Beyond tragedy, there is a hidden strength that comes to the fore.
Strength to do what must be done, welling up from deep with in our core.


Fortifying us, pulling us up on our feet, when our steps falter.
Helping us to guide others, who are victims of the Assaulter.
Allows us hope, when there is none to be found, and sadness invades.
Showing us, with new eyes, that which will be our future and bright days.
It is that same strength, that lets us say our good byes to loved ones,
continuing on, keeping pride in them and our Nations Sons.
With it we embrace the blow that has been dealt us, making us stronger.
Defeat is never spoken.  We live with the changes and fear no longer.


It is our strength, that binds this Nation as one, above the cries.
For America may bleed, but we shall not ever lie down and die.

If you want to see the country side,
You could use any mode that you choose.
What better way than a bicycle ride?
No need to hurry and miss all the views.

Side by side you could ride on your way.
But, there is just something missing when you do.
For a leisurely romantic day,
may I recommend a bicycle built for two.

Actions speak louder, overtime.
Remaining unspoken between two hearts.
When souls, mated as one, entwine,
small gestures, will play their part.

Remaining unspoken between two hearts,
a need, that will fill the void.
Small gestures will play their part,
in keeping the romance deployed.

A need that will fill the void,
in an otherwise cold existence.
In keeping the romance deployed,
you break down all the resistance.

In an otherwise cold existence,
your faith in each other will hold.
You break down all the resistance
and learn what the heart's always known.....

Your faith in each other will hold,
when souls, mated as one, entwine
and learn what the heart's always known,
actions speak louder over time.

Now this was way back in seventy-five,
when seat belts weren't worn, to keep you alive.
On a winding, ocean highway, we drove,
the weather, clear and sunny at the cove.

As we came to the spot that goes round,
my husband, then boyfriend, did slow down.
He reached for his seat belt, he never used,
then said, "Maybe you should put yours on too".

We drove round that bend, then it happened.
It was like a big hand was the weapon.
We were hit with such force we both did wobble,
in our seats, then we saw our new trouble.

We were sliding quickly across the lanes,
heading for a guardrail that would save us pain.
But we missed that saviour rail by quite a ways.
Down the grassy hillside we slid sideways.

At that moment, went by, two speeding big rigs,
trying to pass side by side round that bend.
One had been in our lane, coming head on,
the other, his bumper, along the guardrail, slid on.

Coming to a stop between a tree trunk and large boulder.
Our car had started to want to roll over.
Being held there, with two wheels in the air,
Railroad tracks, fifty feet were below us there.

We sat and took stock of our fortunate good luck.
We could have been mowed down by either truck.
As for hubby to have just then, used a seat belt,
something guided him, he was sure that he felt.

We both managed to crawl from the tilted car,
there were two dents in the door, we were jarred.
As we began our long climb up that hill,
we noticed the air go perfectly still.

The car moaned wanting to finish it's roll,
as a train flew by on the tracks just below.
At the top of the hill , we could only stare,
and relive, what had just happened there.

Our lives that day had been saved more than once.
Of evidence of what had transpired, there was.
The tree, where the rear of the car was seated,
was recently uprooted, falling just where needed.

The dents in the door were hand sized
and spread apart from each other, just right.
As though a divine source from above,
had given our car, a much needed shove.


Note:  This is a true recounting of what took place
while hubby and I were driving
along the Oregon Coast Highway 101
in August of 1975

It was a lifetime ago...just yesterday,
when rain fell softly upon my face.
That spoke to me of younger years,
with all my innocence thus encased.

I could feel the rainbow...just out of reach,
all the colors of moments passed.
Where truths were lies and lies believed,
countless, as grains in an hourglass.

I can bear forth the torch...yet not burn the eyes,
to scald away truth's stench and decay.
Why can't we hold to the dreams of youth,
that was a lifetime ago...just yesterday?

My love lies 'neath the fragrant boughs
of pine, within yon stand of trees.
Where upon a bed or ferns he did deeply drowse,
whilst locks of hair were tickled by the breeze.

