Cherokee woman , distant smile,
Cherokee woman it's been awhile,
let the warm winds carry your voice to me,
hear the  rustle of your hand made beads,
smell the hint of jasmine in your hair,
soft soled foot steps, I can feel you there.
Cherokee woman, distant smile,
Cherokee woman it's been awhile.
Catfish sunning in the morning light,
splash of ducklings, signs of new life.
Feel the need to close the miles,
move a little closer to that Cherokee smile.
Snow is melting  and the rivers run,
days are longer with warming sun.
Cherokee woman, shake your beads for me,
let the wind carry your scent of jasmine.
Distant smile come closer then a dream.
Cherokee woman no longer needs to wait for me.

A red feathered hawk glides across the semi frozen fairways
as  potential morsels scramble off the daily menu.
He  picks  at random , enjoys his meal, then starts his
search anew.
Such is Life.
A flat bottom ****** has found his home near the pond on  green number two.
Surrounded by trees on all sides for his **** building to choose.
Atlas he chose what wasn't wise and took a beam from someones porch.
So now he dangles at the end of a trap secured to a tree of course.
Such is Life
Wild geese come and gather round, here they found a place to stay.
Each day their wandering gets kind of wild when golf ***** sail their way.
Their droppings cause quite a mess on these wealthy mens shoes
but I laugh inside most of the time , this isn't the worse thing they could do.
Such is Life.
To me , to see nature entwine with population and still come to some course of harmony,
brings a peaceful moment to my life but mabey that's just me.
Such is Life

The taste of Life , though bittersweet,
still lingers on my lips.
Tainted with what is known now,
smeared with what I missed.
My eyes no longer all aglow,
my heart no open door.
My lips are chapped with reality,
my tongue ,silenced above the roar.
Oh Life, give me a crytal ball,
no need to be shimmering clear.
Let me catch just a sliver of a glance,
tainted lips, bile after taste , what I had always feared.
I gave, I took, I watched and often all with smiling lips.
To thank me for what I sacrificed...
you leave me to face this.....
Twist the blade you leave behind...please!

Take your shoes off,  follow me to my home.
Gonna go down a red clay road,
feel it sqeeze up through your toes.
Not to worry..bucket by the porch to wash them feet.
Come on up here, get out of this heat.
That down yonder, case the need aroused,
that my friend is called an outhouse.
Think I got most of the spiders out there,
won't eat much, don't be scared.
We cleaned up a mess of rabbits yesterday.
Fried them , plenty, you will stay?
Oh, I am sorry, no running water here.
cold water comes up with that well bucket over there.
Now we stay up till a cooling breeze,
them fans will start going, if you feel the need.
Once the morning chores all get done,
we'll take you to the lake and show you some country fun.
Will swing off that rope swing that we got *******,
some folks get real fancy, diving, flipping and such.
Me I'm kind of laid back on that inter tube,
don't need alot of splashing getting into my cold brew.
So take off your shoes, follow me home.
Got good country cooking, second to none.

Had my foot resting on the pig pen,
watching my sows bringing new litters in,
wondering if these would help ends meet.
The crops all dried in that Texas heat,
we had to find work in the city so we could eat.
That was 35 summers ago.
Stood in line with all my gear on,
about two hours before dawn,
worried if I was going to qualify.
They dropped us, rolled us
and pretty much as they pleased,
got rid of a lot of boys except me,
told me to get back in line.
That was 35 summers ago.
  Thirty five summers of doing it all,
sometimes knocked on my *** and **** near crawl,
made a life out of what I have.
Seen things I did'nt want to see,
did things that would normally not be me,
made it through most of the tough times.
That was 35 summers ago.
Hope I got 35 more summers to go.

Im in the arms of an Angel,
not for my eternal rest,
the heart beat of my Grandaughter
keeping a rythem on my chest.
Eyes that shine brightly,
new paths  to explore.
In the arms of my little Angel
I have alot to look forward.
Somewhere up in the Heavens,
a roll count is being  kept.
I am sure they will come up short one......
she's  cuddled on my chest.

