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A weasel will commit a massacre within the henhouse as sure as a politicians tongue will wag without respite , be it attached or severed !
Copyright October 26 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
A baby , focused on a mobile , struggling to reach the stars , crescent moons and baby ducks ! A proud young lady voices her admiration , urging her child to explore ! The moon lit room , filled with toys , a dressing table and a rocking chair , tonight the precious interaction between mother and child continues ! Warm milk , rhymes , a kiss on the cheek , a dusting from the sandman , beautiful sleepy eyes , puppy dog dreams and raspberry skies !
Copyright October 31 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Don’t leave me yesterday
Turn the clock back please.
Twenty four hours went by
Much too quickly like a sneeze.
You can tell I am trying hard
To keep a sense of humor here.
But no matter how many jokes
You still aren’t anywhere near.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.


Don’t say goodbye yesterday;
Those words hurt to hear.
Please come back to me today
And stay at least one year.
Perform a miracle for me, please
By inventing time travel
And do it quickly, love of my life
Before I begin to unravel.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.


Change your mind yesterday
And let’s make future plans.
If you pack and leave yesterday
Today is out of my hands.
Stay with me, please, yesterday
And today and all tomorrows.
I crumble inside and want to cry
Overcome with my sorrows.

Twenty four hours is forever
When it’s all about yesterday.
I find no way I can be strong
Now that you are gone away.
So, I really want to do it;
Turn the clock back some way.
That way I can say to you
Don’t leave me. Yesterday.
~

dusk brings a chill
o’er the ocean,
this secret stage
where twilight fades
in regent haze;
transformed, replaced
with slow drift,
swirling, mist
softly rolling in.
above, the sand,
a salt-washed beach.
a brimming tide
awaits release
of curtain rising
far above, and there,
like bio-luminescence,
she shimmers in the ether;
ancient existence,
always with us,
seldom seen,
her light serene.
a fresh emergence
each moonless night,
a shimmering of colors,
like a nightly bow
an arch of
color-filled delight.
though this night rests,
not drawn and taut,
exuding peacefulness;
her horse in all its glory,
feeding in her pastured stars.
drawing, telling
children wonder-eyed
of her richness,
of her treasures,
loving, storied skies,
light years in the making.
her curtain lifted,
these moments served,
to but a few.
a sacred showing
to our breath-taking,
memory-making eyes.
hovering in her milky skin,
she dazzles, beckoning;
her adieu at sun’s return,
at our rising disappears.
awaits another
night's re-appearing,
her celestial flow
like a river of
imagination, rippling,
much to our surprise,
a gifting
to awakened eyes,
never captured,
only living on...
in memories,
in moments raptured.

~

*post script.

inspired by Mathew Newman,
of Mathew Newman Photography
who captures the night sky so skillfully,
of the milky way rising above the pacific ocean
along southern oregon's secret beach.
his name for the photo that inspired this,
"Celestial Flow", of course.

sorry, i am not permitted to include links
but simply add www. to both these below and you will find what inspired me:

facebook.com/MatthewNewmanPhotography/
or
matthewnewmanphotography.com/wp-content/gallery/gallery-1/CelestialFlowWeb.jpg

Never give up
on your dream...
because you never
know what the
Lord can
bless you with.
Kelly Rowland quote.
Take all of my belongings; pictures of
Beloved ones and grandmother's bible.
Just leave me a piece of paper and my
Will to describe the memory of my losses.

I take the pen for granted, as one does when
Leaving a bank in deeper debt.
One man's advertisement is another poet's
Tool.

I, Poet, would arise in the morning and praise
My tiny square of window, even with its
Iron bars.
I'd find poetry in prison wall profanity.

I love losing. Crying over love, over
Tragedies the size of full history book pages,
Timeless art lost in gallery fires, bad poetry
Gone viral and unpublished classics discarded.

I, Poet, laugh out loud in disbelief at sunsets
And other banalities.
Take spring rain showers and act at times
Like a hipster on ether; a hippie kissing his  

Last tab of acid with the heart of his tongue.
I care less than the unfree.
Drink water; wash my feet with wine    
And walk miles and miles of fire.

I, Poet.
Ink in my veins, fountains of blood on my
Pages. I write no diary, keep myself between
The lines.

The areas of white between the words.
The opposite of
Nothing. It is where gods,
Truths, and the poet's way of loving

A dual life lie. As
Unseen as
Unhidden, in
Broad daynight.
Life is not about us, but rather what we do with it here on earth.
Life is not about making ourselves feel good here on the earth.
But rather making others feel good through encouragement.
For it is easy to make yourself feel good here, some live for it.
But to put someone else needs above one self , that is a good thing.
For its quite easy to keep focusing on your self here on the earth,.
But to focus on others and make them feel better about themselves.
Now this is the beginning of becoming an disciple of Christ here.
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