Been a while since daylight had any meaning for me
my life has been surrendered to the time I cannot see.
I listen to old tunes and read some memorable lines
I sample my cheap collection of local wines.
I sometimes dance alone making far too much noise
it's what a free spirit does when they have no real poise.
I may recover from this lose of a friend, yet another one
it's a frightening way to live a life wondering when you're done.
Its age that puts this pressure on a grieving soul
You wonder if tomorrow it'll be your body in a hole.
Stay young I say, fear not what is to be
pretend it's there for others but something you won't see.

Last night I dreamt of you, it was musical, sad, yet happy and alive.
I tried to stretch it out something like, a long summer drive.
It was full of memories, magic and touching with care.
I looked at all of you from your baby toes to your hair.
I danced with you slowly and close sometimes off beat
I tried to remember the miracle that caused us to meet.
I may never get to replay all the passion that once was there
But it doesn't and won't, ever change the love, and the way that I care.

Amid life's worst hours and all the torment that flies around us,
we strive to seek a safe haven that will shield us from the fuss.
Family quarrels and deep down secrets that tend to haunt
then there are the issues that we walk about and tend to flaunt.
So why do we stay and watch the demented show and not leave
why do we wear a tragically broken and scarred heart upon our sleeve.
Because we are human and in this world we know no other way
to tackle the burdens, fears and memories that we carry day to day.
So, on we go driving and pushing into an endless pool of dirt
only to find more and more of the deeply human hurt.
Welcome to confusion, the only thing we have as a  guarantee
so back we go in quick retreat so nothing is really under warranty.

WHC

I dance daily with the prospect of dropping like a stone,
the worry that finds itself most constant is that I'll be alone.
I stare into a mirror which never lies but tends to blur
yet the joys of yesterday's pleasures are still a constant lure.
Measurements and drugs and rules to control my day,
at the end of which I'm too tired to have much to say.
Is this where we all arrive in the so called golden years,
living day to day and night to night struggling with our fears?
Rocking chairs don't rock and old feet cannot dance
they just rest and hope that there is really a second chance.
Another way to make your final farewell and grand adieu,
perhaps a party loud and bad, declaring all that's done
recalling all the games you've played and all that you have won.
Maybe then a dinner prepared in the finest style
with all the flair to carry you on that final mile.
These fears will not hunt me down, I promise to be strong
I don't mind the falling , but I won't stay down for long.

As I lean against the windswept rock, a memory comes to me
of the days I spent on "The Courage Son" and the friends I lost at sea.
The Courage Son was a sturdy ship, built of solid oak,
it moved along on God's sweet wind , not on steam or smoke.
The crew that manned this vessel strong, were the dearest friends I've known.
But they didn't live to tell the tale or reap the seeds they'd sown.
The bravest of men shall never return from the ocean home they've won,
but I the lone survivor will remember what they've done.
On the 23rd day of January, in Eighteen Forty-nine,
the men and I were down below sharing bread and wine.
When a storm came up the likes of which none had ever seen.
The sails were soon a tangled mass and the ship began to lean.
The heavens seemed a sheet of black with cracks of blinding light,
a mast was struck and hit my head destroying my sense of sight.
While my friends were scrambling fore and aft with a speed propelled by fear,
my life was saved by a brave young man by the name of Samuel Wier.
He led me to a lifeboat filled with food and gear,
enough to last a single man for six months of a  year.
I felt my body carried and lowered in a boat
I realized without my sight, that I'd  now been put afloat.
I couldn't see the reasoning, for the pain had blurred my head
I was rolled and tossed so very close, to finally being dead.
The waves that banged against the boat made it hard for me to hear
the fire raging on the ship and screams that stemmed from fear.
My boat was adrift for hours before, The Courage Son went down,
I pictured the sea opening wide to accept her oaken gown.
I was rescued by a freighter just off a foreign coast
white and ill with fever I looked a certain ghost.
Now it's just my old white cane and the smells of the open sea
that recall the storm the devil sent and what it took from me.

