My name, it stands for victory;
it's strengthened me through countless storms,
I take my breastplate formed with pain,
for I’ve been through a mighty war, that’s forged this  soul of mine within.

My name, it stands for victory,
against the full campaign of life,
from guns employed to wear me down,
and bearing witness to the scars, they’ve made my heart a mighty force.

My name, it stands for victory,
through years of feeling second best,
I hid within my outer shell,
though few would ever know or guess, behind this smile which was my mask.

My name it stands for victory,
against life’s beasts, of every kind,
my spirit raises now its name,
not unafraid, I take my sword, and vanquish all my mighty foes.

My name, it stands for victory,
amidst our raging troubled world,
within my armor’s might I'm strong,
for victory will always be, my given strength, armor and shield.

Our streets explode in wrenching pain,
exposed upon a worldwide stage.
Our voices cry, it seems in vain,
and words are filled with growing rage.

Some come in fury, some in peace,
all begging that they’d find a voice,
to lead us through this blackened eve,
and give us yet another choice.

Our lives unravel day by day,
to yet another man-made plague,
and with each morning’s cold embrace,
we brace against the fear and hate.

Divided nation, yet we stand,
along our aged battle lines, 
but those yet wise within our land,
still pray for hope and peaceful times.

Dancing to the distant strains,
of Neil Young’s Harvest Moon.
beneath October’s starlit skies,
we sang this classic tune.

While fireworks lit the darkened path,
we twirled away the night,
and gazed into each other’s eyes,
while waiting for first light.

Your lips met mine beneath the light,
as passion filled our hearts,
reflected in the bonfire’s blaze,
that lit the forest schwartz.

Though many years have since flown by,
and both have gone our ways,
I still can feel the crisp fall air,
as we loved the night away.

Hope floats on gentle morning wings,
through windows just beyond the storms,
and lifts its voice in revelry,
within the willow’s sheltering arms.

He joins the choir of morning song,
with harmonies that calm our soul,
reminding all to look beyond,
embracing natures healing roll.

We seek a refuge from our world;
our broken lives are filled with pain,
within the death and violence,
beyond the trouble, and the rain.

So listen for the whippoorwill,
and robin in their melodies,
reminding us that nature’s gifts,
are often blessings that are free.

I lay between my summer sheets,
like many other sleepless nights,
and try to will myself to sleep;
as this becomes my nightly fight.

My thoughts spin deep inside my mind,
laid heavy with the breaking news,
and struggle with this news to find,
a way to unwind and defuse.

Still some events invade my dreams
as dinosaurs and threatening quakes,
that chase me down until I scream,
and find again I am awake.

Our nation, desperate for a leader, is starving for
intelligent, educated, and eloquent minds;
those who lift others above themselves.
Is this too hard to find, I ask?

A leader is one who looks beyond bipartisan politics,
to solutions that work for the whole of America;
a person who lives his/her life with dignity
and treats others with the Golden Rule.

A leader needs to honor his or her position
for (s)he is not there just for themselves;
but to help and protect those under them,
like a mother bird on a nest.

Leaders aren’t perfect, but do their best
to live above reproach; as an example to their people.
Our leaders represent us around the world
how others see us, treat us, and are our future.

A leader surrounds him/herself with intelligence,
and listens to others who know more than they;
what they say is as important as how they speak
and what action they take.

The color of the skin or gender shouldn’t matter,
but what type of person they are and
how they help us during their days in office,
especially in these times we find ourselves.

A true leader is appointed to protect their people,
not tear them down, stir them up, or cause pain.
Leaders are there for us to find, and our job…
is to find and elect them.

Man’s cancer, here since time began; a selfish state of greed,
so we’ve appointed those we thought, would give us all we need.
But like a cancer, sickness spread and made us wanting more,
which eats upon our conscious now within this given hour.

