You Are My Sunshine

Joe he was
the eldest of us all
He would pick me up after work
And sing to me I was his baby sister

You are my sunshine
my only sunshine

I loved Joe
so big and solid so good.
I used to hug his neck as he lifted me
Like a feather in his arms
I love you Joe
I love you too Sweetie

You make me happy when skies are grey

There was a war in far off  land
I do not understand wars
I just wanted my Joe

You never know dear how much I love you

He went away in a soldiers uniform
I waited at the gate for him every day
Come back Joe I miss you

Please don’t take my sunshine away

Two soldiers came today and talked to mom
She wept and held her head in her hands
At night in my sleep I see you Joe
You lift me up in your strong arms
So safe so loving so sweet
In the distance from a long way away
I hear your voice again Joe

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
when skies are grey

I feel safe again Joe
I know your alright.
I love you joe

The man with green hair and green hands.

A long long time ago
When army’s wore uniforms.
We were khaki they were grey.
My grandfather was fire warden
In WW2 he had seven sons
And three daughters .
You could say he was
a bit of a pacifist.
Make love not war
Was his mantra.
He married my Grandma
when she was seventeen.
They were to stay married
for over sixty five years.
And produce  tribe of ten children.
He had spent his whole life
Working as a coppersmith
For the same company.

His hair and hands tinted green
From the metals Verdigris.
My father was a baby just born
In the middle of the war.
We lived in Manchester.
Money was always tight.
But we were happy.
Just as Herr ****** invaded Poland
My grandad bought our first house.
We always rented until then.
It was a large town home.
The six older boys
All joined the marines
At the outbreak of the war.
They did one act of preparation
That ultimately saved the family.
They took down an old barn for a farmer
And used the beams to shore up the stone cellar
of the house.
When the air raids came later.
We would all huddle under the stair well
Until the all clear sirens sounded.
When the bad raid came
It was the early hours of the night.
Grandad was out on fire watch.
Six of the sons were on ships
In Europe and the far east.
My aunty told me much later.
When the war was long over.
She heard the bomb falling
It screamed as it fell.
Exploding just outside our house
the house caved in and they
were all buried under the rubble
in total darkness.
She said grandma was
breastfeeding the baby my dad.
Grandad was busy the raid was a hard one.
A friend said Frank your house has been hit
It’s bad.
He dropped everything and ran and ran
Breathless he reached the fallen house.
In his heart he thought we were all dead.
It took ten neighbors four hours to reach us.
They pulled the girls out first
Then the baby my dad.
And finally the dimutive figure of my grandma.
She was weeping.
She said Frank we’ve lost everything.
There’s nothing left.
He held her in his big arms
Tears flowing from the eyes of a man
Who had had a hard life.
Who never cried.
He kisses her full on her lips
A single sign of public affection
That was out of his character.
He whispered to grandma.
That odd Mary
Because I just found
Everything I ever wanted or needed.

Beatitudes.. ( Beautiful Attitudes )

The meek shall inherit the earth.
but not the mineral rights.