I sat near to count the seconds pass,
till he would wake and espies my vision there.
Then into his arms I would fall at last,
loving away the longing of these past years.

Silver moonlight contrasts a God like form,
in leather breeches and shirt of linen.
Four years he was gone, I had been forlorn.
There he lay so close to home and kin.

Lashes rest upon sculpted cheeks of bronze,
hiding from me eyes of liquid brown.
Eagerly I awaited the sun of dawn,
to show me more of the marvel I had found.

Yes, my love lies now 'neath the fragrant boughs
of pine within yon stand of trees.
Now eternally he does drowse,
as I fatally grieve down upon my knees.

For as the sun rose upon his stubble face,
I saw the lines of pain and of bloom erased.
Of life, my frantic hands, could find no trace.
What game is this so cruelly played by fates?

With the moon, as our chaperone,
for miles, the beach, is ours alone.
Your hands, rest, within my hair,
holding me, enraptured there.
While you feast upon my lips,
waves, about our ankles, slip.
Their caress, is smooth and soft,
while yours, leave me wanton, lost.
The ocean breeze, cool and light.
Yet, I am afire, now, this night.
Time, stand still this night, I plead.
For more of him, I do greed

This, the first time, beneath moonbeams,
of summer love, I feel the steam.

Always saw my eye rolls, even when her back was turned.
Somehow she knew when I was in trouble,
no matter how well I thought I hid it.
Perceiving my fears and anxieties
and the teenage uncertainties of life.
Told me when my young heart was overflowing with love
and in later years, the secrets I never revealed.
She knew when to give me space or a needed hug.
She knew that I would find my own way in life,
so she passed her powers on to me.
Now that I have been a Mother myself,
I understand now, just how it is, a Mother always knows

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.

You are the cooling breeze,
which does soothe my fevered brow.
The sweet water, that does sate,
my parched views of the here and now.
So whispered, your words of love,
as to hear within the bower,
a poetry of chaotic rain,
falling upon the morning flower.
A moonbeam, which guides my night,
when unsettled, I rest not.
So gentling, to my mind,
when a calmness, I have sought.
All these things you are to me,
your very soul, these do impart.
Love brings new meaning when, so dear,
I am nestled against your heart.

An echo of your breath,
softly sets upon my ear.
Lays within my very depths,
resonant words I can hear.

Softly, sets upon my ear,
the lyrics of our souls tune.
Resonant, words I can hear,
heartbeats join the gentle croon.

The lyrics of our souls tune,
sings of velvet bonds that bind.
Heartbeats join the gentle croon,
of a love that transcends time.

Sings, of velvet bonds that bind,
the essence of what we share.
Of a love that transcends time,
life has nothing to compare.

The essence of what we share,
lays within my very depths.
Life has nothing to compare,
an echo of your breath

An echo of your breath,
softly sets upon my ear.
Lays within my very depths,
resonant words I can hear.

Softly, sets upon my ear,
the lyrics of our souls tune.
Resonant, words I can hear,
heartbeats join the gentle croon.

The lyrics of our souls tune,
sings of velvet bonds that bind.
Heartbeats join the gentle croon,
of a love that transcends time.

Sings, of velvet bonds that bind,
the essence of what we share.
Of a love that transcends time,
life has nothing to compare.

The essence of what we share,
lays within my very depths.
Life has nothing to compare,
an echo of your breath


Written in Pantoum Form

Roses from his garden,
grace the bedside table.
Resting there just in case,
her situation becomes stable.
He holds her hand, gently speaks,
of things he's done that day.
A tear drop slips down his wrinkled cheek,
afraid she'll stay this way.

A petal drops from a bloom,
as her breathing alters.
Buzzers sound, nurses rush,
her situation alters.
He stands aside, as they work,
the roses in his arms.
Suddenly there is too much silence,
as a nurse turns off the alarms.

Roses from his own garden,
sit in a green plastic vase.
Above the marker that bears her name,
as sunsets on his face.
He's told her that his work is done,
and soon he would be coming home.
As daylight wanes he shuffles off,
to die at home alone.

