For what is past do not lament,
Yearn not for what is yet to be.
Learn to live now; in the moment
For it passes so fleetingly....

1976 we first met..
A Chicago girl that was always far to special for me.
But you saw something special in this troubadour
Our lips touched and you took me Beyond the stars

1986 you brightened our life's
6 lbs 7 ounce baby boy.....a miracle from God
We three held hands and made the union complete
Now and forever you made me so very happy

1996 we had some rough times
Held each other until the clouds passed by
Always resilient we walked together through this valley
Next peak is in sight.... are we ready for ten more my friend?

2006 our baby moves out on his own
Empty nest tears but ever so proud,
We tell each other what a wonderful son we raised
It's back to you and me baby just like 76'

2016 the start of forty years of loving my perfect mate
We plan out our rocking chair days that are just ahead of us..
You my dear made me the man I am today,
And..I'll be loving you long after my last breathe.


*Happy Anniversary Sweet Heart and lets shoot for fifty!

the vehicle of the uberstressed perhaps
her ventricle an aorta
pumping out
pressures
has to be an outlet
Iamb that I guess
makes me smile to think
I may be
that was not lamb by the way
(Lamb) the two are  identical
this was but an  
rant turned into a discourse
on the physical properties of
a type font
I apologize i myself prefer roman
numerals
CVILI
nothing...
but a syntax error
greater values
should not follow lesser ones

When my dark clouds rise

And dirt clods fly and I try

In sheer panic to replace

Rotten fruit with dull wax fruit

And wilted blossoms with

Plastic flowers and she thinks we

Will be on yet another short-lived

But cold cycle of tightrope and

Eggshell walking . . .


She comes home

With bags filled with

Apples green & red

Peppers yellow & green & red

Grapes green & purple

Plums yellow & purplish-red

Strawberries, peaches, tomatoes

Bananas & Greek salads.

 
This usually inspires me to go

Outside and make

For this setting a centrepiece of a

Vase filled with a variety of fresh

Picked wildflowers which brings

Her more joy than two dozen

Of the overrated overachiever rose.


At times this seems like

One of  few bridges back

To a healthy & colourful world.

The friendly enemy,
  or enemy friend

What matters the difference,
  or need to pretend

Either stabbed in the front,
or knifed in the back

The wound just as fatal,
  in either attack

Blood given freely,
  or blood taken dark

Veins running empty,
  leading back to the heart

To face it undaunted,
  or preyed from the rear

Deaths twins will approach,
—on the tip of one spear

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

If Sylvia Plath
Had come to me
For a ****** reprieve
Or a living loving embrace
I would have raced
To face that lovely face
I would have chased those
Dark and tempestuous eyes
To find passion release
To share one moment of peace
To hear her heart speak
With beat after beat
Even if she broke mine
If she attacked my limbs
Assailed my spirit with her fury
Even if we had to make love in a hurry
None to ever be the wiser
And maybe in the morning spend
Words and verses
Like counterfeit forms of affection
Well, that would be better
Then the release of any *******

It is just a word,
This nameless tide
That we decide
Should give us pride
This piece of land
We portioned off
With weird
Property lines
To define
What is yours
And what is mine
Who we are
And who they are
It could have been
Called anything
The name does not
Make it distinct
Nor craft a creed
Of perfection
For the world to see
Because it is just a small piece
Of a bigger thing
With a different name

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!