I look in the mirror
And see an old face.
My youth has absconded
at a frightful pace.

Where is the bounce
that I had in my step?
It seems at a cliff, in
my life, it had leapt.

It seems only yesterday
My life was so full.
The business of children
And life was a whirl.

An old woman you see,
But my  life is like yours,
Gone in a blink, not
keeping the scores.

Good times remembered
And always will be.
But sickness of heart
will be my final decree.

For people can see
in my eyes so clear,
That the way of my life
runs down my cheek,
   (in a tear)

When I answer to God
I will hold my head low,
And hope that he sees
I have nowhere to go.

For life went so fast
Seemed I had no control.
Forgiveness I ask Him.
Please take my soul.

SPRING IS
Rainbows and flowers,
Umbrellas and showers.

Easter eggs and bunnies
And bees making honey.

Green grass and daffodils
And hiking on new trails.

Gardens and fishing poles
And leisurely strolls.

SUMMER IS
Sunflowers and kites
And kids riding bikes.

Sunshine and shade,
Hot dogs and lemonade.

Sandcastles and waves
And long lazy days.

Home runs and sliders
And flying new gliders.

FALL IS
Long walks and sweaters,
Touchdowns and headers.

Red leafs and golden,
Soon to be stolen.

Pumpkins and costumes
And witches on brooms.

Turkey and dressing
And family blessings.

WINTER IS
Snowmen and scarfs,
Getting warm by the hearth.

Ice skates and hot chocolate
And gloves in your pocket.

Trees all alight
And cold winter nights.

Santa and sneezes
And little baby Jesus.

It seems to me that the happiest people are people who barley have the,( I won't say necessities because that would mean to much to most of us in the US), let's say people who barley scrap by. Every day is a challenge to scrap up enough to eat and drink. These people seem to be closer to their families. They laugh more. They share more. They know what is in their brothers heart as well as what is in their own. They live a simple life spiritually and a hard life physically. No TV, no media, no Hollywood. Sometimes I wish I lived somewhere like Ethiopia or a hundred other places on this earth not bombarded every minute of every day with things. THINGS that are not important. To live where just to survive the day and have people to rejoice in that survival with is enough. Body and soul I long for the happiness that comes from a day well lived. We have become a nation that knows not how to live but how to be entertained. We never slow down to feel what's in our heart or to feed our souls. If we never listen to what is in our own heart how can we know what is in another heart. Oh just to live and not to judge. Is that possible? Can it be possible when we are bombarded with the latest, the greatest, the best of fashion, phone, game, religion? Who knows what I could do if I didn't have everyone telling me who or what I should be. And believe me it changes daily.  We all look at these " less fortunate" people on TV or in a magazine and we feel sorry for them when it is ourselves that we must feel sorry for. What is to become of us. We are a most intriguing people, we who have done so many amazing things, and yet most of us feel sad or lonely. Yes, you have a beautiful home. Yes, you have people who love you. But wait, how do you know they love you?.....well of course they love you, their suppose to love you, after all you love them.....right. I mean that's the way the story goes....right?  You know the story, the one you saw on Lifetime yesterday, while your loved ones were doing....ah what were they doing? Oh yes, your son was playing that new game, you know " **** Zombie ****" on that PlayStation or Nintendo or something like that, and your daughter was at the mall buying the latest thing to make her feel beautiful, and your husband was.....well he was doing something on the computer. How can you love someone if you don't know who they are. How can you love someone if you don't know who you are. All of this technology may be bringing the world closer but who needs to know the world when they don't even know their own family....,or their next door neighbor, the one that shot himself yesterday. No one knows why.  Please people , I beg you, put down the phone turn off the TV, go out on a date( not at the movies), but somewhere you can talk and get to know each other. And if you don't know what to say just say what's in your heart. After all that is what truly matters.  If you can realize that most of the things in your life are meaningless then you too can have a life well lived. In the end isn't that all that matters.  So for now I am signing out and switching off, and tuning in to my life.  For all I wish is to have a life well lived.