A petal drops from a bloom,
as he turns to leave.
He bends down to pick it up,
and tumbles to his knees.
He reaches out to the roses,
his heart, it stops a moment too soon.
Before he can pick her out a rose,
as a petal drops from a bloom.

Not a cloud in the sky,
Sunday chicken set to fry.
That is how I recall those Summer days.

Playing ball just for fun,
ice cream when the day is done..
Watching my freckles pop out from the suns rays

Colorful kites in the air,
Daisy chain in my hair.
Over and over in my memory it plays.

It was more than a childhood,
that Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a childhood.
It was a gift of, precious memories

Playing Barbie's on the porch,
Grandpa in his Bermuda shorts.
Big Band music on the stereo.

Playing tag with my brother Steve,
Ed Sullivan on T.V.
Listening while sister practiced her piano.

Swimming in our little plastic pool,
watching Grandpa work with tools.
Seems we were always having fights with pillows.

It was more than a childhood,
That Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a childhood.
It was a gift, of precious memories.

Slip and slides in the grass,
cold iced tea in a tall glass.
Runnin' barefoot through the neighborhood.

Gram making strawberry jam,
Hear Grandpa cheer a grand slam.
On our swing set we'd go as high as we could.

Walks down to the Rexall drug Store,
we were never, ever bored.
I know now, what back then, I never understood.

It was more than just a childhood,
that Mom, Grandma, Grandpa gave to me.
It was more than a short childhood.
It was a lifetime gift of precious memories.

Once upon a time....

When the darkness came to greet me at my door,
I would simply answer "She doesn't live here anymore".
And when the darkness prowled around my house to spy,
Why, I would simply walk right up and spit into it's eye.
Should the darkness have followed me from store to restaurant,
I'd have engaged it in conversation and asked it want it wants.
If that pesky darkness had sneaked up while I was eating chocolate,
Well, then it had to run, before I kicked it in the nuts.

But now in present day....

Should the darkness come and descend at times like these,
I am sorely tempted to embrace it, beg on my knees,
Don't wait until I sleep and dream to steal me away.
I am at times willing, even in the bright of day.
Send out your tendrils, envelop me as a blanket would,
and I will snuggle deeper still, If only I could.
But yet a spark of Once upon a time, stubbornly remains,
Just enough, on days like these, to keep me this side of sane.

Blissful night of death.
Watching the blood run thick, wet.
As rats start their feast.

Stains upon my eyes.
More stains, worse, upon my soul.
And do I care?  No.

Tell me why should I?
Is it not my true nature?
Am I not to live?

Ha!  But I am wind.
So you see, there is no harm.
You only die once.

I fear not prison.
I have no fear of gallows.
They must catch me first.

And that, they will not.
I exist within shadows,
for I am the night.

The night is for death.
The perfect time for dying
and my enjoyment.

The prey is willing
or they would not be out here.
They love a good hunt.

And hunters, they are.
They hunt the weak and infirm.
And I?  I hunt them!

Is it not as grand
a profession as gambling?
When they are alike.

A toss of the dice,
a decision to walk here.
A gamble on death.

Such as you just made.
But the house will always win.
Now, let us begin.



Halloween offering for Oct. 9th

Bringing up a child, can be difficult,
Especially one with an vivid imagination.
Constantly doing things that get him into trouble,
Always wanting to know "Why can't I".
Usually having band-aids on his knees and elbows.
Supposedly doing what he was told,
Even when no one is watching.

Instigating Trouble!

Sassy attitude towards danger,
Always the first to take a dare.
Immediately, regretting decisions while airborne.
Dirt encrusted jeans and shirt his daily uniform.

Setting sights on the next big adventure with,
Ooops!  That didn't go as planned, as his next words.

Today you bear the scars of yesterday.
Holding court, showing them off
Attention from the girls who want the bad boy.
Trouble should have been your middle name.
So, I just wait for the next call from the E.R.

Would have thought you'd have learned the first time.
However, you do make me proud.
You will always be my baby boy.

As the wind cavorts among the Palo Verde limbs,
blossoms leap, float away, according to natures whim.
Landing within the waterfall, passed from rock to rock.
Or decorating pebbled paths, tiny yellow dots.

