Lights a blinking
Carols sounding
Shoppers hustling
To and fro.

In the chilly
Air of winter
Expectations
Only grow.

Fond memories
Plow the mind
With Christmases
Of long ago.

A flashback here
A Flashback there
Keeps the Season
All aglow.

A Christmas gift of
Decades has, many a night,
Kept me warm… cushioned
My arm rest… formed a pillow.
My security blanket.

Yonder
In the heights, a
Star shone bright. Glistening.
Streaming down ‘pon the holy night.
Christmas.

Before
I knew, I had
Fallen asleep--mutely
Drifting off into a peaceful
Dream state.

Perching high ‘neath the
Blue skies, a dark mount’nous range -
Laced with pristine snow.

Some people are true dreamers.
They make you dream too,
Simply by considering
The things you see them do.

A burst of inspiration
Such dreamer seems to ooze,
And someday you're wanting
To follow in their shoes.

Some folks are dream stealers.
With nothing else to do,
But to sow discouragement.
Don’t let that thief be you

Nothing’s like one’s youth,
Once we have become grown.

Yearning for the time
When life was a simple song.

Parents solved kid’s problems.
But when we’re ‘on our own….’

Youth-filled days will pass,
Wearing fragile like the gossamer.

Parents grow sick, old and feeble.
And some are long gone.

We learn to solve our own issues.
But oh for the times that once were.

Coffers of the poets seem full
Of things both good and bad.
The things that keep men wake at night
The sadness to be had.

There is so much to write about
As we reflect our world
Of all the things we see and hear
Emotions that unfurl.

To peer about on these dark days…
Not much to laugh about.
But, sometimes, we poets write
Of things that bear no clout.

Such is the nature of our world
Come good or bad. E’en strife.
Everything's not all 'rosy'
In the Seasons of life.

Songs are
A balm for the
Soul.  Each has a message
For the weary listener in his
Lone plight.

Flowers smile
And birds sing
Sunbeams dance around

Windows reflect
Warmth caresses,
As sunrays astound.

Skies are blue
Clouds are fair
And beauties abound.

The face of
A sun-clad morn
In which joy is found.

How radiant.  A lovely sight
Glowing in the bold sunlight.
Love, peacefulness and mirth—
Giving joy upon the earth.
Sunflower.  Unique you are.
Your beauty radiates afar—
Engaging the human race,
As always, with a happy face.
Lovely is the song you sing,
Its heartfelt melody to ring.
A song of beauty and of grace
Lends expression to the face.

How charming is the sunflow'r—
Adding zing to flow’r power.

With closed eyes, enjoyed
The sunshine and flowers - Then
Opened them to rain.

Talk to God,
He’ll talk to you.
Tell Him your joys—
And burdens too.

Put your problems
In His hands.
Nothing you say
He won’t understand.

Night or day,
He’ll hear your call,
And answer your prayers—
Come spring or fall.

He won't tell your secrets,
Like others do.
Just talk to God,
And He’ll talk with you.

Time, really, would fail to tell
What Mother means to me;
Friend, guardian and love.
A precious gem from above.

Looking upon her, I see
A woman who has given me
Life, hope, and all she could,
So I can be all that I should.

But the sacrifices made
When much of herself she gave
Will always be the noble part
That I will cherish in my heart.

Thank God for my momma,
She’s as precious as can be.
I’ll ever love and cher'sh her.
She is the world to me.

Entering the
Thanksgiving arena,
I do so with reverence
And the greatest respect.
Careful that my heart
Should give honor
For all blessings bestowed—
God, family, country,
Friends, neighbors
And every provision.
For these things, and more,
I give thanks.

We do not give You
Turkey, Lord, in honor of
Such day, with all the
Décor and trimmings, but
We give You our hearts instead.

Despite the freezing, wintry storms,
Generous souls are proven warm
As grateful hearts this thankful eve,
Are poised to give and not receive.
Human kindness magically soars.
Many embrace the sick and poor.
Corporations and bikers clubs,
Join to share much needed grub:
Turkey, Brown Bags, and full meals.
Sick and homeless—meals on wheels.
And though uncertainty fills the air,
There's joy for Thanksgiving's near,
When folks unite to take a part
Of faith renewed in the human heart.
Perhaps tomorrow, It'll all go away,
But for now, it's Thanksgiving Day.

A kind and simple thank you Sir
Is all I have to give.
Tho I owe you so much more
In the affirmative.

For those who’ve lost their life,
A leg, an eye, or a hand,
If only we could give it back—
But there's no way we can.