They met here, not by plan but chance,
an exchange of ideas, melody, poetry,
not romance.
Each day their time and exchanges grew longer,
the strings of support becoming ever much stronger.
The words and poetry came much easier then,
the melody and lyrics rushed out of them,
yet neither knew nor confessed,
that better as two, they did their best.
The winds carried their  poetry to a listening crowd.
They gathered regular at the Corner, ready to be wow'd.
Too  much  into each others poetry exchanges,
the two continued....yet everywhere, somewhere.
things are a changing.
Who knows which one  found themself to far,
had made a promise to not get envolved.
One day the Corner only presented one,
that poet  realized the absence,  the music was gone.
Poetry and music, lyrics and words,
still on the Corner today can be heard.
The regular still come and they want to be wow'd.
One lonely poet tries to please them some how.

When men were men, Mountain men, they would shout out a small greeting to those approaching, some were very discriptive...here is mine:

Born in a blizzard, back in a grizzly's cave,
drank wolf milk, use a knife to shave.
Can out spit, out run, out shoot any known
man alive.
Can fight two or more men just to keep it fair,
now get down from your horse and tell me
what the hell your doing here!

Man I tell you I was born in the wrong century.
Open land, cooking outside, trade my furs for a good woman.
Shoot guns, drink whiskey...hell it don't get any better then that.
Course I would change a few things, like..I would need my toilet paper,
that corn husk thing , well I'm not for all that.
I'd have to figure out how to put a heater and windshield on that horse of mine too.
I'd **** sure would get me a better rifle then that Hawkins( mind you it was the rifle of its time) just to even up the score when them city slickers start trying to sneak away my whiskey.
Ah, yes just rambling. Anyways back to the real world.

I dare not hold you,
not the fear of spilling your drink
It is the constant reminder,
how you can change in just a blink.
You are the one I try to love ,
try  Oh how true...
useless to to give that a thought
when the alchol hits you.
Walked in rain and screamed to the skies,
who created such a thing!!!!
Those lips that should be touching mine,
poisoned with this drink.
Eyes that should see clear the bridges that she burns,
focus on nothing else but the next glass that she yearns.
From her perch, the barstool throne, empires crumble
at her feet.
Not caring as she grasps her refilled glass,
tomorrow's empty sheets.

The gentle wind whips the unsecured haylard along the abandoned flag pole,
overwatching the once busy parade field, now overgrown.
Here we stood, starched and shined, rows and rows and rows,
waiting for that final command, " Pass in review," oh so long ago.
The haylard, now rusting away,
used to be secured, twice, each and every day.
Like the the empty parade field, the soldiers there have come and gone,
and as if the haylard could sing a song, when will they all come home?

Got my hair slicked back, pack of red Dentyne.
Fresh brushed boots and ironed jeans.
Just washed the truck out at the lake,
drop a dime in the phone and check on my date........
last night as a civilian.
Got big plans , hope  for that long , long kiss,
bet her eyes open wide when she gets a look at this!
Been hauling hay  all summer long,
knew I was going in for the long haul.
Caint make a living on this dried up land,
got to go with Uncle Sam's plan.
So this box holds all my wishes and dreams........
we'll see....
Last night as a civilian.

Well they sat me down in a barber chair,
spun me around and I had no hair.
Troops out in the parking lot marking time,
singing this reality song to pass the time.
No Dentyne gum out here, no teenage queen,
fresh starched fatiques  and a M16.
Still got that little box in my wall locker,
still got her picture , even got that big , long kiss...
it was my last night  for alot of things.........