All along, unawares, of the blooms adventure.
The Palo Verde stands its ground, knarled, strong and sure.
Yet, by bending, yielding, to a strong winds desire,
the Palo Verde won't end up upon a camp bonfire.

The next time you find yourself headstrong in opinion,
so sure you are right, that you create undue tension,
think back to the Palo Verde and its sacrifice.
Give in a bit, so cooperation you will entice.

Let new ideas dance round like wind in your mind and grow
Don't let your bullheadedness be all that you show.
Allow yourself to not be rigid, learn how to bend,
you will find standing tall so much easier in the end

Cascading blooms on twisted vines,
wrap round the old lamp pole.
Reaching out to the night time sky,
to bare their petaled souls.
The lamp globe casts an ethereal glow,
through frosted, crackled glass.
The night moths flutter round the light,
perform a frenzied dance.

As clustered flowers drape the pole,
in a fragrant gown.
New, slender vines, twine bout the top,
like a leafy crown.
light winds caress the dew dropped blooms,
send their scent aloft.
Droplets, shimmer, as tiny jewels,
kiss, petals soft.

Blooms by day are as a rainbow,
arching against the sky.
By night, the shadows mix with hues,
baffling prying eyes.

Cascading blooms on twisted vines,
wrap round the old lamp pole.
Reaching out to the night time sky,
to bare their petaled souls.
The lamp globe casts an ethereal glow,
through frosted, crackled glass.
The night moths flutter round the light,
perform a frenzied dance.

As clustered flowers drape the pole,
in a fragrant gown.
New, slender vines, twine bout the top,
like a leafy crown.
light winds caress the dew dropped blooms,
send their scent aloft.
Droplets, shimmer, as tiny jewels,
kiss, petals soft.

Blooms by day are as a rainbow,
arching against the sky.
By night, the shadows mix with hues,
baffling prying eyes.

She played the keys with an angels caress,
drawing upon emotions from love to duress.
He would come place a single rose of blue hues,
upon the ivories to express his love true.
Gently she would place the gift in her raven hair.
While from his chair he would listen and stare.
Never a time did he miss presenting his blue rose.
He enjoyed a love deeper than most men know.
The years quickly passed, as they have wont to do.
Their love for each other, like his blue roses grew.
One night from, her silver hair, the blue rose fell gently to lay
upon the ivory keys, as she did beautifully play.
There it dried and wilted before her eyes.
With tears, she looked over at him and knew he had died.

There was a time when my oldest was young, we thought we were going to lose him.  It all started with recurring headaches he would have.  These headaches became more frequent and intense over a few months.  Next, tremors started to acompany the headaches.

After countless trips to the Doctor and many days of having to leave work to go get our son from school and help him thru these episodes, I blew a gasket.  I demanded a CT scan.  I think that the only reason the Doctor agreed to it was to shut me up.  But I knew in my Mother's gut, that these were not migraines.

The day of that CT scan, they had my son lie down on the table.  They injected a tranq into his I.V.  The CT started.  I sat in an area where it allowed me to see my son and hear the technicians.  At first they were very chatty with one another.  One tech said, "He is asleep now, we can proceed."  They spoke in general terms about this and that as the scan continued.  Then the dread words were said by one ...."Oh ****!"  the tech said.  After that, silence.  No more chit chat.  Nothing.  My heart dropped.

After the scan was over, I was told that I would be hearing from his Doctor in about 24 hours.

Two weeks later, I recieved a call from the Docotors scheduling nurse.  "Why haven't you come in to see the Doctor?"  She demanded.  I explained that I was told that the office would be calling me to schedule an appointment.  The she exclaims..."You need to get in here right now.  Don't you know how serious this is?"  
WELL I DID NOW!

Long story short, he had an arachnoidal cyst.  The left temporal lobe of his brain was not there.  In its place was a large fluid filled sack.  The pressure was causing all the symptoms he had.

After more visits and much gut wrenching, the surgery day arrived.

It went well.  He has a tube implanted just under the skin that runs from his skull to his belly to let fluid drain.