The crowded streets seemed empty now, beneath the noon day heat,
as the devils and the invalids wait 'til dusk to meet.
Then the sunlight fades and the neon signs, attract the social crowd,
the silence dies and an echo's born as the deadly night grows loud.
A ***** blonde in a ***** coat, leans on a grey stone wall,
waiting to lead her regulars down a dark and dingy hall.
While a blind man steers his cane ahead to aid his weary feet,
he gropes his way to a barstool  where he and bottle meet.
The piercing sound of a siren is muffled by angry tongues,
as an old drunk falls in an alleyway clutching his heaving lungs.
The sight of the city from the fifteenth floor turns the heart to a giant pump,
as a ****** high in every way prepares for his final jump.
Dance hall girls line the stage and kick their legs in time,
as the prestige men in business suits order gin and lime.
An aging man with glass in hand finds friendship in the night
bringing back his childhood through the shouts of a barroom fight.
The pain goes on 'til the lights go out and the wolves all head for home
for those who have no place to rest the sidewalk is there to roam.

If I can’t quite see tomorrow and can’t deal well with today
Can I close these eyes that blind me and somehow find a way.
Will I fly up to the heavens, or will I drop down to the seas.
What if I’m not there to comfort, just at the time you please.
Well I’ll cry, yes I’ll cry, just as any other would,
And I’ll climb back up that hill again like any lover should.
Here we go, here we go, up another hill, trying to see tomorrow
Or what our dreams will ****,
Its not heaven that can hurt you, but the clouds that slow the way
So I’ll move my love at the speed of sound and reach you in a day.

Sometimes we think we know the world and all that dwells within,
perhaps we think we just aren’t loved and that is such a sin.
Not in ways of holy books or idols on the shelf,
but a sin against your own esteem, for we need to love our self.
How could one stand in a pleasant place, where love gives off a glow,
and still be heard to say, they really do not know.
Love is in the food we eat and how it is prepared
love is in the rooms we share and how another cared.
Love is in the time we have though often not enough,
love is in the hours no matter, smooth or tough.
Puppies too have loved you without ever saying so,
Yet here I am a simple man, who never lets you know.
I give in the ways I understand and sometimes they are weak
When I know that as a woman its loving words you seek.
So here it is on paper, it is the way I am
A simple little poet, not worth green eggs and ham.
But even though my words are poor and pockets full of air,
You must feel after many years, the poet does really care.
WHC

Time is flying by and I have little heart to fly with it.
I try and find a path to travel, in a place I won’t get hit,
But enemies like gravel, get stuck in all our shoes
And I fight them every single day, like a drunk who pays his dues.
A feast is in the woods ahead, I see it in the corner of my eye
I hope I can prepare myself so northern nights won’t make me cry.
I will dance in sparkling firelight with the woman of my life
She pretends I’m in another place and perhaps she’s not my wife.
Can’t say that I can lay the blame, my warmth has dwindled down
To where my heat is something like a dark and dingy town
Full of ghosts and memories that haunt whatever moves
Like a bent and worn out needle trying to find the grooves.
Time is such a wicked thing, whether it comes or goes
It always finds the secret path that no one ever knows.

Time is a vicious enemy, it creates crevices of pain in both the face and the lonely heart.
There is no way that a lonely man with a world of motivation
can have a brand new start.
I am old , the wrinkles are a giveaway, the energy and weakness
tells the story
Full of blood and torment, of anger, and sadness all that's crude
and gory.
I need a soul on point,  someone to believe, with a suit of fearless
steel
someone to convince me that all the things that scare me
just aren't real.
Can you be that leader the one that will stand over me be on guard
and protect me
or will you leave me when the war begins  to leave a world of souls
alone to be
Just let me know if I should shine my armour and be prepared to
stand alone
or watch from the sidelines  in frozen ****** fear
and sit and cry a single tear.