Like ****** from his velvet throne, takes up his scepter gold,
and blinded to the cult of wealth: which few could have foretold;
the anguished hearts of those who’ll pay the price of life for “me”
will find that such self-centered life, is life that can’t be free.

Powder blue, soft upon the sheet,
brushed upon the cheek.
A sad tint of sky, of ocean,
a quiet bit of childhood,
colored upon my memories.

The silence that surrounds us now; a gift that few appreciate,
as oft’ we grumble and complain, and pray deliv’ry from our fate.
For now we go about our lives, we do so often quite alone,
and many work to just survive, while staying safely in their home.
.
The crowded markets and the malls, where we so often spent our days,
we’ve learned to do without the halls, that in their buildings isolate.
Now as we go throughout our days, the peacefulness we often seek,
is here to guide us through these months, and help us find our treasures deep.

For some it’s time spent with our youth and others find the time to read,
so many search within for truth and others learn the skills to lead.
For me, perception is the key, to how I use this precious time,
and what my future has for me, I’m given now by fate’s design.

As I walk the morning beach alone,
with sunlight on my face,
I search to find these treasured bits
in this, a magical place.

These gifts the seas give endlessly,
are tossed before my hands,
all wet with the foamy surf-brought brine,
they glisten in the sand.

A dwelling once for housing life,
discarded now they find,
a special place within the one,
with solitude of mind.

This quiet life of beachcombers,
we know it all too well,
need silence, peace, and beauty,
as we search for more than shells.

Peeking through the blackness,
the ghosts of yesterday stir.
Reaching for help that comes too late,
creatures cry as they melt into the ground

Orange tongues lick the dry tinder,
as firenadoes twist in their death-rolls.
The heroes of the day wipe their brow
while the world looks on in horror and mourns.

When summer makes its curtain call,
and warm winds die, just after fall,
before the winter ice storms play,
and take their place upon the stage.

Your curtain lifts for just one week,
as autumn colors reach their peak
and dazzle us with one last play,
before the audience turns away.

With one last act before the night,
of bitter cold and frozen white.
That final night, you give your all,
and leave with final curtain’s fall.

At last, when autumn comes again,
it brings along its native friend,
and Summer dances on the stage
of vibrant colors, on display.

I feel your arms around me
as I think of you today,
and like so many other times,
send letters as I pray.

You left us oh so long ago;
a lifetime, so it seems,
and often visit as I sleep,
if only in my dreams.

Your spirit still so present here;
so oft you bring me calm,
and with this heav’nly letter,
send my love up to you, Mom.

We’ve left the safe behind us now,
and crossed the flood to evil’s shore,
building our homes within its briars
and lies that have ensnared us all.

We’ve ransomed our souls for our desires;
it’s blackness branded on our hearts,
blinding us to wisdom and agape love,
too eager, we bargain away tomorrow.

While truth and decency have been abandoned,
as we give away the ground we’ve gained,
many hide behind masks of their own making,
refusing to watch while history replays.

Faced with blackened hearts and minds,
that few can truly comprehend,
we watch its blood red currents consume,
as we stand upon Dante’s river shores.

Upon this worldwide stage, we play,
and open now our eyes and see,
and with our grieving hearts laid bare,
in wretched agony, we weep.

This blindness, long within our soul,
our nation’s sin; historic past.
We brought with us and kept alive,
and made the whites our ruling class.

To this we’ve shut our eyes and ears,
pretending that we cannot see,
and if we’ve seen, afraid to voice,
in freedom’s land for centuries.

With wretched consternation now,
our voice and hearts cry out at last,
to those who hear to make this right,
within this hour and face our past.

So let us bandage up our wounds
and heal all those within our land,
and make this verse our country’s cry,
One flesh and blood; our final stand.

You whisper on the morning wind,
amid the silent majesty,
and in thin places that I find,
I still can sense your energy.

A place of solitude and peace,
beyond the realm of humankind,
where in the silence yet you speak,
above the din of all mankind.