But the place I want to guide you to now, is in the Hospital room.

There was our son.  Lying in the big white hospital bed.  he himself, almost as white as the sheets.  his head bandaged, tubes everywhere.  In the room with me were two friends from work and our younger son.  Two years younger.  So he was 5.

As our son started to wake up, his first words were.."Where's my brother?"

His brother flew to his side.  "I'm right here!"  he said as he grabbed his older brothers hand.  Very weakly Jess was able to say   "I love you Mike."  Mike in turn said  "I love you Jess."

That was the one and only time I cried during the whole ordeal.

Jess made a complete recovery.  No Problems.  The rest of his brain had taken over the work the temporal lobe was suppose to do.  A miracle.

What I found so amazing was that I never once shed a tear during the lead up and the findings and the aftermath.  Not untill I heard those words expressed by my sons to one another.

Most children would want their Mother or Father at a time like that.

Nope!  My boys were joined at the hip, so to speak.  Those few words spoken to each other confirmed the special bond I knew they had, that has never wavered.

Bees in a hive, making honey
United, in duty, for the colony.
Zestfully searching for hours,
Zig zagging among the flowers

Sunrise, their tunes they deploy,
Oscillating, their songs of joy.
Nesting and putting on a show,
Greeting the bees as they go

Deep within the canyon flows,
a sinuous fluid gem.
Speaking in whispers deep and cool,
to ancient rock walls it skims.

Rusting oak leaves set sail upon,
the back of this rippling jewel.
Past Heiroglyphs and forgotten caves,
to trade secrets in shallow pools.

Majestic pines lean over sandy banks,
as if to peer at their own reflection.
While the Willows weep at the beauty of,
a liquid diamond's song of pure perfection.

Fate always has and always will,
hold the deck and deal the cards.
The "House" has the advantage still.
In the Casino of life, play and play hard.

Play to have fun, yet , play to win.
Just keep this fact, as your haven.
No one gets out rich in the end,
best we can do is to break even.

When we err, it is of human design.
Words spoken unhindered, without forethought,
deeds are done, not meaning to undermine.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

Yet still, our honor, is then redefined.
To offer forgiveness, true from aloft,
it is two souls you have realigned.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

Bringing closure to all those thus entwined.
Not just the transgressor, relieved of a black spot,
you placed yourself on the side of divine.
Are we that perfect that we err not?

C  Charitable with her heart
H  Honesty is her way
E  Eternally devoted to her faith and God
R  Riotously funny
I  Inspiration to others
E  Ever on the go

B  Best friend, that I never met
R  Routinely can be found playing Family Fued
I  Involved with her children
G  Graceful in forgivness
G  Gentle with her words
S  So thankful, am I, that we found each other

Silver Angels, with golden wings,                           *    
           *         wrapped in tissue, with other things.     *     *

Stockings, hand knit, by my Grandmother,
    *      *       folded neatly away, one atop the other.
        *

Favorite ornaments, growing old and brittle,                         *   *
                    that were hung, each year, when I was little.  *       *

A faded Nutcracker, that by the door, stood guard.
   *    *          A lighted Santa, that would always grace our yard.
     *

All, left alone, in the attic this year.                              *   *
                   To look upon them, only brings dry tears.  *    *

The very act, just...takes away my breath.
  *     *         There is no joy.  In fact, there's nothing left.
       *

There will be no twinkle lights on the mantle.                      *  *
                    No evergreens, fragrant and ornamental.   *    *

The radio will be silent, the baking oven cold.
  *   *           No Holiday spirit, in my heart can I hold.
    *

Just this deep, defeated feel.                                           *   *
                   A sadness that invaded, refusing to heal.   *   *

Grandchildren will call, their excitement clear.
   *    *                   In their hearts, they hold the Holiday cheer.
      *

I'll have my mask, firmly in place.                                             *   *
                   I'll answer and question them all, with false grace.  *      *

Then as I hang up the phone on the wall,
      *          I'll turn away, as though nothing happened at all.
   *

Seeing these things, listed here, in print.                                *   *
                   Just leaves me numb.  No emotions were spent.   *    *

So, I will continue, in this life that I live.
   *     *        Like a dried Christmas tree, with nothing left to give.
      

