He seemed the perfect gentleman, his friends and neighbors said
He seemed to dote upon his wife, attending her every need.
They never were seen to quarrel, their cul-de sac agreed.
Like two white swans they seemed to float upon Life’s stormy seas.
But Perhaps all wasn’t perfect; just a show for others’ eyes-
beneath the surface; a furious struggle;. Concealed with a web of lies.

So in their quiet neighborhood; so rich and well-to do.
They acted out contentment so that no one had a clue.
Until the town patrolman came and found her on the floor;
Victim of a crime of passion, stabbed twenty times or more.
Her husband wore pajamas that were stained a crimson red.
“Don’t bother with an ambulance- I made damm sure she’s dead.”
He sat with his morning paper puffing on a cigarette.
and on his face there was no trace of remorse or regret.

I can recall her I first loved when we were in our teens.
We planned to marry way too young; such was our childish dream.
In truth she was too beautiful for one of common clay
With a body like a Goddess, but I fumbled it away.

I recall another summer’s Love, so different in her way.
She was an intellectual who also loved to play.
We picnicked out at planting fields, I still recall our time
I still remember thinking she’s the best I’d ever find.

A dark eyed beauty first I loved, then a strawberry red.
I remember feeling awestruck when she came with me to bed.
Yes, she had another love and kept me on a sting.
Perhaps I tarried there too long but I don’t regret a thing.

Winter melted into spring and brought my next romance;
a lovely little brunette ; you taught me how to dance.
We shared drinks before the fire in a snug little pub I knew.
I’ll admit it wasn’t difficult to fall in love with you

Our relationship was, tempestuous. Perhaps that’s being kind.
Yet, whenever I think of you, I find some cause to smile.
You were different from the others, all the others I have known.
I remember how we treasured stolen moments spent alone

I choose not to apologize for leaving you so sad.
I regret I never said that you’re the best I ever had.

I was surely no Lothario; I was decent in the main.
I remember all who loved me and we did not love in vain.
I recall each name and face and the memories make me glad
But my wife and mother of my child is the best I’ve ever had.

There was a young lady from Cork
Who took up with a bloke from New York.
Their one night of pleasure she always will treasure
as now she's awaiting the stork.

The day of execution loomed
And Valentine awaited.
(Just how he'd roused the Emperor's ire
will always be debated.)
His jailer's daughter loved this man,
so saintly and so kind.
Tis said his prayers restored her sight;
she who had been born blind.
Upon the day he was to die
He heard creation sing
The birds were paired up in their nests
To enjoy the life Love brings.
"Please do not weep, my dearest one,
That I have run out of time.
Remember me in your heart and prayers.
With Love, your Valentine."

He never regained consciousness
In all the hours I sat there.
The only sounds were the monitors’ beeping
And his staccato gasps for air.

Each breathe more labored than the last
as feeble hope turned to despair.
His extremities felt so cold,
as I sat and murmured wordless prayer.

A good life, certainly, and full;
Honor and glory both were there
As that old soldier slipped away
and his last breath rejoined the air.

The day is grey, the clouds hang low, and, in the air, a winter chill.
Upon the beach called Omaha an old soldier stands; a promise to fulfill.
Full Seventy years ago this man, weighted down with gear and kit,
raced across this wet grey sand, and, by some miracle, remained unhit.
Friends who’d survived that longest day, and all the long days after it,
had purchased the bottle held in his hands. As the last man standing
he had charge of it:

His eyes, watery from the wind, Looked at the bottle in his hands:
A Dom Perignon Brut Champagne, the 47’ vintage year.
He thought about his comrades gone. Surely they were heroes all
Who spilled out from the Higgins boats to breach the ***’s Atlantic wall.
He felt the presence of the ghosts, all those who fell upon this shore.
Boys, really, almost all eighteen, who’d died
answering Freedom’s call .

He tore the foil with old gnarled hands; His Arthritis made a chore of this.
Thin wire held the cork in place and was so difficult to untwist.
Once free his placed his thumbs upon the curved underbelly of the cork
The cork shot free across the sand and bubbly foam
chased after it.

He was not a religious man, it seemed impious for him to pray
Though he recalled so many had, that day they bled their lives away.
How best to honor these fallen men? Who had pledged their lives, each to each.
It was then he turned the bottle down and poured the contents
on the beach.


Some would declare it sacrilege to let that vintage go to waste.
The old soldier smiled and felt at peace.
He’d seen the vintage of 26’ poured out in buckets
In this very place..

It was by accident I found it, in a box of odds and ends;
A short eight millimeter film my father made back when.
It’s Grandpa’s house up on the lake. I’d been just three or four.
The flickering images speak to me as from a distant shore.
The people who I knew and loved, who long since have passed on,
were shown as I remembered them from a time long since gone.
It is, of course, a silent reel and the colors fade a bit
but memories fill in the gaps as I remember it.
It was a perfect summer’s day, out fishing on the lake.
I imagine sunshine on my face as I view that scenic take.
My grandpa was a kindly man and, with infinite care,
He taught this headstrong little one about how we should share.
I’ve had my fill of tragedy, life isn’t always kind,.
but I know this made me smile, this serendipitous find.
Soon I must get back to work, resolving Mom’ estate.
But I’ve found a piece of Heaven here; all else will have to wait