These mystic places here on earth,
the veil between our worlds stretched thin,
where we can listen to your voice,
and feel your presence on the wind.

Your early morning chorus echoes within my distant memory;
the raucous call of the kookaburra wakes the bush with each daybreak,
the ting of the bellbird echo as the magpies play on their pipes.
The harmony of life in the bush became my lover.

I long for the smell of your gum trees on the fresh morning breeze;
a cuppa in hand, I soak in the dappled landscape,
while the sun goes walkabout through the bush,
reflecting like diamonds dancing on the morning dew.

A lone leaf floats down on the breeze beside my bench
as the wind whispers an autumn song to all who listen.
Geese overhead answer in their throated honk in flight
as they herald the coming of an early frost.

Red-orange drip from maples and all of autumn hums
as grey squirrels and chipmunks scurry away,
cheeks bulging with acorns and other treats
to bury inside their hideaways.

Fall, so vibrant and bright, with contrasting hues,
beauty embraces me in this garden of fall delight.
I pull my jacket close in its sharp crispness.
as I savor this moment of peaceful bliss.

Those lucid memories of early youth;
of hot summer mornings and sultry afternoons,
with hands, red with raspberries and currants,
and sweet gooseberries, round with ripeness.

Upon the forest green I lay, eyes turned to the sky,
beneath the cool of the house birch.
Concord delicacies picked fresh from our garden
stain with their violet blood, are devoured in haste.

Magic days of Koolaide, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
and long walks through the amber September fields,
flash before me; forgotten photographs in my mind,
sweet memories brought to life by your taste.

My heart aches for what you once were.
Memories of unrivaled wilderness,
pristine and unique,
burned into my memory.

You were once my home:
a shining beacon of light in my life.
But you’ve passed with my youth,
like so many memories, eroded by time.

Yet, did I ever know you at all?
gazing at you through ****** eyes,
with a freshness of a love unknown.
Were you ever there, oh Hiraeth of Oz?

Days of long, hot, steamy afternoons,
digging forts in sandpits during the peak of summer,
hunting grasshoppers as they fled from my cupped hands,
I ran like the banshee I was, growing up wild in the country.

Memories of days in shorts and undershirts,
my skin stained orange like the sand I played in,
I lived on Kool-aide and peanut butter sandwiches,
snacking on sweet red raspberries and currents that grew in our garden.

Cool nights playing twilight tag with my brothers;
the air turned crisp, always ending too soon,
mom hosing us down before we were allowed inside.
Washed clean and tucked in, welcomed sleep greeted us as our heads hit the pillow.

If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d reach above and catch me some,
and bring them back to earth with me, and keep them safe for days to come.
I’d wish for peace in troubled times, for those not knowing how to love;
for those afflicted by our plagues, without the means to rise above.

For all my brothers in our world, I’d wish we’d all learn to embrace,
and look beyond our differences, to see the wealth beyond our face.
For black or white, brown, red, or gold, we’re all the same within our skins;
all look for love and brotherhood, and truth beyond our earthly sins.

If wishes flew upon the wind, I’d catch a few as they passed by,
and make my wishes into acts, to help all those who as they cry;
I’d find my voice and sing with all; a choir that lifts beyond the noise,
and with this song, send up a prayer, for those who hear; peace in our time.

Our heart, is offered up,
as a sacrifice to love,
like a ****** lamb
on its way to slaughter.

When love takes its leave,
for whatever reason fate may have,
it always steals a bit,
of that beating heart.

The pain of love departed,
is the price we pay,
for loving deeply,
and completely.

On this, a day of infamy,
where most recall wherein they stood,
when breaking news destroyed our world,
and left us shaken to our soul.

We held our breath and watched in fear,
while battling to hold back tears.
For none believed the images
we saw that afternoon.

Now three years past, we still can see,
the remnants of that awful day,
and feel it ripple through our land,
while still we bind our bleeding wound.