There comes a moment ,in your life,when you wake up and know that it's just you and God now. And you wonder if you've done enough. The kids are raised, the house is payed, you finally get one moment to reflect on your life. And you wonder, am I good with God.  There is a line in a movie that I like, that say's, "A real poet creates something beautiful and leaves nothing of himself in it." When asked if that is what he had done, he replied, "No, we were going to change the world, but in the end the only thing that changed was us". When asked what was wrong with that, he simply said,"Nothing, if you don't look at the world".  After all we all want to change the world, but very few of us have the money or time or ability to actually change anything. It is, for me at least, very frustrating, and leaves me with the question ---What can I do?  I am fifty-four years old and have little income. I make simple rhymes and post them on a website, in the hopes that they will touch someone somehow. That is why I believe that poetry shouldn't be just words or rhymes.  I believe that poetry should be emotion. Emotion because that is the only way to touch anothers soul. To be honest...no not just honest, brutally honest... To strip yourself down to that raw nerve then back up and let it fly...... hoping God says, "That's enough".

Will no one run with me through the fields,
And laugh unto the moon.
I've been too long from childhood.
I need to find it soon.

Will no one climb up in the oak,
And hang dangling by their knees.
I've been too long from childhood
Won't someone help me please.

Will no one hide their eyes till ten,
Then run and laugh with glee.
I've been too long from childhood,
Won't someone help me see.

Will no one help me make a kite,
And fly it to the sun.
I've been too long from childhood,
I need to have some fun.

Will no one run with me in the night,
And catch the fireflys.
I've been too long from childhood,
Won't someone tell me why.

This is for my sad little clown,
Who helps me up when I am down.

Who puts on his happy face,
And goes on with the daily race.

A trickster he is, that is true,
but the trick you see is not on you.

He tells himself that he is fine,
And you will never hear him whine.

But I can hear it when he laughs,
His hearts not in it , that's the facts.

The one thing that he doesn't know,
Is that I care about him so.

The words he writes, they touch my soul,
I just wish I could make him whole.

This is for my sad little clown,
A better heart just can't be found.

In the beginning of the world the earth and sky were one creature, and it was the hardest thing to tear them apart. They loved each other soooo much. And that's why it rains, the earth and the sky are always trying to get back together.

Said Mother Earth to her three sons " What good have you done today?". One son said " I have conquered for you, and have laid many down." Say's Mother Earth, " I know I could  feel their pain as you laid them in my arms." Said son number two,"I have fetched you a feast from many poor farmers fields. This feast is all for you". " I know",  said Mother Earth," I feel the grumble of many empty stomachs."  The third son said meekly," I have done nothing. I saw a dying man alone and afraid, and I used my time to comfort him."  Say's Mother Earth," I know, he speaks kindly of you.  You my son have done good."

Wind under the eagles wing,
Thoughts forgotten on awakening,
Words that in my ear still ring.
These are things unseen.

Deep inside where secrets lay,
things not said, not given away.
A look, a smell, a note on which I wept.
These are things I kept.

My heart that beats inside my chest.
My youth, my love, my joy, my best,
My hands, my sweat, my sage.
These are things I gave.

A heart that beats inside his chest.
A friend that doesn't think me a mess.
A grandchild that has stories abound.
These are things I found.

Unseen, kept, gave, or found,
They didn't cost me a pound.
A life that was undreamed of,
These are things I love.

When I was a little girl,
I thought the world was just for me.
I knew nothing of before or past,
So that's what I believed.

When I was a teenage girl,
I thought the world was mine to take.
A mighty strength I felt within,
I never thought it to be a mistake.

When I was a young woman,
I thought the world lay in his eyes.
So when he broke my heart,  
I thought love might be unwise.

When I was an adult,
I thought the world was my own home.
To busy with the kids and job,
So little did I roam.

When I was an old woman,
I thought the world to be deranged,
But as I looked behind me,
I found that I must take the blame.