I been thinking a lot about this **** growing old
Can’t eat what I want and my feet get cold.
Don’t have much money but I can’t fix that
Don’t eat much junk but I still get fat.
Don’t get to travel or see no stuff
Even getting out of bed is getting **** rough.
Gotta  watch the ***** and I don’t have ***
can’t mow the lawn or build no decks.
The government says gonna help me out
That's some **** I seriously doubt
But I have to hang in no other choice
Can’t start screaming or I’ll lose my old voice.
So I sit on my couch like a bump on a log
And stare cross the room at my nice little dog.
He seems so relaxed curled up like a snail
Closing his eyes and wagging his tail.
Wish I could be just like him
Sleeping and eating being young and slim.
But the facts of the matter are a slap in the face
The old man is destined to die in this place.
So I’m thinking I’ll try the party route
If I gotta go I’ll be happy going out.

Even though I cast a shadow and create an echo in the hills
I know I am no longer real, just dust on old window sills.
It is my ashes scattered hither and yon, near but far
leaving just a memory and a long and jagged scar.
So sad to no longer be, empty but full of movement
like a piece of glass, shimmering but yet bent.
Where am I, the sky seems dark above me all the time,
even my dreams no longer exist unless they are in rhyme.
If I am not here then why do I struggle to sleep?
why too does the music that I hear make me weep?
Am I really just a bitter shadow, left from past days
will I have a lasting legacy made in other ways?
A shadow cannot know these things or imagine any dream
things for us who are scattered will never be as they seem.

The weight of a huge chipped and worn rock lies upon our shoulders
it threatens our air supply, our energy is low and we are weak.
What little air breaks through is merely dust and dirt simply
meant to hinder our escape, to force us to scream in pain.
We will not....we will hold our breath until the clean sweet air of life
feeds us and stirs our souls and hearts to carry on. We will not weaken
again, we will not allow rocks and dust and wind and rain and scars from our past to prevent us from breaking free....we are different....we have more ....we are stronger and better.
We have purpose, meaning and time. We will fight and be wise and use love and wisdom and courage to protect and guide us.
If either of us is left alone the other will carry one with a soul resting on their shoulder for guidance and love .......we are a team.

Ah the single life, so very sweet,
as lively as dancing feet.
Always moving, learning, meeting
rushing, loving, greeting.
New happenings most every day
If I must go
then what a way.

Ah, hindsight, what a gift
as valuable as time is swift.
For I recall that single life
and what I needed most....a wife.

A gravestone worn with age and wind
Leans toward the west
A monument for what’s his name
Who used to be the best.
Those who knew him stood and wept
As they watched his final show,
But after this performance
There’s no place left to go.
Will they come back to see him now
as a friend without a stage?
Or simply write of what he did
on a torn and yellowed page.
The entertainer made us laugh
He put music in their head
But nothing fades like the memory
Of a man whose show is dead.

The teasing lines that draw me in,
from December’s cold to you,
The haunting voice that fills my head,
when a fleeting glance would do.
Bring it close, hold it near
we mustn’t let it fade.
I live to touch, I live to feel
the rainbows that you’ve made.
A veil of velvet hides my face,
as you turn and walk away
And I search within a world of words
for something new to say.
Like sweet hellos and sad goodbyes
its all been said before.
As frightening as an epitaph
is the closing of the door.
Watch the sun and watch the moon
as they fall down from the sky,
hear the sound as they hit the earth.
My eyes will ask you why?

I will be the one who throughout failures and erring ways was always there, sword in hand. When each sunrise comes, when rainbows hail their beauty, when the music of life plays best in spring, when you need warmth and love, I will be your Valentine. I will dance with you, see the world with you, serve feasts of the Gods for you and pour your wine. Words may sometimes escape my lips, but never my heart. My soul is with yours, they travel this rocky road together and will always do so. I will be your I have no canvas, no brush or even a vision that says enough,
I can not fly you hither and yon to warmth and glory,
I cannot bring flashing stones embedded in gold of many shades
I try to sing to you , but my voice dies like summer flowers in autumn’s chill, I cannot free you from burdens of daily life or release the pain of years gone by, I can not make promises for much beyond tomorrow’s dawn, but yet I will be your Valentine for eternity, I will be the one who loved you until the end of time.....forever Valentine.

