they're awesome in the light.

The walk is quite refreshing,
nature's face unfurled,
and today, at this one moment,
all's right, with all the world.

Always, You were with me
when paths were long and rough
when I failed to hear Your voice
when life was hard and tough.
When life had little meaning
when daydreams were obscured
I fought against the system
and not once was I heard.
Always, You were with me
in nights where nothing mattered
in rage where anger ruled
and lives were often shattered.
When the wind, it blew too strongly
when it stormed most every day
when there was little comfort
when bitter moments had their say.
Always, You were with me
through the thick and thin
but You saved me from the pit
and from my life of sin.

Good morning to you, Lord,
it's awfully good to see you;
you are shining bright above,
blazing in the heavens, blue.

I thank you for another day,
of life and precious living;
thank you for your mercy,
thank you for forgiving.

You are my morning coffee,
you are my welcomed friend;
knowing you stand with me,
until the final end.

I praise you in this poem,
I praise you in my prayer;
because you saved my life,
because you showed you care.

I offer up these meager words,
accept them, if you will;
the prayer and praise to you,
when my restless heart is still.

Lord, You made
all things beautiful,
from the rising sun,
to the crescent moon;
from the wanted rain,
to the ****** snow,
from the eagle's wing,
to the wailing loon.
To the heights of mountains,,
to the sand-kissed shore;
and when it was enough,
You created more.
Lord, You make
all things good,
from the taste of wine,
to the apple's bite;
from the hike to distant hills,
to the kid that flies the kite.
You gave us hope,
to face each day,
You gave us faith,
that never dies;
You gave us memories,
where sweet joy lies.
Lord, You are
my Comforter,
of endless dreams,
and strong desire;
the light that leads
me on the path,
and fills my soul
with fire.

It could be old Cape Cod,
with paths thru waving grass;
and off to one's own side,
water inlets I do pass.

With the heat and humid weather,
with a sailboat, off the dock;
with the honking of the mallards,
as the sun bears down on rock.

It could be old New England,
moist and warm toward summer's end;
with the islands in the distance,
offshore,  where pathways bend.

But it's here ... in Arizona,
where the water's just a lake;
with cottonwoods against the sky,
reflections in the sailboat's wake.

It could be memories of youth,
from the man that came out west;
who is now an ancient mariner,
whose old memories are the best.

The winds have swept the sky
like a broom, it makes things clean;
the morning's fresh and bright
the tips of mountains gleam.
A perfect summer morning
sweeps my troubles out of view;
the world is made afresh
from the other one I knew.
A light breeze is caressing
my brow, my face, my skin;
a shower of contentment
is washing me again.
Such times are always welcome
to the Lord, I give the praise;
thankful to be living
in the autumn of my days.
Thankful for the blessings;
He places at my feet;
hopeful for the future life
upon His judgment seat.

The cold never bothered me
the snow and ice never fazed
the days of early childhood
never left me dazed.
The rain was always pleasant
it brought joy to my senses
the sight of damp stone walls
were my images of fences.
The summer days spent swimming
first - like a dog might do
but I became proficient
once the summer days were through.
Autumn days were magic
colored leaves came drifting down
jumping into heaps of them
was delightful I soon found.
Seasons of a growing boy
lodged deep in memory
printed here for you to read
thanks for sharing it with me.

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.

A new year Lord -
to open up our eyes
to cleanse our hearts
to stop the lies.

Lies they separate us
from the King above
lies that break apart
the ones we know and love.

A new year Lord -
to stop the sinning
that keeps us losing
instead of winning.

Siding with the darkness
shutting out the light
making wrong our choices
ending up in plight.

A new year Lord -
to rectify our badness
that destroys the soul
and always ends in sadness.

Due to circumstances beyond our control,
we have only gruesome, tragic, unfathomable stories,
to present to you on this most ordinary day.
Thank you for your patience.
(The CBS evening news crew)

I call the hills my home,
as I walk this mound of earth;
for out it came man,
and later...came our birth.

The skies are but the ceiling,
from the beauty high above;
that change with every season,
and with the seasons...love.

Rain and snow, sometimes hail,
the weather never ceases;
only men and women age,
and with that come...the creases.

I'm a pilgrim and a sojourner,
walking on the plains;
content to live my life,
as my youth does wane.

I call the hills my home,
but not my destination;
I'm headed for a world,
of another... higher station.

Shall I liken you to a day in summer?
You are more lovely and at peace,
Harsh weather dwells in the month of May,
and summer is soon departed.
Often, the heaven's eye shines bright,
and at times, it's rather clouded,
sometimes the climate's not so fair,
and Nature falls short of perfect.
But the eternity of your summer doesn't die,
and the beauty of your years remains alive,
Death has no  dominion over you,
you always will remain upon my heart.
So long as men can see and hear;
you'll be forever with me dear.