Jude 2015

big ***** Judy
had some
i guess you could say
body
image
issues
you could call them
body
issues
there was some
i dunno
in utero
conflict
and she
some how
head butted
her twin brother in the womb
but not in the way you're all
probably
so quick to think of
THINK ABOUT IT
but actually
uhh
don't
think
too much
about it
because it is
in fact
too much
back to Judy
she didn't much like
her patootie
nor did her mother
and nor did
many of the mothers
of others
i don't want to be
too quick
to say
that Judy had "problems"
but sure as ****
sherlock
quick to fit
oh yeah
Judy had
PROBLEMS
she couldn't handle
most of what we call
school
the work
the stress
the this
the that
set to a soundtrack
of shouts and clamors  
from ******* classmates
fatty fatty
boom
ballatti
2 by 4
can't fit through
the kitchen door
really?
um
pardon me
but
what kind of narrow
French
Doors
in what kind of kitchen
are we talking about?
anyway
a stones throw away from that *** ed period
oh ****
let’s talk about her period
Curse of Eve?
**** my ****!
Her in house aggression seemed to say to herself
and naturally
to no one else
returning to that **** but not so much
educational period
it was a nightmare
judy can't help but remember when "it"
suddenly
became
one nasty *** personal pronoun
that only meant "***"
so sadly
on the way to girl scout camp
when judy turned around
to tell the motormouthed ******* in the back seat
to watch their language
because it'll become a crutch
and they'll start
"doing it in school"
all of a sudden
Judy
is some sort of deviant
only because of
"it"
what is
and was it
about being a little bit overweight
that made the boys and girls
treat the little bit
like it was
I dunno
a lot
wrong question
Judes
what is it about
being shy
seemingly vulnerable
and weak
that made the boys and girls
latch on
with unceasing enthusiasm
most people
young ones
especially
are troubled by the same things
that taunted Judy
but most of those others
had
uh
what?
an “outlet”?
**** that
Judy
Judy
JUDY
human beings
are *******
joey
james
johnson
dickshit
who always called you fat and such
is probably shooting ******
into his insignificant toes
or maybe his genitals
hope for the worse
hope it’s his genitals
back in middle school
when everyone thought they were more important
than they actually are
were just as terrified
but ****
they had that ******* “outlet”
unlike  judy
but the new judy
with a lesser but mostly the same patootie
won't worry
and won't dwell on it
because
one day
she's going to satirize the **** out of you numbskulls
enjoy yourself
while you can
because Judy
has already dissolved
into laughter
hardy har har
******
and mimbos
*******
how do you feel now?

When the loss falls
upon you like the darkness.
And in your heart
it seems irrecoverable
and all is forever lost.

Then remember this.
Even when the mighty stars
supernova in cataclysmic
exploding destruction..
Their energy
cannot be destroyed
but will only change state.
As it joins the expanding
universe.
To become a part
of something more
beautiful.

1918
The Italian Campaign
The last days of word war 1


*He had made the journey
across the Swiss mountains.
The war was far behind him now
just Catherine lay ahead.
As he reached the hospital ward
the old nurse shook her head.
What of the baby?he asked,
her sad eyes looked down at the floor.
Catherine lay pale and weak
on the hospital bed.
Somehow
she managed a smile at his arrival.

"Oh darling,
I am going to die.
Don’t let me die.
Hold me in your arms!
Hold me tight.
Don’t let me go.
When you hold me
we cannot be parted
If you stay with me
I shall not be afraid."

As she left him the church bells tolled.
Declaring the Armistice
The war had ended for some.

He carried her in his arms
to the window.
The crowds below
Cheering the wars end
had released white doves into the air.
They fluttered by the hospital window.
As if to carry her soul to heaven,
He kissed her still lips
And whispered
peace, peace
at last my darling.

When the snow comes

I remember the first year
I came to Canada.
It was late fall and
the winter came early.
I think it was trying to
change my mind
and get me to go
back to England.
The fresh white snow flew.
Soon  it drifted over the pathways.
Silken windsocks of snow
filled the porch.
We all bought scarves
That wrapped about our faces
******* icy air through
woolen fibres.
I remember the houses turned grey
and the pristine white on the sidewalk
quickly turned to wet slush.
My boots felt heavy
and tight with long thick socks.
Gripping them to my feet.
Cars spluttered and coughed
A peephole of windscreen
with a driver peering into the gloom.
I decided to quit Canada
and go back.
But twenty five years later
I am still here.
And the snowfalls
do not bother me at all.

Judes Recurring dreams

The red 64 mustang
Gives it throaty roar.
As it’s 289 cubic inch motor
Reaches 90 mph.
I am 17 again.
Look at my long hair flowing
In the wind as the red convertible
roars in its full power.
Next to me is Ellie Whitehead
Only the hottest girl in my class
Wow! she squeals in joy
as the acceleration hits her
lovely flowing blonde hair.
I have been fantasizing
about her for two years.
And here she is.
Ready to
Well never mind it’s my dream.
I love this dream.
It comes to me
At least  three times a week.
Then the alarm clock brrrrs
Waking me up rudely.
God I hate this part.
Then I turn to the
fifty year old Lady
next to in my bed.
I kiss her softly
On her forehead
And say
Rise and shine
Ellie my love
It’s a brand new day.

