Nothing is there to see in the sea
except waves after rolling waves
breaking with monotony on the shore
swelling and succumbing to sands.

Nothing is there to see in the sea
except the colour of the water
ever changing in harmony with the sky
and the lives that come ashore alive or dead.

Nothing is there to see in the sea
except the thunderous silence of night
teeming with silvery moon's glow
and the sprays that kiss like a lover.

Nothing is there to see in the sea
except the one eternal picture of life
birthing in aggression and dying in submission
afloat on the waves of transitory desires.

I received the word, just the other day, my neighbor,
A very good friend, for many, many years, passed away.
Instantly, I had a hollow feeling inside, as I reached,
For a tissue, to wipe a few tears from my eyes.
I’ve been in the same situation, many times, the sadness,
Will slowly, fade, to memories of a great man, in my mind.
Each of us have a limited, life this time, a mixture,
Of years, and days, it’s a part of the original plan,
As our soul must travel and experience, many situations,
Seeking perfection, before the final judgement day.
Elmer ( Ray ) Schooley, easy on the Elmer, as Ray would say,
A dedicated family man, A husband, father, and grandpa,
Family was first to him in every way, an honest, true country man.
Many hours raising chickens, and rabbits, always making sure,
His family had food, to cook, in the frying pan. I’ve seen him,
  Pick, flowers from their yard, just to see the smile, on Pam’s face,
When he placed them, in her hands.
Time will move on, the inner pain will slowly fade, then our,
Precious memories, of Ray, will be treasured, and bring a smile,
To our face, as the sun does, after a rainy day. One memory,
I will always remember, of Ray, his rooster would sneak out of,
It’s pen, he would chase it around their yard, with a fishing net,
Before, it ran away. Rest In Peace Ray!
The Original: Tom Maxwell © 04/20/2024 A.D. Ordained Minister ULM

you placed a crown
upon my head
making me feel
like i was the queen
of your castles
little did i know
they were made
of nothing but sand
then the tide crashed in
and swept them away
hushed promises
forgotten by morning.

A sparrow sang for breakfast
the robin sang for tea
Death by misadventure
the magpie holds the key

The jackdaw sang for supper
the nightjar at midnight
The major sips his sherry
as the conscripts fight the fight

Then as the sun rises
and the day begins again
The salmon swims the river
and the deer runs the glen

So, the fisherman packs his tackle
and his glasses for the sun
While the hunter wore his stalker
and loads bullets for his gun

Then we ponder at life's menu
as we drink a glass of wine
Whose time will it be tomorrow
it could be yours it could be mine

Here lies the dead wishes of men
once alive
the dense shrubs hide the pain
weeds thrive.

Here lies a grieving heart
once much joyous
the windows are broken and hurt
bricks break like glass.

Here lies the power of wealth
once pompous
now in ruined health
seems it wasn't all that precious.

Here lies the remains of heydays
once vibrant
with bones the jackal plays
reminds time is a tyrant.

Here lies moss on the wall
once finely painted
now dark and dull
the air is serpent scented.

Donald Trump’s on trial - the first of many.
It’s a cold feeling, being judged
- with your future held in the balance
(Ok, that sounded SO much like college life).

We all hope for greatness, I believe.
As kids, we see ourselves winning Wimbledon,
or standing on the gold medal podium at the olympics.

Donald Trump was a controversial president
I think that’s fair to say - some saw greatness,
others - not so much - but I think Mr. Trump
has what it takes to be a great prisoner.

First, he’ll eat practically anything
and he’s used to both paying for ***
and working with criminals.
I think he’ll have greatness ****** upon him.
.
.
songs for this:
Secrets (Your Fire) by Magdalena Bay
POSE by MICHELLE
Hi-Fidelity by Lava La Rue
Leave it on the Dance Floor by Hope Tala

sweet bird of budding april's pretty wing,
sat in the willow where the catkins grow,

enchanting like the river's winding flow,
small chatterbox that always loves to sing,

the blossoms kiss the sky whose wandering
finds vast crusades where fleeting warriors go,

true to their loves e'en in the bleakest snow,
or some princess who finds a sapphire ring.

enchanted lands, the bird sings in the tree,
so long forgotten once found near and far,
where streams wind yonder where the bluebirds play,

on honey branches by the windswept sea,
as if they whispered underneath a star
of princely gold the beauty of the day.

Winter’s releasing us from its perpetually gray and gloomy grip.

Who can study in their room, on a beautiful spring afternoon?
Azaleas assail ya, with champagne petals of bubblegum fuchsias,
they blush in near neon reflection, with a mathematical, fractal perfection.

Courtyards that were once dark and uninviting, frosty scenes,
sport impromptu manicured carpets, of flawless, vibrant greens.

Dogwoods explode, abruptly overnight, with cherry blossom whites
they blush like brides on parade, they sachet, swaying flag-like bouquets.

Ordinary maples become emerald queens by unfurling avocado, hunter and chartreuse leaves,
accented with vibrant electric limes and honeydews, as if to say, ‘We too can please.’

New life stretches, almost yawning, in the seemingly reborn sun, insects hum as they cultivate,
birds flit excitedly, as if to say,  ‘Why’re you inside? Come out and play - why do you even hesitate?’

I know there’s something in spring that’s irresistible, pheromonal, hormonal, surfeit and emotional.
Is it the solar zenith angle or the sun’s declination that produces these delightful inclinations?
.
.

Songs for this:
Funky Galileo by Sure sure
You get what you give by New Radicals
New World Coming by Cass Elliot