A poem's a fragile thing,
but oh the joy that words can bring!
it makes the heart and soul to sing,
it's like an eagle on the wing.
Poems can hurt the wounded one,
before the  summer's day is done;
before the setting of the sun,
before the battle's ever won.
A poem's a fragile thing,
it will lift you up or bring you down;
words can make you feel just like a king,
or cause you to think, you're just a clown.
Poets are the healers and the fighters,
they'll mend your wounds and sorrow;
they are the soulful, caring writers,
helping you to face tomorrow.
A poem's a fragile thing,
but they speak to generations;
it is the music of the soul they bring,
to every person, of all nations.

Take a cup of Dickinson,
add a bit of Poe;
a pinch of Rod McKuen,
not too much you know...
A teaspoon full of Kipling,
a tablespoon of Frost;
stir it in the ***,
so not much is lost.
A dash of Robert Service,
a dash of my friend, Shelly;
a little Tennyson,
is good for one man's belly.
For sadness, add Millay,
for humor, Ogden Nash;
for adventure, Masefield,
for D. Parker, something brash.
A recipe for poet's stew,
just simmer for an hour;
and relish the aroma,
of poetry and power.

Are You running with me, Jesus?
through the tunnel we call life;
through the many slings and arrows,
of the ugly thing called strife?
Until the race is finished Lord,
we run with great conviction;
being honest with each person,
offering only peace, not friction.
Are You running with me, Jesus?
in this world that says You're dead:
in this world that chooses money,
and just gives You up instead.
They overfeed their bellies.
like their politics and greed;
they're chasing false beliefs,
they know not what they need.
Are You running with me, Jesus?
in the heartache of the night;
in the weary daytime hours,
we must go on with the fight.

What's so special about your love?
I've had several in the waning past;
they all eroded over time,
do think that yours will last?

Are you not like all the others?
fading love that disappears?
holding back the flaming passion,
through long successive years

Giving pecks that one call kisses,
hugs that lose their quick embrace;
the fleeting smile that's fleeting faster,
from the look upon their face.

Things they used to do together,
they now do...separately;
the ball and chain is heavier,
than once it ever used to be.

Why should your love be so special?
what can remove my fearful doubt?
your cherry happiness's contagious,
and I can't wait...to find it out!

The monsoon has arrived
with anticipated rain-
too little for our drought
of our arid, thirst-starved plain.
But every drop is welcome
with a fraction of its sum-
more in the days ahead
that certainly will come.
This rain fell hard and fast
cold and wet and measured-
the moisture signifying
something that was treasured.
The air,  now brisk and cool
a sweatshirt may be needed-
even just a long-sleeved shirt
is a piece of clothing heeded.
God gives us want of things
at His own pace and time-
on this high desert ground
of prickly pear and pine.

Shimmering, quivering, aspens,
bask in the evening sun;
peaks of the mountains high,
grow purple as day is done.

In the dense, dark pockets of spruce,
the streams run fast and clear;
the forest, strong and silent,
harbor the wolves and deer.

It's spring-time in Arizona,
the intrigue of nature's show;
in glorious sun and shadow,
that causes the heart to glow.

It's the stillness of the meadow,
that tempers the buzz of day;
that in quiet meditation,
shows its presence, now, in May.

I drink the nectar of splendor,
and gaze at the feast of the mind;
contented to be here... to see,
the painting, that I alone find.

At rest, with sunshine on my face,
I feel it stretch across my cheek;
warm, with Spring's approaching grace,
it pleasures me, this day, this week.

My soul's at peace, with honeyed air,
I bask contented, my worries, nil;
I've no troubles and I've no care,
the morning's splendid, calm and still.

How very sweet to be; satisfied with life,
relishing the moments, in synch with mood;
free from hurt and pain and constant strife,
no depression, no sadness; no need to brood.

It's such relief, to set aside  my weary anger,
the burden now, has left this grateful heart;
with it, I was always on the edge of danger,
how glorious it is, to see its rage depart.

What is this source, that brings me to this end?
it's faith in God and in His blessed Son;
knowing Him, has taught me how to mend,
knowing that the battle I have fought, is won.

Isn't news depressing?
No more window dressing;
it's brutal, insanely sad;
the whole world's gone quite mad.

The North Koreans want to **** us,
there's no one they can soundly trust;
the dreamers now corralled, sent home,
no more in USA to roam.

Born unaware, of any place,
they find their roots are hard to trace;
US babies, raised here, now deported,
don't return, you'll be reported.

Immigrants, at first, widely hailed,
are now the foe;  our policies, failed;
we'll build a wall to keep you out,
you'll simply have to turn about.