So I'll just light a candle here
With wishes bright and fair
Knowing you will be just fine
Within the Father's care.
And never are you far away
But in my daily prayer.

Hotdog.
Stickler
To this day.
‘Tis a main stay—
An age-old stapler
That shall be.

Electrical storm. Pow’r failure
Just imagine the commotion.
The anvil of darkness proceeds
Firmly grasping the emotions.

Surrounded with total darkness
Like the blind grappling for light.
Colliding with wall and furniture;
A dark, clumsy and scary sight.  

The dread of darkness would increase,
Now morphing into a brute beast.
And I’m, still, in a cul de sac—
Can, neither, advance nor go back.

Then, a blessing as time stood still—
The light appeared and darkness chilled.

I have lived to see the big 6-0.
How humbled and grateful I am.
Many a restless night there were;
At times my faith seemed jammed.

Oh, what a struggle it has been,
Tho' Word and faith were all I knew.
When curve and bend seemed like the end,
The Lord was sure to see me through.

Oft' the way grew dark and dreary;
As for my fate, I had no clue.
When everything was slipping fast,
I needed something to cling to.

So, I clung tightly to God’s will;
He guided, and is guiding still.

Some folks live for Black Friday,
Camping out for hours on end—
Even in subfreezing temps
Accosting sales ‘fore they end.

Betimes midst violent outbreaks,
Folks grab their most-prized things.
There’s pushing, shoving, clutching:
Toys—clothes—tech tools—bling.

Black Friday has been fashioned
To save the brick and mortars
Technology’s changed the game—
On line is the order.

This plan devised by merchants
Lures shoppers to the stores,
Else all the brick and mortars
Would have to close their doors.

Oh, how sweet the rose.
On and on its fragrance goes,
With a heavenly scent.
And when the heart is sore
(Pain, sorrow and more) ,
Causing one to lament—

Like a magic wand,
The rose lends a hand;
For it is such a mint.
Its beauty inspires,
(Of which one ne'er tires)
Leaving the heart content.

Its petals are gorgeous.
They subtly forge us
With their bold accent,
To embrace such presence
With a sense of reverence
And that, in any event.

The rose is for ages,
And yet engages—
Like a perfect gent.
It brightens the day
In such a way—
As if an 'agent' sent.

-Walterrean Salley

Christmas
Is a brick in
The foundation of my
'Life experiences'—ingrained
Therein.

In little obscure Bethlehem
Two thousand years ago
God’s precious Son descended there
His Father’s love to show.

He lived amongst humanity
For thirty-three-long years,
Intensely laboring for peace
With blood, and sweat and tears.

He took the time to talk and laugh
And mingle among men.
For He had lots of enemies,
‘Tho He made many friends.

He surely was the one true Light
Here in this dark, dark world
Where gloomy darkness, pain and grief
In all despair unfurled.

While that true candle burns yet still
The world remains in night.
‘Twill burn until He comes again
In the fullness of His Light.

The codicils of time
Frequently change one’s life
Giving new directions
Like the tune of a fife.

So often adding this
And too removing that
As one who dares to don
A many a life hat.

Such addendums to life
(The codicils of time)
Are countless in numbers
And proven to be prime.

Positioning the heart
To gain through persistence,
They bring new dimensions
To a shallow existence.

Every day is the continuum of life
And what it has begun
Of love, joy, and laughter,
Heartache, struggle and pain.

It continues…
Babes are born.
Youth grows old.
And the aged passes on.

The sun rises and sets.
We sleep, labor and play
Continuously.

The continuum.
Life is an unending cycle;
It never quits.

Facing
Life's worries and
Fears—conquering them for
The day. Tomorrow will care for
Itself.

In the darkest hour,
There is true peace.
The blessings of God
Never cease.

He lightens the load
And brightens the day.
The light of the Lord
Will guide your way.

For the pow'r of darkness
Can never keep bound,
When the light of the Lord
Is shining around.

On the one hand,
Pain breaks the heart—
Ripping it apart.  
And yet, on the other,
It warns… something wrong.
Pain is a lifesaving sign.
’

Truth is
A torchbearer.
It is eyes for the soul
And a true guide for the conscience.
Truth speaks.

The fog is an illusion—
A master of disguise,
Which hides the tangible
Before our very eyes.

But when the fog has lifted
Everything’s still there,
And the tangible
Only seemed to’ve disappeared.

In the early morning
Or late at night,
The fog descends
Upon various sites.