Hair the colour of wheat with a backdrop of crashing waves,
near the cliffs of hardened stone with the dark and hidden caves.
She sits and walks her friends until her soul is hard and cold
her beauty is what saves her from the fate of growing old.
She has a heart the size of an Island, and eyes that always shine
The only flaw that I can find is this lady isn’t mine.
The wires allow our words to touch and our lonely eyes to meet,
But to wrap my arms around her is an unknown dream like feat.
I wait each day for a word or two, a sign her world is right,
But I go to bed with an aching soul in the heavy dark of night.
What I want is taken and so many roads to walk,
I work each solitary day waiting for that chance to talk.
I want to touch that face of ivory and feel the hair of gold
I want to revel in her warmth before I get too old.
Carol your quite amazing , that’s a chord that rings so true
And you my love remember , these words are just for you.

The weight of a huge chipped and worn rock lies upon our shoulders
it threatens our air supply, our energy is low and we are weak.
What little air breaks through is merely dust and dirt simply
meant to hinder our escape, to force us to scream in pain.
We will not....we will hold our breath until the clean sweet air of life
feeds us and stirs our souls and hearts to carry on. We will not weaken
again, we will not allow rocks and dust and wind and rain and scars from our past to prevent us from breaking free....we are different....we have more ....we are stronger and better.
We have purpose, meaning and time. We will fight and be wise and use love and wisdom and courage to protect and guide us.
If either of us is left alone the other will carry one with a soul resting on their shoulder for guidance and love .......we are a team.

I am a time traveler, I move quietly from today to tomorrow,
I am an ill traveler; I dance with pain and sing with sorrow.
“Who goes there” they call to me, deep in the night,
Not easing my pain, but just causing more fright.
I swing on a star sent by the pill, and swim in goblets of wine
I pray for release, I cling to a dream, one that’s sweet and divine.
I hear the music that all others miss; I taste the river of love
I feel the pounding, down deep in the earth, sent by something above.
As a traveler I go just a day at a time, so much to my dismay,
But if days were words and I was young, I’d still have little to say.
I wait for the spring its effortless growth feeling so warm and green
I lie in a field watching a dream, knowing it’s already been seen.
I drift over clouds, billowed and white, lined with silver they say,
But I fall through the cracks holding my pack onward to a new day.

As a rubber ball
the child’s heart is bounced
from concrete walls
while courtroom antics
are played out for spite by all.
Finger pointing, lying, loud voices
and between times an ice cream cone for a boy.
A boy or perhaps a toy
waits with this one or another, while robes and
books decide on a father or a mother.
Perhaps a Saturday father will be born, for rules
are rules and stated clear, they read that a mother’s
love is best.
Pay no mind to children’s love or reality.
Pacing floors and clouded eyes, stare at yellowed prints
adorning walls of aged wood and words.
Father speaks in turn of days gone by, promises love and speaks
of a son not a boy.
“Times may change” a voice whispers to the trembling man,
“the past may not endure”.
A miracle today they all say, as the majestic rooms hold
mumblings by the score.
Hand in tiny hand they move on out, to streets of hard cement,
where dreams are waiting to be built.
No Saturday father today, perhaps another time.

Silence spread through the small gray room
as the heads all dropped in apparent gloom.
They all stood up as the music played,
and walked to the front where the body laid.
One by one they stared at the face
solemnly still in a reverent grace.
First comes the wife who knew him so well
her mind held the secret she never could tell.
Next came the son the eldest of two,
when the time was right he knew what to do.
Last came the mother who was so far away,
she just couldn’t see why it happened that day.
The man lay smiling, gray and serene,
he seemed to be waiting for what might have been.
His best suit covered the wound in his chest
that had taken him now to his permanent rest.
His oldest had held him while his wife pushed the knife
with one swift movement they snuffed out his life.
Hating this man for the things he had done
ashamed to be known as his wife and his son.
No one else knew what happened that night,
everyone thought he was killed in a fight.
Could the subconscious erase the hard fact
of a mother and son and their murderous act?
The greatest of motives just can’t justify
the death of a father and a hideous lie.
Guilt could be seen on the face of the boy
he didn’t share in her freedom and joy.
It took four days for the boy to repent
and face up to the woman he’d grown to resent.
His hands wet with fear he opened the door,
he pulled the steel trigger and she fell to the floor.
He waited a moment his mind filled with pain,
put the gun to his head and pulled it again.
Two more plots in the cold damp ground
as the fear of truth makes a deafening sound.