We've a president - Mr. Businessman,
he does things we don't understand;
he's not always right, so goes the song,
but by God,    he ain't never wrong!

We weren't meant to live forever,
here today and gone tomorrow;
Father Time has pulled his lever,
enter now, the grief and sorrow.
Life's sweet blossom fades away,
gone too soon, the gasping breath;
be thankful for this gifted day,
that doesn't end in our own death.
Sing a song of praise for living,
and celebrate this day of life;
grace the time with much forgiving,
gain the peace that obscures strife.
What we had, will pass forever,
yet a treasured piece remains;
for those we loved forget us never,
in our times of troubled pains.
Memories will last a lifetime,
and the good will never die;
and like the poetry we rhyme,
it won't fade with our last sigh.

Walking in the pouring rain, I'm soaked
in the middle of a empty desert plain
pelted hard with big , wet, chilly drops
that sting and  make me flinch in pain.

My ballcap provides a little shelter
but it isn't long before it's soggy too
I search the skies for decent weather
but there only patches that are blue.

I resign myself and say it could be worse
instead of only rain, it could be hail
and improbably it could be snow
that would be covering up the trail.

August rain, from monsoon season
is unpredictable and often rude
coming fast, without much warning
it fouls and blemishes my cheery mood.

But being the long-lived desert rat I am
I take it with just a grain of precious salt
walking in the open spaces with no shelter
forgetting my umbrella's my **** fault.

Autumn is in your eyes -
reflected from the trees;
a shining, dazzling, glory,
glowing from off its leaves.

Autumn is in your kiss -
lingering, soft and long;
I hear heaven's music,
it must be autumn's song.

Autumn is in your touch,
subtle, warm, refreshing;
you snuggle close to me,
I feel our bodies meshing.

Autumn is in your voice,
calm as an evening breeze;
sweet as honeyed-nectar,
sure to the lips to please.

Autumn is in your eyes,
from lovely shimmering leaves;
cascading down from above,
from sunshine, dappled trees.

Cotton, floating, on the wind,
like snow, comes tumbling down;
and rests in patches here and there,
white fluff, upon the ground.
The roots on cottonwoods look old,
like gnarled and calloused hands;
they rise in towering strength,
in several, separate stands.
The cormorants build nests,
up in the sky, in giant trees;
oblivious to the white stuff,
and the offspring of its seeds.
They're noisy, full of cackles,
we've invaded their domain;
we walk further from the wood,
with their heckling on the wane.
To the muddy, murky shoreline,
where my dog's paws find the muck;
I call for him to come to me,
but I'm not having any luck.
I pull gently, on his leash,
he moves from off the shore;
tramping back through wetlands,
we find the path, once more.

There's a hole in my heart,
(when you left me)
alone, afraid and unsure;
but the message of hate you sent
was more than I could endure;
so, I swept away that mess -
swept it right out of my door.

There's a pain in my soul,
(that still festers)
it follows me to bed,
it wakes me in the morning,
I can't get it out of my head;
I shudder at my thoughts,
wishing that you were dead.

Maybe then, I'd get some rest,
(maybe then, some peace)
put with you still alive,
my hurt will never cease;
if you were gone forever,
my life would have a new lease.

Somewhere, there's a shelter,
(in a place I never knew)
where the pain would fade away,
where my sorrow would not stew;
away from this turbulent storm,
and far away from you.

Baseball, the national pastime,
one of the slowest games in the world;
hot dogs, beer and half-crazed fans,
once the sphere is rudely hurled.

The rain, the wind, the humid days,
we sit for hours and cheer;
what is it about this loony game,
that to us the fans, endear?

We hate the ref, will taunt the ump,
we hoot and call out loudly;
they play the national anthem,
and most of us stand proudly.

The Red Sox and the Yankees,
the losers and the best;
it gives us fits and starts,
so much, we cannot rest.

But when that ball goes in the stands,
it's a lovely thing to see;
who can live without the game?
certainly, not me.

Basal cell carcinoma,
is dotted on my face;
my dermatologist's goal?
erase each single trace.
Patchwork, here and there,
his sutures mar my skin;
Frankenstein reminders,
of where his work has been.
A little, next to my nose,
and a little by my eyes;
remnants of his diligence,
from where my skin has fried.
It's the least invasive type,
thank God for little things;
my state is full of sunshine,
and what such sunshine brings.
So I slap on the old sunscreen,
that gooey, paste protection;
in hope that it suffices,
from Old Sol's intervention.

She never wanted love,
only to hold my hand;
when the darkness fell,
she felt that it was grand.
To cuddle and to coo,
with my arm around her
shoulder ;
she just wanted to be held,
nothing greater, nothing
bolder.
I wanted more and told her,
she'd just laugh and smile;
be content,  she said,
just hold me for awhile.
I put my hand upon her knee,
she removed it - silently;
was I too much a panderer?
was it too rude of me?
She never wanted love,
just a flirt - that's all she was;
let this love remain a ******,
because, because, because.