There, surrounded by her handmaidens, under the mystic mint leave,
lies the last of the great guardians...dying.
Born years ago , far away,  a magical birth  created from two dust dots from the Wishing Star, the Last Wish Star Guardian came to be, here to guard and priorities all wishes made by the Humans.
Dying.... her mystical powers draining from her ever so slowly. Her handmaidens weeping and confused. How can this be? A Guardian never dies. What is wrong? What has upset the mystical powers in the Universe?
Slowly the Great Guardian rises...... speaks, in a mere whisper...yet speaks.
This day is happening to me... to us....to the Universe because someone has stolen the Sacred Parchment. This  document which I have been intrusted to guard, protect has all the names and wishes that I must account for. Without it...I have no purpose...no life...no powers. It must be found..soon or I will perish and with me will die the powers of the Wish Star.
Word rapidly spread throughout the magical land and a hero was summond to take on the quest to find the stolen parchment and to save the Last Guardian. He had to be true of heart. A believer and most of all ...... in love.
Of all the the requirements, the last was hard to find yet finally the handmaidens found their champion and the quest was on.
Why did the champion have to be in love you ask? Well the answere is truely to simple for that.
LOVE CONQUERS ALL!

On the back of our property, up on a hill,
an old black oak stands still.
Spent alot of time under those limbs,
Dad and me, putting engines back in.
Him just a cuzzin and wrenches flying,
me with a flashlight  with a battery dying.
Run out of daylight and patience at times
but he'd get the old clunker running just fine.
There was time in the making with this man I called Dad,
learning in progress, good or bad.
I learned that a garage is  easier to work in,
easier to find tools thrown when the temper sets in.
Found that my daughters are not afraid of grease on  their hands,
all because of lessons learned from the man called Dad.
Those that take the time, energy , committ,
to the tasks at hand , then the name will fit.
Step up to the plate, take your stand,
welcome to the world of men called Dad.

Well there is 'shine' coming down from the Carolines,
Brothers I haven't seen in quite some time.
Each year we gather here , rain or shine,
it's the gathering, the Meeting time.
We all will stare into the flames,
pass that jug, time and again.
Talk , spit , joke and  smoke,
just alot of catching up.
Then the business will be discussed at hand.
What needs to be doing and help where we can.
Dues will be paid and treasure report.
Pass the jug for another snort.
Food will be prepared on that old trusty grill.
Fire will be a blazing to bust down the chill.
Know old Shu is going to bring that guitar out.
Sitting with my Brothers is what it's all about.
Come morning we will all fire up our sleds,
remembering the plans and what had been said.
By noon all that will be left of what happened at all,
is the burning embers and empty jars.

There is a pillow, there on the bed.
The pillow where she used to lay her head.
The pillow we slept, dreamed  and played upon.
The pillow her breakfast in bed was placed on.
That same pillow she held tight.
The one she threw after the fight.
The one I  held after she was gone.
The one I talked to wondering what went wrong.
There is a pillow , there on my bed.
The final witness of the wrong words said.

There is a road that I travel on in the back of my mind. It is where I go to  ponder on the troubles in my life.
You won't find this road on any maps  around.
It is  far behind the these troubled eyes  and the twist of my mouth.
This road is no stranger to me ,
we have traveled many miles.
Each twist and turn, *** hole and cow paddy mines,
always together though somewhere in my mind.
When I finish up the journey down this stretch of road,
I can come back to the nowaday, relaxed without a load.
Somewhere in the back of mind, near and old dead tree,
there you will find  what I left behind...
that what was bothering me.

The got down on their knees and asked The Man for rain.
Crops were drying up,looked like a bad year for grain.
The bills started piling up , the note came they'd loose the land.
They  held on tight as a family should, never lost faith in The Man.
Rain never  came across the parched land even the fish had a worry or two,
so the good folks came up with a last dith plan cause that's what good folks do.
They brought a few cattle down from the hills,
along with a few fat pigs.
Cleaned up and painted the barn ,then built a huge , fancy BBQ rig.
Got word out to the neighbors and everyone in between,
told them there would be the biggest three day gathering, the biggest they'd ever seen.
Well still no rain but no fret, there was work going on,
these folks never lost faith in The Man, they were not going to loose this farm!
Come Friday noon there came a rumble, almost like a distant storm.
No it wasn't lightning or rain, it was three thousand bikers mabey more!
They all lined up for this three day event, music, foolishness and good food.
Paid thirty dollars a head  and signed a paper they'd obey the rules.
Music filled the farm air that night and fun was had for days.
Then like the rule book had printed out, they cleaned up and road away.
Now the farm was saved and bills were paid, worries put away,
as the last biker road away in the dust....the sky opened up with rain!