Oh no here comes another one.
A bleeding heart it's true.
A hippie from the sixties,
She'll talk till she turns blue.

Peace is her main subject.
Her hearts worn on her sleeve.
That crazy woman and her cats.
She wants me to believe.

Believe that there's another way
to keep this world from fighting.
Another way to save the earth,
A earth with less dividing.

We all call her crazy,
She wants so much for peace.
She talks about it night and day.
She even tells the geese.

Her clothes are old and tattered.
Her shoes are not unique,
She buys them at the Five and Dime.
A straw hat makes her look complete.

She grows a great big garden.
She works in it every day.
Then she keeps what she can eat,
And gives the rest of it away.

She does not have a lot of money,
Or drive a nice big car.
So when she's taking on the world, you see,
She doesn't get to far.

So watch out for her, her she comes,
She's out to change the world.
She'll have to do it one block at a time,
Oh wait, was that a cape unfurl?

(And so she flew around the world)

My friend Mike
He's such a clown,
He thinks things up,
Then writes them down.

My friend Mike
He's quick with wit,
Sad sonnets too,
A master of lit.

My friend Mike
His words fill the air.
Listen closely
For truth is there.

My friend Mike
He has a heart
Patched together,
A work of art.

My friend Mike
Its been my pleasure,
To read your poems,
You are a treasure.

I have had technical difficulties, please stand by.
If I missed any ones comments, I could cry.
I love hearing each and every one of your thoughts,
But I had not checked my e-mail in weeks, there were lots.

After trying to read them all in one day.
My mind was a mess, it was severely frayed.
So again if I missed you I am terribly sorry,
But after seven hundred e-mails, my eyes were starry.

My love will never be enough
to keep you down the line.
You always had a gypsy soul,
Keeping you would be a crime.

The bird sings a lovely song,
When he sits in the tree.
Put him in a gilded cage,
then all he wants is free,

So I will always love you,
even if you must go.
But, I hope to see you someday,
To patch up this big hole.

Late last night I saw something fall from the sky,
I happened to be in the kitchen making tuna on rye.
As I looked out my window it landed in my yard.
It crushed the pink flamingos, the wife took it hard.

I stood there at the window taking in the sight,
Bright lights flashing red, blue, and white.
Then suddenly a door slid open, I was seized by fright.
But my wife had gone out the door, in her hand a kitchen knife.

As the little green man stepped out, he was looking fine,
In a tye dye tee shirt, waving his hands in a peace sign,
Looking like he had come straight from the sixties,
I think he was expecting to find some hippies.

Thinking this guy might be peaceful, I tackled my wife,
As she dropped the knife, I yelled, "He might be nice".
The little green man then pulled out a bic and gave it a flick,
As he held two finger to his lips, I realized his vice.

As I had given that up long ago, I had nothing to share.
But the little guys face showed such despair,
I went into the house and got the beer from the fridge,
And grabbed the Nacho Doritos for this astorial kid.

We sat on the lawn chairs out under the sky,
drinking the beer, eating tuna on rye.
I asked where he was from, he just pointed up.
When we finished our beers, I said good luck.

Back to the spaceship the little man went,
his steps were unsteady, I think he was spent.
He got in the spaceship and closed the door.
As I waved goodby, the spaceship took off with a roar.

I heard on the news later that night,
That something had crashed in a field, lips were tight.
But I heard a rumor, that someone was found alive.
I guess I should have told him not to drink and fly.

I am not a great poet or writer.
I am a simple girl and my soul is sick.