It gives an air of mystery
That has long prevailed.
Dangerously intriguing
Is the fog’s foggy veil.

The grim reaper treads the earth,
Where, crisscrossing the land,
He comes to collect.

Valley, hill and mountain—
Nothing escapes his repulsive visitation.
He comes to collect his due.

Great fences are erected
To ward off his intrusion,
But only for a season.
For, He is persistent in his returns.

The Grim Reaper.
An unwelcomed visitor—
Only leaving sorrow in his wake.

The world’s
Accoutrements
Bear no weight unless the
Heart has found its rightful place
In life.

Looking
Back on youth spent.
Now aged—barely moving
Forward. What’s the next chapter of
His life?

The ole flu bug took to the skies
To see what he could do
Making winter miserable
Cold and wet and BLUE.
‘No pity here’ he clearly shows,
Skyrocketing around—
Effectuating his mission
To knock you to the ground.
So be wary everyone.
Be careful in all things,
Because the seasonal flu bug
Is waiting in the wings.

Two thousand years ago
There stood a place in time;
Unfading are the memories.
A never ending chime
Whose sound reached everywhere
In earth and sky and sea.
And channeling through the ages
Did make its way to me.

Some things grab you,
Before you even know it.
Like color, for example:
Salmon, turquoise, yellow,
With beige, blue and peach.
An array of pastels.
Their gentle whispers
In bold statements.
A jargon of beauty
That warms the heart—
Just for the peering.

Color is beautiful.
Color is powerful.
Color attracts.

There are days
When I need a song
That’s powerful enough
To take my mind off myself
And my problems.

Not a lot
Of drama
But a strong message
With powerful delivery.
Oh, for such a song.

My Love, I sail this treacherous sea
The sea of life with all its ills.
The boisterous winds and giant waves.
And rising tides. Oh, come and still.

The nights are long, dark and fearful.
Oh Lord, my love, my Savior divine.
Terror strikes like lightning bolts
While sailing o’er the angry brine.

Uncertainty stalks, looming ‘bout;
Naught but peril all around.
Fear within and perils without
Amid the search for higher ground.

Yet in the distance, glist’ning bright,
Midst life’s boisterous sea—a ‘light.’

I’d heard lots about spinach
As if it were pure gold.
But still I did not like it
Till I was nearly old.

But if I’d comprehended
The true health benefits
That comes from eating spinach
I would have eaten it.

Truth is
Of a golden
Cord, which does not fray.  And
Which cannot be broken.  Truth stands
Alone.

Empty Yet Full
Empty of worldly goods,
Yet filled with inner peace.
It’s a grand trade off.

Sorrow,
How it changes
The atmosphere with its
Twisted, unfamiliar air. But
Time soothes.

Once a staple of the times
(Even in my day) ,
The woodstove was a means
By which God made a way.
A bridge between then and now,
It fed and kept us warm.
The woodstove was a way of life.
The woodstove was the norm.
And ranking ‘mongst the basics
Needed to survive,
The woodstove has served well
In keeping us alive.

He’s the average Joe
Who works hard each day,
Faithfully laboring
To earn him a pay.

He will ‘man’ the workforce
As best that he can.
Even back-breaking tasks
To meet the demand.

So, a regular Joe
Working nine to five—
Trying to make ends meet
Just to stay alive.

When you thought you’d heard it all
Something else comes along
To challenge then the psyche—
Robbing life of its song.

One very distraught couple,
A husband and his wife,
Were found in their vehicle.
They seemed to tire of life.

The car was set and idling.
From its window ran a hose—
Attached to the exhaust pipe,
Drawing the carbon close.

They drunk a last cup of wine,
Perhaps life’s final toast.
There, embracing each other,
Was the one they’d loved most.

The couple had prepped their home
For such—their final hour.
Fridge and freezer all cleared out.
All disconnect of power.

A note stated that their home
Should go to charity.
And asked that neighbors feed some cats
The couple had reprieved.
(Revised 2018.)

During element’ry school
Lunchtime was a drag
For the bologna sandwich
In my little brown lunch bag.

My favorite? The spice ham
I loved on grilled cheese.
Made bologna mediocre…
A cold cut for the breeze.

Now, turkey’s my favorite
Amongst the cold cuts.
It is healthy and tasteful—
No ifs, ands or buts.

Cold cuts, an old sidekick
Are convenient—take your pick.
(Revised 2/2018.)

I’ve seen
Time fly as if
A bird with wings.  Seldom
Does it perch anymore, like it
Once did.