It greets your nose with mixture of smoke, perfume and stale beer.
On the counter , an empty pickle jar , a few dollars in there.
Always a need for that jar , times get rough,
it's  a way we help friends and pray it never is us.
Band is setting up and sound checks going right,
few folks already here, going to be a good night.
Folks come in here to take a load off  for awhile,
some come to sip, others to get plum wild.
Barmaid looking good with that pushup bra,
boy got lucky and married her last fall.
Six days a week this bar rocks and rolls
and true to the good Lord  on Sunday we closed.
A few new boys and gals here to night,
pitching pick up lines, one might be right.
Someone will get lucky and cross that line,
someone will be in luck, get drunk  but leave the car for the night.
This old bar is a meet and greet place,
information gets passed and memories erased.
Cookouts in the back for a charity or two.
Bike wash, car wash, a  flash of skin might happen too.
All in all, this place fits us all,
I'm glad to say that I am a part of this old bar.

So tired of the phrase...if I have to explain you would'nt understand....
I want to explain so you will understand,
what makes me this way, who I am.
Explain the hurt, the misery...
the demons I deal with...the me you don't see.
I want you to understand so you don't cross that invisible line...
the line you stomp on unknowingly, oh so many times.
I want to explain, damit, just for mankind sake...
when you come back from hell, don't think  nothing changed!

Up here on this knoll,
bitter, hurt, cold.
I see them gathered , dressed in black,
offering words of pity, a hug,
a shoulder..........
ya right! A helmet full of those tears will not bring him back!
All it would have took was a "hold up Bro, put that beer down,"
or somebody calling off buying more rounds.
This live hard, ride hard, just a bunch of crap!
Down there now, shoveling life, how cool is that?
Could have shoved that scoot in the back of the bar,
threw his *** in a truck or a car.
No we had to rock, we had to roll....
now I am up here watching ,the last part of the party, down below.
  Ah the hell with all this, I need to go down and say my good beyes,
the one I am mad at has already died!

Had the wrong hair to be cool,
two left feet back in High School,
fell in love in the lunch room
almost every day.
Remember spending those High School years
working so ******* the lines for the right girl,
never even made it past hello.
Saving money to buy the right style clothes,
platform shoes, remember those?
Seems like right when I got them, they went out of style.
It tickles me now , remembering those hip hugger jeans,
half the zipper than on a coin pouch and **** sure less room,
how I even had them fit on me!
Ya, there were the guys with all the right hair,
Daddy's money and all the hot girls,
most of them are single now and all burned out.
Course I still sit and wonder , every now and then,
how that kiss would have felt and to touch that hair in the wind,
it would have been something to always think about.
The old high school days are a training ground,
lets us learn what lifes going to be about.
Reckon I turned out just fine.

I have seen too much.
Ate too much, drank too much....
danced too much..... crawled,
cried, felt, hurt too much.
I have fought too much
Killed too much. Buried too much.
Had nightmares too much, forgot too much.
Ran, carried, jumped,sled too much.
I have been lonely too much, alone too much...
worked, spent, gave too much.
.............. I have said too much.

I have spiraled this way to the ground before.
From the highest pinnacle of happiness
to be crashed on failures rocky shores.
The taste of emptiness, bile of reject.
The pain of a heart torn from my chest.
I have felt all of these way before you could speak.
Now you have laid these  same feeling on me.
I am not a newcomer to this way , I know what to do.
I have walked in the shadows long before you.
To maintain my sanity I have Black and White,
cross neither of these lines and I sleep well at night.
My heart is an *****, a God given gift.
Though I may feel like dying, I know I still live.
Me still living ..well that's the Black and White...
for if I feel pain...I know Iam still alive!
They say one day knowledge will come.
All that was said will be undone.
I  cover this thought with a pain hidding smile
I had these same thoughts as I raised you woman from a child.
They say it is sad that no words from me  to you part.
I say it is best to remain silent , only speak with my heart.
If you can not see what your actions have wronged,
then I feel such a fool  to have trusted the bond.
They say if you love it, let it be free...
if it returns ..then it was to be.
I say a Father never lets go..
for if she must run, he becomes the road.
If she must fly, he becomes her wings.
If she is in danger , he becomes the steel.
You may  deny your status , cut family ties..
but a Father is a Father till the day that he dies.