A Year in Judes life--March

March

*Remembering when a small child.
The howls and wails of the March
winds in the darkness.
Blankets pulled over my head
my mother shhhh
its only the wind
just the march
winds my son.

As if the wind
was not malevolent.
The garden tossed and blown
the early daffodils now lay flat
like mowed down soldiers.

later I understood
It was a battle of those giants
of nature the gods
of winter and spring
locked into a fight
to the death

The Glass Menagerie

*She was ethereal in her beauty.
I always loved her of course.
But only from a respectful distance.
She collected glass animal's.
I always gave her one for birthdays.
She would kiss my cheek in thanks.
Not the kiss I craved but a kiss.
Her perfect French braids
Framing her lovely face.
I fantasized unfastening them
Slowly so her hair flowed
Like the soft spring rain
washing my bare skin.
She would show me the
intricate color mix
in her glass menagerie.
But I only saw the colors
of her hair her eyes her lips.
When the sickness came.
Her skin became
taught and translucent like glass.
The weight loss showing her frame
She looked more and more
Like one of her beloved
glass collection.
Then when we lost her
She left her collection to me.
But the one
I wanted and treasured
Was on a high shelf
Beyond the clouds
Far beyond my reach.

Jude's rant…. Why sitcoms have ruined our lives.

I am really expletive mad at the networks
all they dish out night after night
is ****** sitcoms that stink worse
than a blocked toilet in an Irish bar
on a Sunday morning.

Have you seen what it takes
to make a twelve season hit sitcom.?
I have spent five minutes writing one.

here it is.
it's called

My husband's a total ******.

Characters
Soulful Simon the husband and father.
he is a cat whipped half excuse of a man
whose job it is to always be ******* up
and to submissively take perma **** from his
****** preachy wife.
Donna

His overbearing wife
who makes a full time career  position
staying at home doing absolutely nothing.
Except over managing her two bratty kids
and think up reasons
to cut down on soulful Simon's
meagre *** diet
which consist of  
Saturday night mercy ***.

Donna is also the disciplinarian handing out
punishments to the bratty kids.
like no iPad for twenty minutes
for calling soulful Simon a worthless ****.

This is the main lesson of the show
but I find it a confusing message
Of
if you tell the ****** truth
you lose your iPad for twenty minutes.

Important character traits in show.

father
A total buffoon and useless idiot
that has no say or power in the house.
in days of yore he would wear Harlequin
suit and have a bell on his cap.

Mother
a nasty passive aggressive *****.
who controls most the money
and all the ***.
She must be smart and always right.
She was only wrong once
that was when she was right
and thought she was wrong.

Children
must act like know it all adults
god knows no one else does.

important notes
the laugh machine
must be packed with
Energizer batteries.
if they fail
then the viewers at home
will find out
no one else is laughing either.

Authors note
This carefully scripted
hit plot for sitcom
copyrighted by Jude Kyrie.

I do not want
to see this on the network
without my
One million Dollar  
per episode stipend.

cc my lawyers
Dewey Screwem and Howe

December

The first down feathers of snow
fall upon a waiting winter.
Carols are being played.
Choirs are singing them.
Like I remember as a boy.
In the village square
The salvation army lady
In her old fashioned uniform
Blesses all who place a dollar
Into her kettle of hope.
Outside the old church
A crib in a stable
It is always there every year.
To the spaceship called earth
It is only one more orbit around the sun.
But December
is always Christmas to me.

September

The summer
fights its eternal
battle with autumn.
The tired green leaves
hang tightly to the branches.
Not understanding
the coming changes.
Summer lovers
still hold each other
In defiance of holiday romances
and schooldays.
The nights are cool
But they all proceed
as if Autumn will
Somehow
miss us this year.