Hold fast to our integrity and cling,
to what our founders built,
fight on for what we know is right,
and honor those with thoughtful vote.

Insidious is your hold on those
in your grasp,
depleting all life and energy
from loved ones,
as we watch them waste away
to nothingness.

Pain is the king of all;
we are under your spell,
visiting family, friends,
and loved ones
with your blackness,
as we writhe in agony.

Cancer, you *******!
You’ve taken my heart,
and taunt me as those I love
fall to your
armies of
death.

I’m frightened for our nation, with each new crises arise,
the fear within is palpable, and weighs us down inside,
our war against pandemic, civil rights, and border walls,
each day brings new anxiety, within our bloodied halls.

I’m frightened for our people, as each day brings mounting fear,
we see the unemployment, death, destruction, through our tears.
The protests and the burning, all remind us of the past,
hurt everyone who lives within, regardless of our “caste”.

I’m frightened for my loved ones, as we struggle through our days,
and close our doors to our past lives in an effort to stay safe,
inside our silent solitude, while others squander theirs,
without a mask to shield us from the virus that they share.

I’m frightened for tomorrow as we try our best to heal,
I do all that I can myself, to others I appeal.
Today’s our day of reckoning, whichever way we can,
we lift our voice imploring and with prayer we take our stand.

Your final words, “I love you”;
you mouthed them in your sleep
then drifted off to join the realm,
of where we all will sleep.

My hand I held upon your brow,
we said our last goodbyes,
and blessed you as you left the room,
as your soul took winged flight.

Though twenty and some years ago,
you left us far behind,
a silent space inside my heart,
is grieving still, I find.

Your essence scribbled on paper,
it's pain purged from my heart.
From a single corner, a flame
ignites, incinerating your memory.

Slowly, the flame builds,
engulfing all pain;
the part of you that remains,
as you drop from my hand.

Silently, the flame flickers out,
and you turn to ashes, crumpled,
leaving only the black you are,
smoldering within the recesses of yesterday.

Washed clean by flame and water,
encircling a hole of death,
like the vultures you were,
now washed from sight and heart.

Mere words can never quite convey,
the majesty of nature’s brush;
its sunset’s vibrant flaming rays,
and pastel hues of morning’s blush.

The whitened peaks that touch the sky,
with mountain slopes that halt our breaths,
are laced with orchid grandeur high,
and lofty clouds their craigs protect.

The desert contrasts, stunning hues;
with reddish orange of sunburnt sands,
and skies that fall as azure blues,
are painted daily with those hands.

No, none can capture nature’s soul,
and recreate it’s splendid form,
for though we try we cannot know,
this Master who from dust transforms.

Upon this ship, tall, bound for life,
surrounded by the boundless sea,
its water-soaked and sun-scorched deck,
beneath my feet forever be.

I’ve set the main sail, helm I take
and with my strength of steel resolve
to let you guide me through the deep
directed on this unknown course.

You’ve guided me to sunlit shoals,
set anchor when the wild winds blew,
and steered me to a harbor calm
when all about me cyclones churned.

Although you’ve aged and changed without,
your spirit strong within has stayed,
and I will cleave to my tall ship,
as I navigate life’s setting sun.

The world speeds past eyes unseen,
as if through empty window panes,
but I have taken time to see,
through this my camera’s lens.

The changing colors of the tree,
when autumn tips its leaves with orange;
the beauty of the shallow seas,
and majesty of the world within.

In cityscapes of the world around;
of Italy’s colossal Roman ruins,
upon each painting found on walls
of museums and hallowed halls.

I’ve captured these for aged self,
and fill my empty window panes with
proof to view a life that’s full.
recalling those sweet memories.

The child that you are,
living in an old man’s shell,
grabbing at glory,
while clinging to your tin crown.

Thumbing your nose,
at the good and noble,
you waste the voice given you,
as you sail into infamy.