It's two days till payday and  my shelves are almost bare.
Got one or two cups of noodle and a can of beans hiding somewhere.
Not to sure about these hot dogs, seem a little too brown,
it's two days till pay day and this stomach  is starting to growl.
Two days till pay day and one roll of toilet paper left.
Squeezed the last bit of toothpaste, guess they'll just have to take my bad breath.
Reboiled the coffee, well its' still still half way black,
two days till pay day, back tire going flat!
Just saw the mail man, my mailbox is filled,
lots of "you owe us money", my fan mail bills.
Two days till pay day, cable TV just went off,
would call with the problem but it cost money to talk.
Well look out  cup of noodles, I get hungry when I am bored.
Good thing I don't have much to munch on, bright side to being poor!

In a window of an old pawn shop, you stood there looking back at me,
I could tell we both had some hard roads, two of a kind it seems.
So I went in and asked for your freedom, seemed the right thing
to do at the time.
We have traveled a many back roads, yep we are two of a kind.
Your face carries as  many scars as I have of my own.
They say it  is a note book of the lessons learned the hard way,
on the road we travel on.
We've seen the insides of most bars, back allys
and a ditch or two.
Guess there really aint much we haven't done, two of a kind, us two.
Yep I get  a new stich here and there, you get a new string or two.
Back together on the road, singing, telling, writing.
It's what we  were meant to do.
Some would say  this is crazy, the thing we  have at this time.
I say let them think what  they want. We are buds, pals...
two of a kind.

An unguarded moment let a memory unlock a door....
a place we had agreed we wouldn't visit anymore.
In the center of the room a lone rocking chair...
memories swept through me , a chill in the air.
The chair began to rock and a familiar perfume...
I was taken back to a place..me and you.
The softness of your hair,the lips, the touch...
oh how I remember what I miss so much.
Daggers of pain pierce my flesh...
all of this memory I have worked to forget.
The chairs' rocking tempo spins out of control..
the air in the room is uncomfortably cold.
I try to leave and resecure the door...
this memory  must be left...I 'm not  reliving more.
The eyes I swam in , how they turned to coal,
the warming touch that went icy cold.
Those lips that spit those final words...
I spin with these daggers..never healed from the hurt.
The demons that invaded our lives of one,
I could have helped you fight but it was not what you want.
My mind is now on full alert...gather the stength..one final ****.
The door slams shut, I find the lock...
Silence  envelopes me...the chair final stops........
One tiny scratch behind the door..I hear the pain daggers drop to the floor.

Spent three days in jail, waiting for computer error to clear.
Automated customer service has me on hold, for what seems like years.
Debit card at the grocery store doesnt want to scan,
had to put back half of the groceries, not enough cash on hand.
Now they got these games,that let you bowl or fish,
all done in PJs, indoors.
Seems like no one wants to put on bug juice or bait a hook
around here any more.
Got Teenagers playing Combat games, up to level four.
Bet they would crap their pants if they had to go out of an aircraft door.
Drop their **** in middle of the night,
where bullets fly both ways
and if you  make it but your buddy dont,
then your left with the blame.
Laugh at me  and my simple ways, really dont give a ****,
wonder where we all will be when they start scanning our hands?
.........Your call is important to us , your approx wait time is......

Bloodshot eyes and a case of laughter,
a Waffle House fix is what we are after.
Find a booth and all pile in,
waitress comes up and the mayhem begins.
Oh but she is a pro,
done this a time or two,
pretty soon here comes our food.
Scraping of the forks and clatter of the plates,
we look like it's been weeks since we ate.
We got scattered, chunked, covered and diced,
heartburn on a plate and don't even think twice.
Well no more thumping head and eyes cleared up a bit,
all we needed was a Waffle House fix!