Heaven waits and often does,
for those that seek its prize;
hell can wait as well my love,
this corpse has yet to die.
There's too much poetry to write,
too many hills to climb;
we've more music to enjoy,
before we're past our prime.
Too many friends to visit,
too many books to read,
the soul will let you know,
just what it is we need.
Fight against the dying light,
light a candle if you must;
we've too many things to do,
before we bite the dust.

Be there with me Lord,
as I climb the mountain;
as I struggle onward,
to drink from Your true fountain.

Give me strength from sinning,
give me a touch of grace;
keep me on the narrow path,
that leads right to Your place.

Let me be forgiving Lord,
from injuries received;
give me Your just wisdom,
from which I'm not deceived.

Give me a heart that's full of love,
for every human being;
let me be Your shining light,
of strangers I am seeing.

Be there with me Lord,
still my insurrection;
and don't forget my soul,
on my day of resurrection!

Can we part and still be friends?
or is this where, our friendship ends?
is love a part of things now past?
didn't we think that it would last?

Love was meant to be forever,
not a memory of never;
we tried, but then we failed,
and without us, our ship sailed.

There was no life raft in our boat,
no solid thing on which to float;
fallen from the dreaded plank,
we floundered and we sank.

There's no revival in the end,
there's emptiness around each bend;
once we were a perfect pair,
now we really do not care.

We're just another bad statistic,
in a world that's gone ballistic;
another chapter turned to dust,
betrayal of an honored trust.

Where would I be without your love Lord?
seems it took forever, until I accepted You;
through the endless trials and tribulations,
You were with me. You saw me through.

Your the only one, I can truly call a friend,
You-the only one that's never let me down;
earthly friends, they come and then they go,
but I know that You, will always be around.

I will stay obedient to your truthful ways,
I will sing a praise, morning, noon and night;
without Your grace, the  darkness covers me,
I eagerly embrace Your Word and shining light.

Man has failed at life, and of trying to be great,
he has turned his back to God and all His ways;
alienated himself to God's commandments,
now, he's being punished all his earthly days.

Forgive them, for they know not what they do,
they are blinded by the evil prince of night;
they hear, but they don't truly understand,
against the pawns of Satan, we must always fight.

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.

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.

The boulders are too huge for me
to see too far,
they often block the sun;
but in their beauty there's no mar,
and that's what makes it fun.

I walk the peaks and valleys,
high and lows, they shine;
like walking dirt-filled alleys,
I do not see the grime.

All is what it seeks to be,
nature is unraveled;
as far as any eye can see,
these paths are seldom traveled.

Jumbled rocks of granite, old,
invite my feet to walk;
in a sanctuary of peace that's bold,
where there's no need of talk.

Solitariness is fine,
amid the boulders, grand;
in corners where the sun don't shine,
and no one holds your hand.

Breathe in, the fragrance of the morning
just past the sawn, when things are still
another day of life to cherish
get outside, beyond the windowsill

Take a little walk and stretch your legs
in the woods or open pasture
get the blood to flowing freely
don't let inertia be your master

You were made for moving, not for sitting
walk off the stiffness in your limbs
shut off the idiot's lantern in your room
put aside your silly foolish whims

Wake to a day that's spilling sunshine
bright light that nourishes the soul
if raindrop fall, don't be concerned
the one above is in control

Breathe in, the beauty that surrounds you
look to the mountains, not far away
discover wonder- on nature's trails
and thank God- for this favored day.

Dreams that die forever,
are never really lost-
they're filed away as memories,
but there's penalties and costs.

A marriage that has faltered,
a home you've never seen-
a child that never lived,
they all were once a dream.

Pieces of a broken heart,
lie buried in the dust-
fragments of a happiness,
now lost because of trust.

Voices of a distant past,
or echoes from a grave-
remnants of a moment,
lost in hollow caves.

Dreams that die forever,
stay with us, as we sleep-
as we go about our lives,
as inwardly - we weep.

Can't get enough of sunshine,
nor the wind upon my face;
can't get my fill of clouds,
or God's great, loving grace.

Can't get enough of mornings,
with the hint of pink-tinged dawn;
can't get my fill of nature,
that shouts out heaven's song.

Can't get enough of sunsets,
that fill the air with paint;
or views that look forever,
off cliffs that make me faint.

Can't get enough of music,
that's pleasing to the ear;
or the warmth of your embrace,
when you are passing near.

Can't get enough of living,
let us love until the end;
when we depart this world,
that's coming round the bend.