The lashes gently flutter, over eyes of crystal blue
I’m waiting so impatiently, to share the world with you.
Your crawl has turned to walking, as winter turns to spring
Every moment the blues eyes stare, there’s something new to bring.
A smile as warm as summer’s sun and a touch as soft as air
Makes a heart in distant rooms, wish that it could share.
I hear your laugh and feel you near, when I dare to dream
Sometimes blue eyed angels, are exactly as they seem.
Your questions go unspoken as does your inner song
But those who know of angels, know this won’t last long.
Your words and songs will soon be heard, by all of us who care
An angels’ voice will carry far and always there to share.
You’ll grow and learn as days go by, giving as you get
My little blue eyed angel, just hasn’t started yet.
Soon your smile will be face to face, warming all you see
I pray my blue eyed angel… that one of them is me.

I remember running to first, faster then a scream
Now that kind of speed is just a foolish dream.
Age is such a vicious foe, slower by the day
My anger yells at speed of light with nothing real to say.
I still dream of hitting first against the burning sun
Each Saturday was just a game, a war that must be won.
The ball was hit just like my soul soaring in the air
Its always true life is foul or sometimes it is fair.
I loved to hear my father’s yell when the play was on my turf
The yells from distant fans of mine screaming for the smurf.
Even munchkins have to age according to the word of  Oz
But baseball dreams have no rules and  it's sons they have no laws.

Standing on the corner, with roses in her hand,
She stared at all the faces, that passed like drifting sand.
No one stopped to break her thought
or carry off a rose,
as the winter wind, brought freezing rain
through her torn and ragged clothes.
Darkness never seemed to come,
as the neon pierced her eyes,
and it hurt to hold the basket
of roses no one buys.

The morning of a special day,
And the whole town gathered there.
In all their Sunday finery,
the best poor folk could wear.
They came from off the hillside
and the main street of the town,
to watch the kind of justice
that would cut this Evil down.
They stood four deep in pouring rain
and waited for the scream
that would end Evil’s bitter life
and haunted every dream.
Somewhere in the angry crowd
a woman cried in vain
so full of love this lady
that she suffered Evil’s pain.
Children laughed and snickered
as Evil walked the ramp
looking cold and hungry
as his clothes were torn and damp.
One on either side of him
to hold him in his place
as the moment feared forever
caused his heart to race.
The crowd was stirring quietly
as he knelt upon the wood,
mumbling prayers to someone
as quickly as he could.
Flashing silver, scarlet blood
The ****** of the day
the crowd was simply overjoyed
as they turned to walk away.

At 3:02 the last bomb fell, smoke and ashes spread,
wiping out survivors that were counting up the dead.
Buildings lay in rubble, piled throughout the street,
as the country once the master met such grim defeat.
Some bodies moved in search of food while others screamed and cried,
By 5:05 in the afternoon all but two had died.
A youth whose eyes were lost in flames, stumbled in pain and fright
as a woman lay huddled in a smoke filled room hiding away from the night.
For three long weeks they survived this way, just barely enough to eat.
The future of a rebuilt was lost, lest the two should meet.
The blind man staggered in bricks and trash,
falling and crawling through the smouldering ash.
Death was creeping up on him for he heard the steps behind,
when a woman’s scream pierced his ears and thoughts raced through his mind.
Face to face at last they stood, now the world could grow,
but the youth without his vision was the last of two to know.
His hands reached to touch her, but she said “ it can’t be done”
Then she took him in her arms “My God I’ve found my son”.

A sunset glows of ruby red, through trees of emerald green,
The sapphire blue of water emits a dazzling sheen.
All this glory warms the soul and my love will wake enhanced
Like a fairy queen in a restless field, of music where she danced.
I long to enter the world of dreams to feel this needed love
But guidance to the special world comes from up above.
Springtime turns to summer when dandelions will reign,
The golden twists controlled by wind help ease my daily pain.
They say that love can torture they say that it can die,
And so I fear the fractured land where lovers sit and cry.
I wait here on the outside, seeing colours in my soul
And pray a love that’s safe and mild will come and make me whole.
Eyes of brown will haunt my dreams as I wake in tragic heat
Perhaps the eyes are memories or someone I will meet.
My patience plays at evil games in my saddened mind
I fear that love’s a treasure this lonely man won’t find.