I see the picture everyday. It hangs by the television. Sometimes when I watch TV my eyes drift to the picture and my mind drifts back to that day.  His golden hair shines from the photographers light. I think he was seven, maybe eight, he had all of his front teeth again. His eyes laughing, his body relaxed and peaceful, so happy. I smile back at the picture; good memories. Then my mind is drawn back to the TV and the images of parents standing, waiting, hoping and praying, that they will see their child again.
                                      STANDING, WAITING, HOPING, PRAYING
Then my eyes go back to the picture. My son is now twenty-seven, doing well in his chosen trade. Trying to make ends meet from week to week like everyone else.  What an angelic face, so pure, so innocent.....so innocent.  My mind snaps back to the TV.  They say twenty-eight are dead, twenty are children they say. I fall to the floor and sob.  Tears run down my face and land on the carpet to be absorbed, for my heart can not....I don't want to live in this world anymore.....and I'm the lucky one. I raised my child. I had all those days that these parents would never have. These parents...STANDING AND WAITING AND HOPING AND PRAYING.....standing,waiting, hoping, praying.....standing, waiting, hoping, praying.   Did I use them well, my days? Did I hug him enough? Did I kiss him enough?  Did I listen enough? Did I love him enough........ I look back at the TV, at all those parents, standing, and waiting, and hoping, and praying, and I know, for their sake, I will love him more.

Some of us long to sing the blues.
We hear life sharply in those tunes.
The guitar sounds with lifes despair.
And whiskey takes you to the lions lair.

Ignorance bliss? That's what they say.
Sometimes I like to be that way.
Empty glasses distort the view,
And with the music I am subdued.

I listen deeply for what is true,
It's easy when you've had a few.
Oh heaven help the ones like me,
That sway to lifes bluesy key.

The bass guitar is right on cue.
Oh how I love to sing the blues.

I am the shadow on the moon at night. I am the lonely wolf howling, that makes your skin crawl and your mouth go dry. I am the hooting owl, I am the black cat. I am the fog, rolling in from the river, that covers your path. I am the wind that whistles around your window pane. I am the tap, tap, tapping that drives your mind insane. I am the monster in your closet, I am the darkness in the corner. I am the witches cackle, I am the soulful mourner, weeping in the night. I am the hair on your neck when a ghost walks by. I am the scarecrow  in the field, among the corn rolls neatly tilled. I am the spider that crawls over your hand. I am the silence that rolls over the land. I am the breath you hold, when you look under your bed. I am the blanket you pull over your head. I am the fears, never said, when you crawl in your bed. I am the dead, laying in their graves, with something left to say. I am your imagination, and I've come to carry you away.

In youth I looked into the sun,
I never saw the shadow.
The morning light broke on my face,
as I played in the meadow.
And life was mostly kind,
I never thought to look behind,
Never thinking of the time.
And, so it was I passed my days,
basking in the sunshine.
Then one day, I looked away,
and I saw the shadow.
I thought time, was just a line,
that never moved.....It had though.
As I stood in the shadow,
I became aware of time.
They say in the end,
it's only a wink of an eye.
So, I stand in the shadow
of my yesterdays,
clinging to my memories.
My life nearly done,
But I will not run.
For to have a shadow,
You must first, stand in the sun.

Autumn is still on the ground,
When winter ushers in,
It came to soon, to soon, to soon.
Winter was to soon.

When we were young, we had some fun,
With summer on our heels.
Then fall comes in, and chills our skin.
Still, we know how summer feels.

Beautiful eyes,
He had beautiful eyes....
That's what I remember,
His beautiful eyes.
They looked into me,
his beautiful eyes...
My soul I bared,to
those beautiful eyes.
I was left wide open,
No defenses...
He had such beautiful eyes.

The cicadas come every seventeen years.
They make a lot of noise.
You better cover your ears.
The cicadas come every seventeen years.

Little ones, don't you fear.
Go inside and find your toys.
The cicadas come every seventeen years.
They make a lot of noise.

I am old and must ask forgiveness, for I have been asleep to long.  In youth, I sang
a peaceful song, But now, those days are forever gone. In youth I took the words
to heart. Yet, somehow I never played the part.  Was it, my words were never heard,
or have I now become a part of the herd?

If one man stands against the river, what chance has he to deliver.
If two men stand against the river, twice the chance he has to deliver.