This silence, so loudly it weeps,
of thoughts, lonely and isolating,
that surround, engulfing me,
within my ancient past.

This silence, so loudly it whispers,
enveloping me so completely,
within its protection,
wrapping me in ethereal healing.

This silence, so loudly it speaks,
within the steps I walk,
upon this empty beach,
listening at last to its mystical message.

This silence, so loudly it sings,
with each passing wave ,
drumming gratefulness for the day,
and chanting above mankind.

This silence, so majestic it paints,
each sunrise and sunset,
yearning to surpass yesterday’s,
with stunning celestial hues.

This silence, so loudly it beats within,
as I make it my own,
quieting my soul,
I search beyond.

Amidst a closet of memories you find me,
in your simple orange shell with hidden hues within.
Your well-worn watercolors, reverent seeds of future art,
precious keepsakes of your memory still remains.

The magic art you housed brought light to early days
and life to the grayness of the cultureless country;
days of purposelessness and aimlessness, without end;
countless days of sheltering against nature, you painted my life with hope.

My broken heart, now aches for you,
I long to steal away your pain.
Your life, yet touched in shades of blue,
and gray amidst the falling rain.

While days now seem as if surreal,
and energy has been erased,
allow yourself the time to heal,
and wrap yourself in love’s embrace.

But life is brief, no guarantee,
for what our future will foretell,
so we must live beyond routine;
embracing ev’ry moment well.

So when our time has come at last,
to bid our life on earth adieu,
with no regret we leave the past,
to dance on heaven’s morning dew.

So though your heart is bleeding now,
and pain surrounds your ev’ry bend,
your grief will lessen, this I vow,
and peace will find you in the end.

Waiting for the springtime warmth,
to melt away the snows,
I see the green of springtime growth,
break through the crust below.

Through long and frigid winter months
and dangers that were fraught,
our northern states have braved the cold,
that mother nature brought.

Through banks of ice cream frosted snow,
that wrapped the land in white,
the brave green shoots of newborn grass,
peek through with morning's light.

The cold is lifting, none too soon;
it’s fled before the melt,
and left this wanting, summer soul,
rapt with the joy I've felt.

Downy seed tops of milky white,
floating on the wind.

Memories of childhood,
blown away with a single breath.

Oft leaders with their silver tongues,
of lies and graceless souls have forged,
a nation filled with bleeding souls,
we lift our voice in one accord.

Imprisoned by their self-made love,
they’ve led us to this darkest hour,
while those who watch from other lands,
know us for who we truly are.

So oft we’re blinded to ourselves,
and never see beyond the lies;
a nation split between the blind,
and those who’ve seen, in horror cry.

Enough, I cry within my heart,
with like-souls indignation rage,
our bleeding nation must replace,
the fluted pipers on our stage.

Summer sighs, its long last breath,
hot and heavy, against my cheek,
bidding me farewell before the cold,
as August falls away to autumn.

Island song greets the day
wafting through the treetops,
along with the sounds of nature
calling me out to revel in its beauty.

Radiant yellow-green, the shade of early spring,
grows endlessly about.
Hues of a pristine land, bejeweled in blooms,
tug at my spirit.

A lost paradise,
left behind in my memory,
with its song of the elders,
whispers to me one last time.

Humanity, but vessels rich with radiant energy,
created for a noble purpose.
are made of stardust and birthed from beyond;
part of the kingdom of creation.

Hold tight to that nobility;
that spirit of mutual creation;
to the beauty within and our royal calling,
even in the light of today’s world.

Be proud and look to the stars,
from whence we came;
humbly remembering that we are but atoms
forged of the earth by the heavens.

Inspired by a Serbian proverb.

With loving hearts that cradle me,
and soothe my aching mind,
you’ve given me the strength I need,
to leave the past behind.

These wings I’ve grown are far beyond,
what I could ‘er foresee,
allowing me to soar beyond,
my past, both strong and free.