Hello Walls, I am home.
No echoes from my keys,
I must still be alone.
Wow , Walls there is something different about you.
Did you change your corners? You look different, you do!
So how was your day?  Oh well that's cool.
Me? Oh I am just glad the day is through.
Have you eaten yet?Oh , well that's fine.
I'll cook myself something. No I don't mind.
Good night Walls, it's been a long day.
No , I dont' mind if you stay up. Really, it's ok.

I feel your gaze up on me,
we've spoken not a word,
you want my hands to ****** you,
I want to be where we are not heard.
Take you to a secluded spot,
remove your restricted bonds,
play my fingers along your body,
you, me, alone.
Feel that gentle tug, then more urgent ,
demanding my response,
bending, twisting, trying to hold on!
At last, though, there seems no chance,
cruel work demands my days,
so dry up ******* of mine,
put that fishing pole away!

What if I open a door and let you in?
Show you a world you'd be comfortable in.
What if what you read in those books would come true,
tell  me, what would you do?
Rose petals floating in a bathwater just for you.
Breakfast in bed waiting for you.
Tell me. Tell what would you do?
What if I showd you that a man can do right.
Work hard all day, come home at night.
See the things that you have done.
Pass compliments on each and every  one.
Listen to you as you say your piece.
Want only to hold you in a lovers sleep.
Tell me, tell what would you do?
What if..... what if I show you that all this had been done,
even after all this , I eat at a table for two....but I am only one.

His Daddy always would stop and stare,
in the window, back in town, at the boots displayed there.
These stops did not go un noticed, to the sons' alert eyes...
yes these boots come Christmas, yes these will be the surprise.
Our world is entangled, a war we do not believe,
these wars seperate family, even on Christmas eve.
Some of our sons and daughters, husband ,brothers
and wives, all fight for a call for freedom.....some
the ultimate sacrifice.
Twas the ringing of the door bell,
a sound some have become to fear,
that brought this waiting family to the brink of endless tears.
Yet there in the door way, not a messenger of bad news,
stood the returning father, home from the war so soon.
Arms hold each other. Son  and Father unite.
This is a Merry Christmas.This is an awsome sight.
The son rushes to the tree, the present  to retrieve.
In his blind joy of his fathers return, there was something he had'nt seen.
As the boots are presented, tears run down the fathers face.
Yes son these are  the very best boots but there is something out of place.
You see I have been wounded, these feet are not really mine.
I lost both of my good ones with a few of my friends lives.
Hey though little buddy, these boots I will always keep.
This Christmas I am still home with you, it only cost me two feet!




* As Long as Our Troops  Are There, We Should Be there Too. If not Physical, then in Mind and Spirit! Ironbutt

She had arms that could hold me tight,
lips that take you to paradise.
A rock and roll heart that has to party
all the time.
She knew how to make you smile,
smart in the ways of making you
wonder why.
An expert on making the blues come around.
Some always try to get to her best side.
Think they have a chance just because she smiles.
I stand back , I know the truth.
She held me once , oh so tight,
sweat from our bodies cooling in the night.
That was before the blues rolled around.
Yes that was before ..........the blues rolled around.

Listen, listen with your heart and you will hear.
...................
A whisper...faint...clear.......
soon  a promise of love, a gift....soon.....
time is  drifting all so near.

Feel with your eyes ..... see the gift.....
the gift that the whisper promised to give...Smile

It' been ten days since I spoke to you..
nine days since my heart was torn in two...
Eight days since you spiraled at what ever we said..
Seven days since you did'nt respect me as your Dad..
Six days  days of me trying to stay calm..
five days of geting phone calls from your Mom..
four days you have slept back under my roof...
three days of us trying to work it through...
two days of us laughing again...
And one day since you said you were sorry!
But who's counting!

Oh my Love, your leaving me has taken the warmth from my veins.
Replaced it with a  river of steel that burns,
forever crashing with misery and pain.
  The lift has been taken from the wings of love,
as I am no longer cradled there with you,
I am here now , earth bound, alone....it's true..
..you are gone.
           The songs  of joy, once so resoundful,
no longer ring in my ears.
The only  sound that echoes now, the knock on the door
I had feared.
This stone that marks the place where my Love now lays,
has become my alter, my place I seek,
each and every day.
Oh my Love you leaving me has taken the warmth from my veins.
I dream of us , talk of us, whish.....until we meet again.