April

A perfect blend of earth and sky
Nature’s paintings gone awry
Songbirds singing everywhere
Morning chorus awakens the air

Swallows chaffinch and cardinal
Bluebird lark and thrush and quail
The gentle lilting nightingale
Buzzing insects everywhere abound

Waiting patiently for spring
Crowds of Daffodils make my heart sing
Taking all my cares away
Gifting me a perfect day

February

*The hyacinth bulbs I planted
in a *** have finally bloomed.
Pink and purple flowers appear.
new life adorns my kitchen window.

Outside snowflakes are flying.
before they settle
on the pathway
they melt into water.

Shortest month its days
fly by.
Springtime is peeking
around the corner.
My heart hums a joyful tune

In my dream Jude is riding
a 64 red Mustang convertible with
white upholstery.
The beetles are
roaring
All my Lovin'

Its throaty roar
from the straight
through muffler
and 289 in line engine
at eighty mph
caused a squeal of
delight from my
passenger
Ellie Whitehead
only the hottest girl
in my school.

I have been
fantasizing about her
for weeks.
I would give up my red car
for her to--well never mind
Its my dream after all.
Wow! I am 17 again.
I love this dream.

The alarm clock
vibrates with a
mean spirited
vengengence.
I awake rudely.
and kiss the
middle aged lady
next to me in my bed.
And whisper
rise and shine
Ellie my love
its a new day.

In my dream Jude is riding
a 64 red Mustang convertible with
white upholstery.
The beetles are
roaring
All my Lovin'

Its throaty roar
from the straight
through muffler
at eighty mph
caused a squeal of
delight from my
passenger
Ellie Whitehead
only the hottest girl
in my school.

I have been
fantasizing about her
for weeks.
I would give up my red car
for her to--well never mind
Its my dream after all.
Wow! I am 17 again.
I love this dream.

The alarm clock
vibrates with a
mean spirited
vengeance.
I awaken rudely.
I kiss the
middle aged lady
next to me in my bed.
and whisper
rise and shine
Ellie my love
its a new day.

In Safe Places
A Valentines Poem
by
Jude Kyrie

Tonight I will roam
around the chambers
of your sweet heart.
It is the safest place I know.
Full of  memories
and photographs of us.
Here is your first glance.
Do you remember my love?
So fateful and inviting.
was that a smile you wore?
I never remembered that before.
Just the yet  unfulfilled promise
and invitation it held.
In your arms
I now live in my safe place
The home that fate saved for me.
You hold the only key
I do not need one since
I will never leave this place.

I feel your arms
around me so safe
Never ever let go of me.
My heart is open
its locks undone.
It beckons you inside it
To live in my sunshine
To feel every beat
as my blood flows.
Reassuring safe and loving.
Let us live
inside each others hearts
forever my love.
Forever In our safe places.

Happy Valentines Day
My Angel
Love
Jude

Winter nights are when the grey wolf cries,
across the skeleton forest shorn of leaves.
Grey and invisible within the resting trees,
Silent and patient intelligent ice blue eyes wait.

It is calling for me to rekindle with the pack
For as a woman I am also partly wolf.
Now my hair turns grey like their coats.
My eyes are as wise as nature.

I lie as they lie with my belly on the earth
in reverence of its timeless wisdom.
to feel its pulsating heartbeat.
The silver shine of my wolfs eyes empower me,
Overflowing my soul, with ancient knowledge.

Though human I lie down in company of the wolf,
suckling the milk of my mother, gaining her strength
Standing in the rains of her wisdom
Her daughter, her immortality, Her wolf.

