Love notes written on scraps of paper,
placed on a mirror or in a wallet.
A few vowels mixed with consonants,
sitting just briefly, on the palate.

Our years have seen missives of the heart,
lilting soft, as snow in the wind.
There is much more to our attraction,
that keeps passion burning till the end.

Just the touch of your hand upon mine,
does stir my soul, makes my heart quicken.
My first smile of each day does come,
with your soft kiss, as I awaken.

When our eyes meet, across a full room.
Distance dissolves, there's no barrier.
I feel the rush of heated message.
Of your every move, I become aware.

In the evening, when the lights turn low,
silently you draw me to your chest.
I would die happy, just to know that here,
for all eternity, I would rest.

The water tower stands above the town and can be seen for miles around.  It has a
ladder leading up to the base of the tank.  This ladder has been climbed by countless
teenagers, for thrills and mischief and young kids answering a dare.

     Over the years, many symbols and words have been painted on the tank.  From
Highschool mascots, to hearts of love and proposals.  Flowers and Holiday wishes
joined in.

     It had always been one mans job to keep the water tank painted and to cover up
any impromptu artwork.  He always took his time about it though.  Making sure that
each message stayed up at least two weeks before he would paint over it.
     One day he received a phone call.  On the line was a little boy.  This little boy asked
the man to please not paint over his message he had written on the tank, as it was
very important.

     The man explained to the boy that it was his job to keep the tank painted and
clean.  But, that he would leave his message up there, untouched, for two weeks.  The
little boy, with tears in his voice said  "Thank you, I hope it will be long enough".

  The next day, as the man was driving past the water tank, he looked up.  He saw no
message or pictures of any kind on that tank.  He shrugged and assumed that the boy
had just been to scared to make the climb all the way to the top.

     Three weeks later, the mans phone rings again.  It was that same little boy.  Very
excited, he proclaimed  "Mister, I just wanted to thank you for not painting over my
message...It really worked!"

    Intrigued, the man went to the tank with his paint and supplies.  He climbed to the
top, set down his paint and brush.  He walked around that tank several times and still
did not see a message.  But, as he bent to pick up the paint can, there it was.  
Towards the bottom of the tank, in crayon with a young child scroll was written:

       "Dear God, pleeze let my daddy come home frum war I miss him
                                   Your frend Mike"

The years passed.  Many drawings and words were painted over by one man and then
the other, as they took the job over.  But never, the one small patch, with that heart
felt prayer.

As the windmill turns with the wind,
the storm brings much needed rain.
With each drop, renewal begins,
relieving the parched land its pain.

Sweet water of the Earth, life's essence,
within the wind, the windmill drinks.
Storing the source within a pond,
bringing the desert from the brink.

Noses catching the scent of rain,
wild Burro's enjoy their play.
Turns the windmill as the wind blows,
clouds block the sun, blessing shade.

The land breathes a sigh of relief.
Life is given back once again.
The clouds empty themselves of rain,
as the windmill turns with the wind.

As I rise to leave you, this one last time,
you sing to me of love, that once was ours.
Stopping me in my tracks, so I tremble,
as your voice slowly melts all my willpower.

I turn back to see you there on bended knee,
holding the rose that had whispered upon my skin.
Your song reaches deeply into my soul,
asking me not to leave, to keep us whole.

It is so clear, we are where we belong,
within your sweet words, we found a way to mend.
We renew our joy, in each others arms,
promising to never let the love song end.

Our life together reaches its painful end.
We both grew weary of the daily grind.
Our early years were filled with romance and love,
so if you could, for us, this one last time.....

Wake me with a rose, gliding over my skin.
Let its perfume, gently blend with your scent.
Kiss me sweetly, let it linger on my lips.
Love me with a passion, till our bodies are spent.

I will sigh and rest my head upon your chest,
dreamily listening to the beat of your heart.
As I rise to leave you, for the last time,
send me away with a love song, as we part.

Upon my cheek, lays the crisp morn,
sweet scents of Autumn, on the air borne.

Berries cluster in the Holly trees.
Birds at the thistle, eating seeds.

Spider webs with dew, are adorned.
Squirrels scurry off, with their acorns.

Leaves turn from jade green to fire,
as trees show off their Fall attire.

Wind rustles through the dry corn stalks,
whispering to me, while I walk.

There is a bite to the evening breeze,
while smoke swirling, from chiminies tease.

I watch the clouds, over the moon float,
ending this Fall day, on a soft note.

I wrote and read this poem at my grandmothers funeral.


While growing up, Toni; Steven and I
saw our Grandparents sacrifice,
so much of their own lives, without a fuss.
Along with our Mother, they did it just for us.
Though Grandpa he was called, he was our father
and in Mom and Grandma, we had two amazing Mothers.
We loved them with the clarity of a childs heart,
in each one of us, they became, so much a part.
Sadly, we have gathered together here today,
to say our final goodbye, to a wonderful lady.
Grandma was tough, she was stubborn and oh so loving.
She had about her, that special something.
That had every child in every neighborhood,
calling her Grandma, whenever they could.
I remember her ready laughter, at our antics,
and her guidance, by the seat of our *******.
The countless batches of cookies baked.
For each one of us, every year, our own special birthday cake.
The delicate Barbie and Troll doll clothes she made,
the big band music, on the stereo, she played.
The fragrant roses and brilliant dahlias, tended with care.
The home canned pears, who with the neighbors, she shared.
Then we grew up and though with Mom, we moved away,
Grandma and Grandpa, stayed in our thoughts every day.
Our sister Kristi was born and added to Grams happiness and pride,
then as if by magic, the years just flew by.
The four of us were having children of our own,
when Gram would hold them, her face fairly glowed.
Gram saw her great grand children grow into yong ladies and men,
Then came along some great, great, grandchildren.
I was always amazed, but never surprised,
how Gram, through the children, came alive.
Gram's whole essence was that of pure love.
So I firmly believe she has placed herself, in charge of the baby angels above.
She holds them in arms, that once embraced all of us.
She, herself, is held now in the arms of Jesus.
She is looking down upon us now, with a love untold.
Within her angels wings, she does now, all of us enfold.



In Loving memory of Margaret Sanford.
1918-2010