In time, we fought our brothers, with all our might, for a chance to equal rights. Just to be
again enslaved, by the almighty wage; and again to be caught in the bankers cage. But money
buys many things, silver, gold, and poverty. Our brothers south have empty mouths,
And I have lost my teeth......

If one man stands against the river, what chance has he to deliver.
If two men stand against the river, twice the chance he has to deliver.

Have I forgotten what I was to do?  Or perhaps my dreams were trampled by the few.
So a word of wisdom, I give to you.  

The man that holds his brothers head, beneath the water for greed, will be swept down the river,
Eventually.

My love, you have killed my heart.
But that my love,was just the start.
You went on to **** my soul,
and you were so very, very cold.

You, my love, lived in this house,
and only pretended to be my spouse.
A life ago you made me a promise,
But, you my love, were not honest.

Things can never be the same,
and I will give you back your name.
Just leave me with my broken heart,
And, I will find a place to start.

I, my love, will never be the same.
You have left me with the blame.
But, I will slowly pickup the pieces,
And day by day I will iron the creases.

I, my love, will live again,
A new life I shall begin.
And out of the ashes of our love.
I will become a snow white dove.

I wrote a note to the devil,
and told him to desist,
Tempting me with cake, and candy,
and all those other sweets.

You see my waist is growing,
and I can not wear my clothes.
This causes quite an uproar,
when I go to the store.

I simply will not buy new clothes,
until my waist I've found.
I know it's in there somewhere,
under all these pounds.

So everyone please take care,
cause the devil, he don't fight fair.
He lives in Walmart down isle three,
next to the rockey road icecream.

Sorry for all the confusion.
If your looking for my daily profusion.
I have come up blank today.
Seems I have nothing to say.
I know my husband will shout hooray.

If I could just turn back time,
would loving you be such a crime.
Which one is it I would choose,
the man you were, or the man I loose.

For you were young once, full of hope.
That was before your heart, I broke.
We use to have such great expectations,
Before life showed us our limitations.

You were scared of what you lacked,
And with hurtful words, I shoved you back.
For fear of losing what we had,
We lost what could have been; so sad.

I made the you, you are today,
A man lost in my angry ways.
Where to turn and who to trust,
for all your dreams, I had crushed.

But it was me, that was so scared.
And my angry words; that wasn't fair.
I loved you once and then I changed you.
What a fool I was to blame you.

Everything good starts with a pick and a guitar.  In some mystical way when the guitar starts to play, the tones and the truth and the tales ride the waves, the waves of sound in the air, in the air. If I close my eyes while the music plays, will this moment be remembered forever, forever.  The bodies around me are holding me up, we all bounce, and we move, and we move, like we're one. There is no me, only us, only us, and this BOOM, BOOM, BOOM,BOOM.  And the sound is in control, that's why they call it rock-n-roll.  Forget who you are. Forget where your at, forget, forget,... remember. You feel so small, so small,... so big.  All this love, this love, we are all made of love.  And on the way home, your ears ring and they ring and the smile on your face tells it all,... tells it all.  And the feeling is filling and satisfying.

There are some people on this planet, that came here years ago in a space ship. They are called Pickers and they came from the planet Bnegative, in the Talkalot star system. They had to flee their planet because they had amassed a great negative attitude, which caused the planet to be swallowed by a blackhole.
     You can usually avoid the Pickers if you see them in time.  Here are a few examples that will help you identify Pickers.  Pickers amass a great negative attitude that repels other people.  For instance, if a Picker comes into a crowded room, the crowd will bunch up together like a school of fish, hoping to avoid eye contact with the Picker.  Also, when Pickers find something wrong they will immediately  correct you, then go on to tell you why you are wrong, when you became wrong, and what went wrong.
     Pickers will pick, pick, pick, pick, pick at you until hell freezes over or the PickEs clothes catch on fire or dies.  In that case the Picker will immediately find another person to complain about the cold, heat, or smell, of last said person.
     There is no way to win an argument with a Picker, so it is best to nod your head in agreement until an escape route can be found.  As a last resort you can grab some poor soul  as they walk by and quickly introduce him to the Picker, then walk or run away, leaving the innocent bystander in your stead.
     Pickers believe that if someone is wrong and they do not immediately tell that person they are wrong, the earth will  then blow up.
     Now, occasionally one Picker will find another Picker and start Pickering the other Picker.  This usually ends in spontaneous combustion for both Pickers.
     But, recently, scientist have found a planet that is suitable for humans.  So pack your bags and grab your ticket to the planet Apossitive in the Farout Galaxy, where nothing is wrong and everyone is right.