A Year in Jude's life--May
May

*Fragrances overpowering my senses
cloudless skies of azure blue
Raindrops collecting like mountain dew
Carpets of colours wherever I view

Apple blossom white as snow
The cherry orchard in pink aglow
squirrels frolic in the trees
perfumes mixing in the breeze

Trips to the garden store
planting summer
stock once more
springtime gardening
a pleasant chore

Manchester in 1950

The war was getting forgotten now
except in the movies John Wayne
saved the world alone.
And he always won every battle.
I was a boy conceived in the mayhem
of civilian bombings by the Luftwaffe.
TV was yet six years into the future.
Ration books limited the food of the poor.
The rich had the black market.
I did not know any rich people.
We were ten children and mom and dad.
Very few toys happened back then
So we played soccer with a misshaped ball.
Tennis with jumble sale racquets
and a bald ball borrowed from the dog.
Mom worked in factory that made
Rubber parts for things.
Her arms were always skinned from dermatitis
rashes due to the chemicals she used.
I had a key on a string hanging around my neck.
To get into the house after school.
I did not know back then how poor we were.
But reflecting back I understand now.
In the great depression Manchester
was hit hard.
My dad was put on one week of work
On week unpaid.
My mom cleaned houses to make money
For a meal for her ten  kids.
Her pregnant belly
almost touching the floor.
As she cleaned on her knees.
Just days before giving birth.
I think those days were the hardest.
Even the choking smog caused by the use of
Soft coal on fires in homes and the relentless
smoke of the industrial north west of England.
Left a trail of victims after each foggy attack.
It was then in a dark foreboding world of post
war England.
I swore to all that was holy
I would get out of there and make something
of myself no more poverty.
Education was  escape tunnel from that prison.
That and a burning hatred for want and ignorance.
I became the only one of my family
To obtain a degree from university.
I took my skills and verve
to America and Canada
Opened my own business
And lived the dream.
My children now grown
Have never seen need or want.
It was a miracle to me.
Except sometimes
Even now after all these long years.
I dream of Manchester after the war
And breathing is difficult
As the acrid smoke of the blackened
Chimneys chokes me even in sleep.
And I see mom in the dream
she is so beautiful
to me and I can’t help her
because it was too late.

October

Overnight the leaves
have a moment of glory.
Reds ambers yellows and golds.
A last hurrah from mother nature.
In the woodlands they fall
like spangled stardust.
crunching below my feet.
I can smell the aroma
of my childhood.
And the picture of a young
carefree boy running through
The leaves with his scruffy
Inseparable dog
fills my heart.
I know it was me.

November

The bare skeleton fingers
Of the trees reach up into grey sky’s.
Almost in a prayer.
Begging for the winter snows.
That will dignify their nakedness
In the winter ahead.
The woodlands are
almost a petrified forest.
Even the season knows the end
of life’s circle
and shows its somber
visions to me like the
ghost of Christmas future.

She was ethereal in her beauty.
I always loved her of course.
But only from a respectful distance.
She collected glass animal's.
I always gave her one for birthdays.
She would kiss my cheek in thanks.
Not the kiss I craved but a kiss.
Her perfect French braids
framing her lovely face.
I fantasized unfastening them
Slowly so her hair flowed
Like the soft spring rain
washing my bare skin.
She would show me the
Intricate color mix
in her glass menagerie.
But I only saw the colors
of her hair her eyes her lips.
When the sickness came
Her skin became
taught and translucent like glass.
The weight loss
showing her frame
She looked more and more
like one of her
beloved glass collection.
Then when we lost her
She left her collection to me.
But the one I wanted
Was on a high shelf
Beyond the clouds
Far beyond my reach.

Thank you honey.

You are the one
with the sweet words.
I am your wife, muse,
mother of your children
and I almost forgot, lover.
I am breaking my rules
and writing a poem
just for you my love.

it is called

Thank you honey.

Thank you for all
the sweet poems
you have written for me.
I keep them locked in my souvenir box
tied in blue ribbons.
thank you for being fun
when I feel so low.
you always know
how to make me laugh.
Thank you for being there
when sadness comes to us for a visit.
Thank you for fixing me
whenever I am broken.
Thank you for being the home I always searched for.
Thank you for the family we have built together over all these years.
And thank you for our beautiful children
they are the diamonds in my crown.
And thank you for being
my poet my love.
But most of all
thank you for the music
you brought into my once silent life.
Its no wonder I love you honey.
I don't know if this is a poem
but I think it should be.

always you
only you
love Val

August

*The lake house Is full of life.
My children and their children
gather around me .
I drink their happiness like wine.
The young ones full of life
and water and sand.
I dry them in thirsty beach towels.
The dinner table groans
With sweet corn and salads
Red tomatoes that leak
their summer juices as we bite
Into their bounty.
Yet at night around the fire pit.
The cool air calls from the North.
And I can feel autumn gently
kissing my cheek.

