Tomorrow;

tomorrow
I will write
a poem about
procrastination

i awoke

     as always,

        poetically.

     words on my mind-

on my lips.

  nary a sheep ever counted.
  
         just words in cartoon balloons-

         from my mind,

from my lips,

      to paper they go

even before
            
             my first coffee sips.

    i'm a writer.

my subconscious mind even

   plays along-

even in deep sleep,

     there are no sheep-

just pulling words from

   cartoon balloons,

       i write .....

    Poetry....

         Prose....

                    Songs.

even in the shadows of my

   dreams -

       when I've put the world

to bed ....

            i still write...

        after i've turned off

all of this world's

lights....

   i have a quill

in my head....

        that always

has ink in...

    abundant supply.

i sit
    and i
pray,

that-

       there is
a place
    away.

away from the
        chaos in this world,

somewhere-

      where my children,
     my grandchildren can
laugh
             and play
with no tears,

this is what-
        this daddy,
                 grandfather
cries.

           just to see
all of
     your smiles.....
         is all
             i ever need.

   someplace in the distance,
     where the wind  
goes  
          and knows.

  someplace where all of you,

    all of
your happiness
            and
         smiles grow.

    lives replanted
  as a seed once again,
        to bloom and
          sway beautifully
in the wind....

        once more.

Pure love
is the
simplest form
of love
which carries
no weight
no burden
no agenda
no judgement
and no
expectations
but to
love.

When love
is weightless,
natural and
void of
anxiety?

That is a
pure love.

That kind
of love is as
sweet as
pure cane
sugar.

A love that
you may
only find in
a dog and a
handful of
human beings
but,
a love that is
always present
with Jesus.

Raymond's in his Sunday best
He's usually up to his chest in oil and grease
There's the Martins walking in
With that mean little freckle-faced kid
Who broke a window last week
Sweet miss Betty likes to sing off key
In the pew behind me

That's what I love about Sunday
Sing along as the choir sways
Every verse of amazing grace
And then we shake the preacher's hand
Go home into your blue jeans
Have some chicken and some baked beans
Pick a backyard football team
Not do much of anything
That's what I love about Sunday

I stroll to the end of the drive
Pick up the Sunday times, grab a coffee cup
Looks like Sally and Rob finally tied the knot
Well, it's about time
It's thirty-five cents off a ground round
Baby, cut that coupon out

That's what I love about Sunday
Cat-nappin' on a porch swing
You curled up next to me
The smell of jasmine wakes us up
Take a walk down a back road
Tackle box and a cane pole
Carve our names in that white oak
Steal a kiss as the sun fades
That's what I love about Sunday

New believers getting baptized
Mama's hands raised up high
Havin' a hallelujah good time
A smile on everybody's face
That's what I love about Sunday
That's what I love about Sunday

every
shiny
new thing

eventually
ages,
rusts,
gets
old and
turns to
dust.

nothing
or
no one
is immune.

enjoy
the
shine
in your
life
before
you're
dead and
cold.

love
on
that
rose
before
it loses
its
bloom.

ahhh,

-the rain.

often,

just in
time
to wash
away the
pain.

to
hide
my tears...

or try
to,

in vain.

the rain,

it feels
mystically
powerful
to me.

cleansing,

refreshing,

a downpouring
of a
new free.

after
a
delightful
summer's rain...

the more
clear,

my eyes
and
my soul
can see.