I lay upon the satin sheets
As the lights burn through my head
And struggle with my memory
To recall just what I said.
I turned and put my hand across
The body that I share
And wondered in my empty mind
if it really pays’ to care?
“What’s in sharing life” I ask,
But only half for me
God, these satin sheets feel cool
and in my hand the key.
I guess I’ll stay for one more night
She really shouldn’t mind,
She seems to like my company
and my cool evasive kind.
Perhaps when morning comes around
I’ll pack and move awhile
To another bed with satin sheets
and a temporary smile.

Darkness spreads like summer tar as her eyes turn up the heat,
Pretending life is a forever thing is a polished silver feat.
Like raven’s hair and an eagle’s heart, she bears the burden well
Living through the daily fear of a secret none can tell.
Her love will dance like firelight on a frosty afternoon,
Even though she knows the time is ending all too soon.
Winter’s chill turns up the pain to an ever burning rage
As we wait like little children for the turning of the page.
We simply live like migrants or mutants on a screen,
We just can’t share a memory of a place we’ve never been.
But we can clasp two hearts as one through electric cord
And cry ourselves to sleep at night, praying to some Lord.
Tomorrow’s just a distant nod in a sea of unknown wind,
Losers die of wondering on what day they’ve sinned.
I’ll carry on my weary back the treasures handed me
And wander through the heavens to see what I can see.
I’ll watch and guide from distant space, I’ll whisper oh so low
But only you will understand the world I used to know.

A man trapped in habit and silliness, I waited with baited breath
but this year my special day was torn from me by his tragic death.
We would sit as a tandem in the spring sun, two noses in the air.
pondering lunch, grass, lilac buds, but not harbouring a single care.
A dozen years such a short and faltering era, one I can’t explain
we shared our time, we shared our souls, and most of all our pain.
The first warm rays of spring brought us out like two old bears
airing out our empty souls and throwing off our winter cares
Facing the sun grinning in our own special way, a pair winding down,
a brave and furry warrior and his faithful adoring clown.
So I guess it’s over, the sun doesn’t shine quite as brightly today
I sat there alone, an old and lonely fool with nothing left to say.
Perhaps this year, spring has a new purpose, to usher in the end,
my faithful old friend has left me and I have no garden to tend.

A beak chipped with wear and conflict, wings tattered and shorn, we
continue on to our destination, unlike man who falters and cries in fear.
We have but one goal, to reach our destination and continue our world. A world built on flight, family, and fate. We face the winds, the chill of ice the heat of the suns glare and continue on. We spread our wings as did our ancestors for thousands of years before our birth, behind our trail our young ones, following blindly to their predestined world.
This is what we do, we migrate, we breed, we repeat and repeat, but who knows that we dream. Perhaps no one ever will.
We do, and our dream is to continue without fear of loud sounds that drop our bodies to the cold damp ground, that leave young ones alone.
Perhaps in times to come beauty and grace will send up a signal to those that
stop our path and needlessly leave our young alone to die…if we could speak we would only ask why.
I fly, I will always fly

Listening as the gentle breeze of whispers drift past my deafened ears.
Dreaming  as the whistling wind burns my soul and reminds me of fears
where do we go from here, too many games, too many songs.
Too many plans gone astray, not enough rights and too many wrongs.
Mountains too high to climb, rivers that can’t be crossed.
Lakes of silken glass and oceans that long to be tossed.
Raindrops of glass clatter on my roof, with echo’s taunting
life’s not all that fearful just terribly sad and daunting.
So here I go again, flying without any wings, dancing in pain,
Slipping, sliding, falling on my past, staring up at hot rain.
Its over soon, the subtle end is looming bright, one night
while music screams, liquor pours, smoke curls ever bright
There I go watch me fly, no chute, no prayer, no hope
Just clouds above and crystal blue, watch me fall, watch me *****.
Ah, gather round, see the feathers on my soul, you know that when I die
I’d rather fall while flying, then wait and long to try.