E  v e r y b o d y    
judes, even the ones that say they don't
because it's not okay
I mean,
aren't they already judging for not thinking it's okay?
who  first said that judging is wrong?
If no one judged
where would we be now?

Returning To the Pack

*Winter nights are when the grey wolf cries,
across the skeleton forest bare of leaves.
Grey and invisible within the resting trees,
ghostly shadows in the falling snow.
Silent and patient wolfen ice blue eyes wait.

The night is calling for me to rekindl with the pack.
For as a woman I am also partly wolf.
Now my hair turns grey like their coats.
My eyes are as wise as nature.
My heart yearns to run with them once more.

I lie as they lie with my belly on the earth
in reverence of its timeless wisdom.
Feeling  its pulsating heartbeat older than time.
The silver shine of my wolfs eyes empower me,
overflowing my soul, with ancient knowledge.

Though human I lie down in the  company of the wolf,
suckling the milk of my mother,gaining her strength
Standing in the rains of her wisdom
Her daughter, Her immortality, Her wolf.

July

The docks silvered cedar planks
Pushes into the perfectly blue
waters of the lake.
Endless days of sunlight
pour like honey onto the water.
A trout takes it breakfast early.
As It curves from the still water
of the surface breaking it
like a stone through glass.
A wisp of morning breezes
Cools me but this day will
Be hot and the water will call me
Again and again.

Summer fell from the buds like petals
Insects whirring in long green grass
Lightning flashes a warning of storms
As thunder follows at the speed of sound.
Evening hours on the porch.
Drinking glasses of summer wine.
A book open on the table.
Next to my cedar chair.
The sky stays brighter
As the longest daylight
Crawls towards us.
Even in the gardens of summer
The days will creep slowly shorter.

He had made the journey
across the Swiss mountains.
The war was far behind him
now just Catherine lay ahead.
As he reached the hospital ward
the nurse shook her head.
What of the baby?
he asked quietly,
her sad eyes looked down.

Catherine lay pale and weak
on the hospital bed.
Somehow she managed
a smile at his arrival.
Oh darling,
I am going to die.
Don’t let me die.
Hold me in your arms!
Hold me tight.
Don’t let me go.

When you hold me
we cannot be parted
If you stay with me
I shall not be afraid.
As she left him the bells tolled.
Declaring the Armistice
The war had ended for some.

He carried her in his arms
to the window.
The crowds below
had released hundreds
of white doves into the air.
to celebrate the end
of the great war.
They fluttered high above.
As if to carry her
soul to heaven,

He kissed her still lips
For one last goodbye.
And whispered peace,
peace at last my darling.

January



*In the park the trees
are like frozen skeletons
ice and snow riding their branches.
Tormented and wind blown
They patiently await for springtime

In a few months it will come
new buds and green foliage.
Inside its roots the resting sap
patiently waits for warm days.

I make a vow to my
dormant spirit to be patient
like the trees.
II vow I  break before lunchtime.

The stars spangled on that special night.
The winter moon was full and bright.
So very long ago this shining light
Fell upon a stable old and dark.

The little shepherd boy looked afar
under the bright shining star.
Beams of moonlight lit up the stable.
He ran to it as fast as he was able.

Inside he heard a babies cries.
light from inside was too bright for his eyes.
He was afraid, what was this gleaming?
Am I awake or am I dreaming?

He walked in quietly to view the scene
A little baby in the hay
With Ox and *** the child did lay.
It was special this he knew
He was not sure what he should do.

Standing over he offered his hand.
The child it seemed to understand.
Touching his fingers a special shine
filled his spirit with joy divine.

Warm and soft like angels down
The happiest feeling he had ever known.
All his troubles fell away.
He found the answer he found his way.

