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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

OH LORD, OH LORD.
How can this be.
I get home to be assaulted by my TV.
OH LORD, OH LORD
They are only children.
This can't be happening, not again.
OH LORD, OH LORD
The children, the children.
Oh Lord the children.
What have they done?
OH LORD, OH LORD
The parents, the parents.
Oh Lord the parents.
Told to go home without their children.
OH LORD, OH LORD,
The shooter, the shooter.
A torn up soul. A torn up soul?
OH LORD, OH LORD
The horror, the horror.
What's to happen.
OH LORD, OH LORD
OH LORD, What's to happen now?
And the President cries.

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.

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.

There he stood against the world,
a boy not yet a man.
In a world that gave him lies,
he did not understand.

He lived his life without a thought
of what would then come after.
A life without a loving heart.
A life without much laughter.

Then one day a young girl came
and told him of the truth.
The boy just sat and thought a while
and then said "Where's the proof."

The young girl said there is no proof
in faith you must believe.
She pulled a Bible from her purse
and told the boy to read.

The boy then cried for quit some time,
at last his heart was filled,
not with hate but with joy,
his fate at last was sealed.

A baby boy this day was born,
His life for him He'd given.
Now the boy would live again,
For all his sins forgiven.

Now in the park an old man sits,
a Bible in his hand,and to the girl
with tears in her eyes, he say's,
"Don't worry there's a plan.

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".

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.

I think I was born to live by the sea.
Somehow it lures me, away from my home.
It lures me in pictures, it lures me in song.
It lures me in colors, of turquoise and green,
And colors that I think, that I've never seen.
It lures me in dreams, it lures me in thought,
It lures me in waves, who's lyric I've sought.
It lures me in, with crystal white sand.
It lures me in ways, that I don't understand.
It lures me with sunsets, It lures me with song.
It lures me with lust, after a day so long.
Yes I was born to live by the sea.
It calls to my soul, be free, be free.

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.

As I sat, the subway groaned into motion.
Across from me , a face without emotion.
We sat in silence, the old woman and me.
Her face was worn with the struggles she'd seen.
Her body was frail from a life to hard,
It was clear to me she had played her last card.
As I looked at the woman, I could see in her eyes,
ghostly memories of people and days gone by.
I gave her a smile, but she lowered her head,
As if to say, " Don't ask... don't ask about the dead".

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.

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.

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.

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.

Heaven was busy today.
Twenty-eight were killed, they say.
Hearts were broken today.
Twenty were children, they say.
For all of them we pray.
The President cried today.
What else is there to say.
What else is there to say.

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."

The days have passed without fanfare,
as I quietly stood by.
I no longer dream of youthful things,
though they linger in my mind.
Most days have been pleasant,
Yet nothing great my life.
I went from child to wife to mother,
In only a blink of the eye.
Now children they have gone their way.
And husband has no words...



But silence has it's place in life,
   a moment undisturbed.



Days spent can not be bought again,
and it's not for youth I long.
I wish only to be remembered
When I am dead and gone.
Remembered not as Plato,
No I am not so rare.
I hope only to be remembered
as a whisper in the air.
A life loved and not forgotten,
by only those who cared.

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.

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