The clouds cry for me once again,
expressing what I cannot say.
Helping release, from deep within,
a sadness that seems to invade.

Since it is my eyes run dry,
the clouds cry for me once again.
Falling just for me, from the sky.
Such gentleness upon my skin.

Upon my window, rain peers in,
just stopping by to say hello.
The clouds cry for me once again,
comforting me when I feel low.

So when it is my tears I've shown
and the healing can now begin,
so that I shed tears not alone,
the clouds cry for me once again.

She tells warm lies through lips cool as frost,
while her eyes cast frigid glares.
Her backhanded barbs, sharp as steel,
strike like ice crystals in your heart.
Infidelity coats upon her like a sheen of ice.
Beauty and slippery deceit, rolled into one.
And yet, you stand, as a man made of snow,
not truly seeing, not speaking out.
You slowly die, waiting for her to thaw.
A snowball in Hades stands a better chance,
than you, to win her heart.
For within her veins runs soiled slush
and her soul is an Arctic wind.

My husband has a special gift,
that, in a way, I have myself to blame.
He doesn't just selectively hear,
creative hearing is his claim to fame.

My simple request; "Can you come help me a sec?"
Will garner a  "Sure I'll have some coffee."
So, what do I do?  I get him a cup.
Wondering if he had really heard me.

I guess it's just a marriage thing,
that comes with the territory.
That a man will hear what he wants to hear.
But, for creativity, George gets all the glory.

You see, rather than risk "Whatever you say dear."
Not knowing what he is agreeing too.
He slips into creative hearing mode
and says what he wants me to do.

In a faded dress she wore, of crimson and pink pearls,
on her pedestal she sat, parasol, she did twirl.
Though age may have faded plumes and placed lines on her face,
she refuses to give up on dreams of silks and fine lace.
She knew that her lovers, would be coming back to her,
to once again, furnish her with jewelry and rich furs.
Through the years she waits, her mind slowing slips away.
Insanity took control, while vanity takes sway.
As her lovers did marry off, or just died away
and her peers morals, of fidelity, won the day,
less and less, she was in demand, as a paramour.
Vanity and ego, sealed her fate for evermore.

Vanity and ego, sealed her fate for evermore.
Less and less, she was in demand, as a paramour
And her peer's morals of fidelity, won the day.
As her lovers did marry off, or just died away,
insanity took control, while vanity, takes sway.
Through the years she waits, her mind slowly slips away.
To once again furnish her in jewelry and rich furs,
she knew that her lovers, would be coming back to her.
She refuses to give up on dreams of silks and fine lace.
Though age may have faded plumes and placed lines on her face,
on her pedestal she sat, parasol she did twirl.
In a faded dress she wore of crimson and pink pearls.

Curious. How we view ourselves, while on the slab we lie
Knowing forever shut, earthly windows, our eyes
Modesty behind us now, embarrassment we don't feel
Our flesh, we don't cringe away, from the frigid stainless steel
To look with no emotion, incisions, from the autopsy knife
Every muscle utterly still, relaxed as never in life
No blood to rush a blush, our cheeks a pallid waxy grey
Lividity of our skin, shows how in death we'd lain
Enevitably we will be reduced to a dusty grime
Either by an uncaring fire, or the mercy of time