These broken wings are healing still,
and few can keep me down,
for deep within this soaring soul,
are journeys where I’m bound.

We’re a bit of the heavens,
we’re made of the stars,
of the Power beyond us,
the cosmos and Mars.

The heavens we’re part of,
has given us birth,
we’re part of its royalty,
stardust, and earth.

Our body, a shell,
for what’s living inside;
our spirit, the power,
that’s waiting to fly.

This spirit, though royal,
our life is so brief,
we lose sight of our purpose,
while time acts like a thief.

Oft we take life for granted,
if we’d only see,
we’re a part of the stardust,
and of its majesty.

I pour you out on paper with my pen,
like sour milk past its due date,
discarding the pain you’ve left me,
with your brutal goodbye,
as you turned me away into the black night.

I spill out my rage for your coldness;
for hiding her inside and letting me think
that I was the only one.
I rage on for making me love you,
and for not seeing the telltale signs until too late.

I stand by my basin at last,
and with a single stroke of a match, you’re ablaze
with the white hot anger I’ve held.
Your memory crumbles along with the ashes,
as they swirl out of sight, down the toilet of my past.

In winter when monsters grow;
when cold and desolation rule,
muddied snow and gray skies
feed the shadows in my mind.

Crawling out of the darkness,
goblins weigh on my heart,
like the parasite they are,
******* the joy from life.

In winter, when monsters grow,
when frost imprisons me,
choking the light from the world,
and feeding the misery within.

Depression, the monster of winter,
crawls into the confines of my being,
and fills me with sadness,
in this cold northern climate.

The heavens cry for us below,
who struggle through the times we know,
for us to waken from this night to day.

While sadness wraps and clothes us all,
the silent death whose lives befall,
uncushioned in our quarantine we wait.

As sorrow leaks from out our eyes,
we’ve no one left to heed our cries,
though many of the world have tried and failed.

And while this nightmare plays its game,
we watch in horror and in shame,
as mirrors to our souls this virus holds.

From first we met, I knew you forever;
your soft, sad chocolate eyes dancing with mischief,
your hands, moving to the ballet of a silent flute,
and your spirit singing in harmony with mine.

I’ve loved you more than words could express;
from a lifetime away, as from a distant planet,
your spirit gently washing against my shore,
speaking to me while I live life alone.

I’ve loved you most, throughout this dream of life,
though our walkabout was a lifetime apart,
I’ve heard you calling in the wind, the trees,
and always in my heart, urging me to come home.

Sleeping willows awaken in spring,
begin to grow their chartreuse shade.
New branches stretch down,
creating ripples on a lake in a fireworks of new color.

Choke cherry branches filled with
last year’s freeze-dried fruit,
burst with fresh new life
and life’s possibilities

Spring birds warble,
calling out for partners,
singing soothing songs of nature,
in harmony with May breezes.

Grass, painted green with new life,
provides a canvas for wildflowers,
as dandelion and marsh marigolds
gain their footing in its sparse carpet.

Collecting memories, I soak in the
warmth and sounds of spring.
Letting its breeze
       carry me away
                   to happier days.

Each autumn, my heart aches for  you,
and drifts back to so long ago,
with smells and sounds of fall’s awakening.
What seems like just a few short weeks,
a lifetime swiftly passed me by.

You left us on that Tuesday morn,
as rain seeped from the wet outside,
and caused our eyes overflow,
raining down on tear stained cheeks,
that drenched us in bittersweet release.

We huddled round your dying chair,
while softly holding silenced hands,
as if to hold fast to your soul,
embosomed to its earthly bonds,
hearts longing that you stay,

Our broken hearts could not endure,
but knowing that your time was nigh,
we placed a kiss upon your cheek
and with a blessing sent you off,
to be at peace from cancer’s grip.

And as you drew that one last breath,
you mouthed those words bereft of sound,
and with that final breath bestowed,
on us a gift, your dying words of
“I love you”.