We used to play Cowboys
We used to play Indians
We used to play Pirates
Sailing swift the Caribbean

Now we play worn out Doctors
Accountants counting others millions
Now we play overworked Business Men
Stuck behind cubicles locked inside buildings

We used to climb mountains
Explore backyard jungles
Always at the ready to take
The adventure set before us

Now we set the alarm
Every morning to wake us
Not ready for the adventure
Or where it will take us

We used to fly high like birds
Not knowing our limits
Along the way take what others would say
Knowing they really meant it

Now all we do is drive
Each other insane
Putting up with lie after lie
Day after day

We used to be kids
We used to have fun
Something we seem to have left behind
The day we grew up

The poet's manuscripts
are preserved for posterity
with odd bits of his personal things
historical than literary
immortalized with passage of time
as his timeless work
perfumed in air conditioned staleness
letters sent and received
the mortal mind sending poems
desiring to be published
and outside on a falling winter day
in a dog's head
the crumbling desire
for a crumb of bread.

The boyfriend spinned the tires
On my daughter's car
As they sped to meet their plane.
I watched the tail lights
Fade into the falling snow,
And prayed,
For the power of prayer.

Angels follow me around all day
how they must sigh relief
when I finally lay down to *sleep

I crave divinity fudge during the holiday
period with roasted pecans and butterscotch
pudding
Crisp morning walks with smoked hickory
wisp , wool mittens and horehound whips
Picture perfect pinecones that crackle with
the sweep of the breeze , Ethiopian coffee
with brie and cherry danish 'neath mistletoe
topped hardwood trees* ...