I had a dream, but it was not mine.
I drew my life, I stayed in the lines.
I played it well, this game of chance.
I even had a little romance.

I finished school, I kissed a boy,
And when it was time, I was not coy.
I had some kids, I raised them well.
I trained them to be like everyone else.

I had a husband, a dog, a cat.
It was a dream, that is a fact.
But it was not mine, and that was fine.
I tell myself that all the time.

Music is like an ocean,
each ebb and tide a different emotion.
And down below, in the deep,
a little of my soul I reap.
A part if me I thought asleep,
is woken with each wave that peeks.
A song, a line, a memory in time.
I pull them in on my fishing line.
Some notes flow smoothly with the tide.
Some notes break hard, a real rough ride.
Some songs bring joy, some bring pain,
but I am hardly ever maimed.
And when my compass, I do question,
Music shows me which direction.
So when my Captain sets sail for home,
I hope I leave a pleasant tone.

Grief is a monster, that lives under your bed.
And in quiet times, he creeps into your head.
Grief like a thief, comes to steal your mind.
And whatever he leaves for you, is very unkind.

A sorrow so deep, you feel you will drown.
And you cry and you cry, when no ones around.
Yet life goes on, and you go through the motions.
And you try your best, not to show your emotions.

Grief is always there, just under the surface.
He yanks at your heart, till you can't find a purpose.
But grief equals love, and love never dies.
So I'll find you some day, where the angels do fly.

I heard of a woman who lived in the hollow.
Her screams were so sad you could feel her sorrow.
There's a house in the woods, just north of the creek.
They say she still lives there, but she never speaks.

Her husband came home drunken and mad.
The baby was crying, what he done was real bad.
Some nights you can see her wading the creek.
She splashes the water; her baby she seeks.

They say you can hear, on clear starry nights.
A small baby crying, and a poor mothers fright.
But don't stay to long; he mourns for them too.
He walks through these woods, looking for you.

They say that he hung himself the very next day.
And a pact with the devil was what he had made.
To get back his child, he must do the devils bidding.
And he walks through these woods, taking the living.

You know poetry is like standing naked on a busy street. But in a way it's very freeing. I don't share my poetry with my freinds and family. I guess I'm kinda scared to know just what they'd think. It's kind of like my ***** little secret. Things I would never talk about in real life, I can lay to rest on paper.  Well that is if I can get to a peice of paper before I forget what's in my head. That happens quite often, but what can you do. I am well into my fifteys, and have the attention span of a nat. I think that's what I want to say.  I'm not quite sure how long a nats attention span is. Come to think about it nats can be pretty anoying.  God I hope I'm not anoying. Oh well what was I saying? Hey, can I get kicked off this site for aimlessly wandering through other peoples minds?  Oh, back to the point. I do think I have one. POETRY is kinda like walking up to someone on the street and asking," Do you like my underware?"....  Dam, I burnt the cookies.

Back in the day my Grandpa'd say,
When neighbors lived down there a ways.
He had a horse could jump the moon,
And he'd scoop up stars with a spoon.

And everything my Grandpa'd say,
I knew it for the truth.
But Grandma she would wink her eye,
And shake her head taboot.

I played in fields my Grandpa plowed,
while Grandma set the seeds.
And Grandpa'd find a worm or two,
and throw them at my feet.

And after dinner Grandpa'd sit and
talk about the time, the dust blew in
so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
And Grandma never blinked an eye.