For three score years I’ve lived and loved to the tune of my own song
O’ dreaded years to you I say, beware my soul is strong..
I’ll stand up high no feeble bones, no fear of silver hair.
I’ll not conduct my last romance from an antique rocking chair.
I’ll roam the world like younger folk have done for years on end,
if I can’t keep pace with youth today, by God  I will pretend.
No shame in age I will remark, if the rebel children ask
just the wisdom of a thousand years, behind this wrinkled mask.

The animals left the zoo one day to have a big parade.
The plans for all and rules to follow had previously been made.
The elephants led the grand array trunk to tail they were,
while lions followed in a pride, glistening up their fur.
The monkeys hitched on giraffes, sitting upon their backs,
than the hyenas laughing hard came running in noisy packs
The snakes they slithered down the crowded street,
of course they slide because they have no feet.
The zebras striped and all in line were such a sight to see.
Then came a group of tigers strong,smiling with their glee.
It is so sad for us to know this lasts for just one day.
Then all the friendly animals will not parade or play.
But boys and girls can stay the same and be gentle all the while,
and live each day in happiness wearing a loving smile.

With gentle love and kindness, a mother’s hands take care
with strength and understanding a father’s hands are there.
The hands of time move forward and with them we must go.
We bite the hand that feeds us in spite of all we know.
Lend a hand to those we love, the deed will be returned,
let the left hand know the right, sharing secrets they have learned.
Hands O mighty hands beware, your strength is yet unknown,
heal and save with soothing ways and your worth soon will be shown.
Dynamic hands, loving hands and those that read in Braille,
hands that reach and hands that teach and hands that try and fail.
Hands that beg and hands that steal and hands that hold the light,
hands that search and hands that touch, warlike hands that fight.
Hands that point and hands that wave, some folded as they pray
hands that take and those that give in a very special way.
Hands that speak with a gentle grace, for those who hear no sound,
a world of words in fingertips has suddenly been found.
Stretch your arms up to the sky, rejoice with hands upraised
For he who gave us each two hands must surely now be praised.

A man trapped in habit and silliness, I waited with baited breath
but this year my special day was torn from me by his tragic death.
We would sit as a tandem in the spring sun, two noses in the air.
pondering lunch, grass, lilac buds, but not harbouring a single care.
A dozen years such a short and faltering era, one I can’t explain
we shared our time, we shared our souls, and most of all our pain.
The first warm rays of spring brought us out like two old bears
airing out our empty souls and throwing off our winter cares
Facing the sun grinning in our own special way, a pair winding down,
a brave and furry warrior and his faithful adoring clown.
So I guess it’s over, the sun doesn’t shine quite as brightly today
I sat there alone, an old and lonely fool with nothing left to say.
Perhaps this year, spring has a new purpose, to usher in the end,
my faithful old friend has left me and I have no garden to tend.

The little man stood upon a hill, for it was all he could climb,
He lived upon the low land and his world was built on rhyme
All his words found a way to touch each other and cry
When tears were not the daily plan then words became so wry.
He stood upon his hill, with his small and battered hands,
wishing for the ocean view and the feel of burning sands.
The sun was just above him and stars were there at night,
but all the world around him seemed to block his sight.
Sometimes magic would arrive and touch his wounded soul,
but there was no constant answer, he was never to be whole.
Why stand upon the hill they say, there is no answer there
He would not give an answer, he knew they didn’t care.
Days go by as does the clock and all the blowing dust,
the world still changes colour, turning to bitter rust.
The little man on the hill watches it all in shame,
He sees that rhymes won’t cure the world, life is just a game.

As a paddle breaks the glass like glare
Beneath the pine sweet hull,
A breeze shakes gently through the trees
and leaves behind a lull.
The shoreline brims with glistening green
As the sun pounds out its beat,
And reflects a drop of golden light,
As trembling ripples meet.
As peaceful as a memory
Of sweetened days and love,
A cloud with hidden meaning
stirs the blue above.
Remember, yes remember
This day that when it leaves
Engraves the magic images
Upon the soul that grieves.