This is a dedication. We all think of widows during War, primarily as the females role. In modern conflicts, this role has become a shared pain. Freedom comes with  a cost. Not all price tags are visible.

She's got her head hanging out  of my pickup truck,
tracing the clouds with her fingers, eyes lit up.
So many wonders she saw with those eyes,
she loved being with me, I loved those times.
Sit by the roadside, share a cold drink,
drop a line in the water, no matter if we caught anything.
Hair just a blowing, laughter in the wind......
that was a long time ago, that was then.
Head hanging out of my pickup truck,
tears in the wind, she thinks life is all screwd up.
Won't answer my question, hell won't even talk,
I miss the times we had together,  handle on it all.
I can tell she is looking, sideways to see,
like she is trying to pull answers from me.
I keep telling her this is just a bump in the road,
aint nobody perfect, Lord only knows.
Wind Swept tears, yes this time mine,
I watch her walk  away.............
she turns....... smiles....
Dad , I'll be just fine.

I see leaves from trees, winter wind just a blowing,
making an assualt like paratroopers on folks  lawns.
I hear the geese  gather up and form their formations,
quaking loudly that they are up and gone.
Morning rush to the work has to be coordinated,
that old truck needs time to warm up.
frost on the winshield, wind just a blowing,
time for one more coffee warm up.
Evening breeze brings the smell of wood stoves going,
holiday baking  and burning leaves from the yards.
Yes I do believe ... Winter is here!

I close my eyes.....
see you there...
a touch of white lace.......
long , flowing hair.
I breath in.......
smell the fresh scent.....
ordinary shampoo.......
money well spent.
We move....
experience here......
nice and slow, knowledge, mature.
Each move countered, well received,
the  sheets lift from  a cooling breeze.
I feel.......
moist lips with a gentle part,
not rushing, moving over  selected parts.
I feel......
fingers guided by passion yet under control.
The nights journey is about to unfold.
I hear........
Silence...except your breath,
movement of lace,
the slip of the bedspread.
I sense......
it is my turn to return the pleasure,
to receive is one thing, to give is better.
I close my eyes......... breath in.....
Smile

Words  are so fragile yet powerful once touched,
whispered in the winds, needed oh so much.
Words have launched a thousand ships, spoken by men long gone.
Remembered by all who read, inscripted on granite walls.
Words seem to be unspoken when relationships slip away,
there are so many words to use...yet nothing is left to say.
We stumble on the right words to use when we try to say goodbeye,
yet all that is left to the ears is the lonesome bugle cry.
Poets around the world use words everyday,
one only has to stop and read ,  so much one has to say.
My words are just that, words on a electric page,
words that I hope, record the journey of the day.
Words...... the mind travels as the soul stays  in its safety zone,
listening for a fragile reply.
Waiting, wondering if the  words he wrote had died.

They laid a few men off at the factory.
Some how that pink slip avoided me.
Later I walked to my truck and closed the door.
I hung my head and thanked the Lord.
I cannot remember how this ship wrecked.
Why I am working now from check to check.
I  cannot look my family in the eyes.
They think  that that every thing is still fine.
I don't ever want a *** of gold.
Just be able to work for the bills I owe.
Have a food enough for my family to eat.
A roof over their head to sleep.
I'll work from sunlight to dark.
Been a working man since I could walk.
Tommorrow I'll go back to that factory.
I quess I'll see if Lady Luck will be riding with me.

I see the wetness glistening from your slim body.
You have been away from me too long.
My memory of your sweetness needs no egging on.
I can not wait much longer, we need to be alone.
You know just what  I hunger. You sparkle in your ways.
You know just how to control the rythem. A little  give and take.
You fit so perfect in my hand, made just for me.
Come a little closer, stop teasing me.
My lips are so close to you, your sweetness I am about to taste.
Man there is nothing on this earth like a cold beer at the end of the day!