Kneeling before the new born king.
Tears of joy fell as his heart did sing.
Mother Mary said he gave you his love.
And the keys to his mansions up above.

When old and tired and you see your last light
The doors to heaven will open that night.
The boy grew up to be the kindest of men
He wished to see the King again

Then when he slept old and spent
The angel to Bethlehem was sent
It carried him to heaven’s door
where he would abide forevermore.

Don't ask me why I conjured someplace in Chicago, I think by Gene and Judes.



(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXIX)


Was't thickets naked trees within the pale
Eye of November guarded with a sense
Of dreary naught, their skeletons black thence
And with such bony fingers grasping frail
Mists' ghostly shadows winds' nigh cruel exhale
Passed through in eerie whispers, that suspense
Culls from auld memries to rehearse from hence,
Which rise before me, haunting which detail?
The question of what's real.  Shake me as twere,
And say I've built cloud castles none shall do
Aught justice to, and bid me look now fer
Brave minutes at what's allus in my view.
Tell me our games were fun but won't endure.
Then take my hand and teach me to love you.

14Oct16c

I recieved my very first "hate" mail today... I was very excited and thrilled, because as we all know you aren't doing something right until you make someone angry.  That someone hates what you do with enough passion to take time out of their own life to point out how horrible your work is.  Unfortunately before I received this exciting news, I had in fact not considered myself a wtiter or poet, and even now I still do not.  I'm a theif and a fraud, I steal words from the silence of the night or the drumming of tires on the road, nothing I've ever said hasn't already been said before and by someone who hasn't said it much better.  By those that have dedicate their eduction and blood and heart to the craft.  I'm nothing more than an echo of the parrots that came before me and I have never claimed to be anything  I am not.  None the less, my words are honest and my intentions are of pure heart.  I have lived a good life, full of mistakes, regrets, failures, success, love, loss, love again, loss again, I drank enough for three lifetimes in just over a decade, among other activities of those who prefer the night... I've wooed a few or more pretty faces while shaking my money maker night after night after night, how I once loved to dance...
Life has slowed since then...  My heart grown wiser and stronger from the friends that I have been lucky enough to connect with through my reckless young adult life and current much tamer days... And of course theirs my son, who I knew I owed the same good influence my father was to me.  He has made fatherhood easy.  He never had a terrible year, not at 2, 3, 4... ever... always just good, mellow, never threw a fit when hearing the word no... I've never had to treat him like a kid, he has always just been a little person.  Too smart and too wise for his age... I once asked him what he would do if he won 8 hundred million dollars, without hesitation he answered, "I would give it to St. Judes Hospital and sick kids and hungry people and homeless people...".  So I asked if he would keep any of it and he thought for a second and replied, "Maybe $50... because nobody needs that much money dad!"  There are more stories... but all good parents have their endless tales to spin.  We are all proud of our fastest little swimmers.  And isn't that the odd little link we all share... we were all at one time in life the fastest little swimmer.  It's the little things that make it all worth the useless heaps of bs life throws at us.   Duck and roll and take a bath whenever your not quick enough.  Stand in the steam and warmth of the water and when your nice and squeeky clean, be brave for a minute and turn off the hot water and let the water turn ice cold and breath deep until you can't take it.  You won't regret it.. it's a little moment... Wait... I can't remember why I started to write this... well you know, the autumn years of life... Its been a good life this far, I've done more good than bad... I don't fear the judgment of any god that may or may not exist, so I'm sure not going to fear the judgment of my fellow man. So enemy or friend, choose your label if you must, peace, love, and happiness to all.

I've read it as vis major.
It was written in the Senate,
And dealt with all detractors,
And the Judes and Cristos,
And the gods know whom else.

He said it leaving Elba,
Cas fortuit, was the figure head
Cutting through the white water waves,
Churning all miscreants beneath his rising currents.

The columns rose from Ettersberg Hill
In black reeks and was read in cries,
Casus fortuitous.

These are forces we will reckon with,
And as the predecessors went,
So will today's,
Dragged like Faustus,
Unrepentant and ******
For the cold blue smoke
From the shark grey barrels.