There came a tapping at my door
as evening shadows crossed the floor.
Upon my throwing of the latch
a wind the door blew from my grasp.
On my stoop why there did stand
A strange enigma of a man.
his ruddy lips were quite out of place
with the paleness of his face.
His head did sit on a long elegant neck.
He wore impeccably well his suit from Strohm & Beck.  
His feet were incased in the finest red leather.
With golden threads they were sewn together.
When he did ask if he might enter within
His voice was gravely as though in use it had rarely been.
I bowed and bade of him to warm himself by my fire.
For to deny his request I instinctively knew would be dire.
I offered up a glass of Bond,
Which I am well known for being very fond.
He raised his hand to politely refuse.
I noticed he was looking slightly amused.
I grasp my glass of double scotch neat
and tried to look calm as I took a seat.
He then sat back relaxed deep in my favorite chair.
What he said next did on end stand my hair.
"I am Death." he simply stated as fact.
I must admit, I tossed my double Bond straight back.
"I see". I replied trying my nerves to quell.
"I have heard about you." There! I thought that sounded quite well.
A grating chuckle he then did give out.
"I have come for you Sir." I then passed clean out.
Upon my regaining my senses I saw,
sadly I had not been dreaming after all.
There the man Death did simply sit.
Just looking at me as though I were a half wit.
"You misunderstood me dear Sir,
I come for conversation, as it were."
Well now that just befuddled me all the more.
I covertly judged my distance to the door.
"As you may well imagine as happening,
the ones I collect aren't up for chatting."
Well I could surely understand
I doubted I would have want to talk as a dead man.
I decided I might as well go ahead and ask.
As it seemed of my senses, I was suddenly lack.
"Why did you happen to select me?"
"When more scholarly men I know there to be."
His bottomless eyes gave nothing away
as the ends of his mouth slowly curved he did say.
"You have a certain... shall we say flair" He stated while he chuckled
"For being a man who stays in his cups." Oh, now that did rankle.
"So no matter how much you swear tonight the truth
no one will believe, they'll assume you were....juiced."
he settled back deep into the plush chair whileI rankled.
Stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle.
"Do you like my boots?" Wiggling his feet and gestured with his thumb,
all the while acting as if we were the best of chums.
"Why yes, they are the finest made I'll wager. Where did you get them?
No! I don't need to know. But I bet I can guess not from some beggar."
And so the night continued on with a storm ragging
and our idle conversation never went lagging.
We spoke of books and fishing holes.
Lovers lanes and Political moles.
He beat me in a game of chess.
But it is at cards, that I cheat best.
He inquired of the widow Clarke.
I told him about the neighbors dog that barks.
he said he couldn't help me there,
The dog wasn't slated in until next year.
Slowly dawn began to rise.
I could barely hold open my eyes.
When finally he rose to take his leave,
A cold kiss on my forehead he gave to me.
I am sure I stood there in open mouthed shock
While he faded from sight calling "See you tonight at 10 O'clock.
Now for the rest of the day I have a full on quandary to fear.
When the clock strikes ten, was he coming to converse or to collect me from here?

My Halloween offering for Oct. 10th



Eeeeeeeeewwwww!  Kind of like snot.
Communication between our world and the spirits.
Telltale sign of a ghostly presence.
Occupational hazard as a ghost buster.
Proof positive?  Or just the kids toy "Slime"?
Leaves a lasting impression when seen and felt.
Always makes for a great scene in a movie.
Scientifically, it is part of a cell.
Mysterious!

Keeper of the past, Mother of the future,
reclaiming death, so as to offer rebirth.
Embracing us all in your nurturing womb.
A living organism, that holds us,  Earth.

Carrier of whispers, spoken by the stars.
Mercurial mind set, as you do portend,
changes of the seasons and of coming storms.
The very breath of our atmosphere, the Wind.

Giver of light and warmth, to our darkest nights.
Within your dance, renewal on a pyre.
Hypnotic temper, fuels cycle of re growth,
ashes to ashes, we rise from the Fire.

Elixir of life, able to move mountains.
Drop by drop, your  are natures perfect sculptor,
the very essence of deadly gracefulness.
Undulating rythym, that we call Water

Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, does not stand alone.
Working together, they make this planet home.

Beyond yon roof, of sod and thatch
Beyond yon door, of wood and latch
Beyond the reach of man's morals
Beyond yon hedge of thicket Laurels

Dwells a creature in forest veil
Dwells one, that lives, beyond the pale
Dwells, who takes victims with care
Dwells, who with, blank eye does stare

Watch, it does, from beneath the moon
Watch, it does, from shadows bestrewn
Watch, it has intent to bespell
Watch and feel its brace impel

Whilst, I hold, dreams sempiternal
Whilst, I invite, days be final
Whilst, I take last, sweet breath
Whilst, I embrace my lover....Death