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A Hundred Years From Now

time is so fleeting
one day you are young,
the next you are old
unless you become famous,
a hundred years from now
no one will remember you
your struggles and triumphs
will be buried under decades
your name will be forgotten

as you walk your path
you'll have times of darkness
sorrow so all-consuming
it feels like your heart
has burned to ashes

but there will be joy
perfect joy in your God
joy in just being alive
learning to be joyful for
the love surrounding you

a hundred years from now
you will have moved beyond
the slander and the wounds
none of it will matter at all
a short century from now

a hundred years from now
your failures will be
forgotten in the earth
along with your victories
and the many sacrifices
you made for others
no one will remember you
with compassion, love or hate
so be compassionate to yourself 

Dogs

 

sometimes dogs treat you better

than people, who judge and hate

I have only one child now....

and she is a dog

 

a dog who loves me unconditionally

and never wants anything but love

and some food, of course

 

all she wants is to be near me

to hear some loving words

receive some kind pats

 

she never demands money or property

she's contented to sleep at my feet

never biting the hand that feeds her

 

Lord, for this sweet creature

I am thankful, some people say

dogs can't love, but then they have

never met my little girl

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Poetry

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poetry is a beautiful thing

endearing like a wedding ring

poetry can expose heart and soul

revealing secrets never told

 

poetry is alive with emotion

as powerful as any love potion

you live in my words, in my soul

true love and poetry never grow old

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More Cats On Laps

 

More cats on laps that's what we need

'cause cats on laps our need can feed

for velvet fur and soft or loud purrs

cats never criticize or hurt with slurs

 

cats on laps a divine way to rest

a rest so restful, it's the best

they snuggle close and keep us warm

they capture hearts with feline charm

 

Lord, when I'm too old to dance

when I only have memories of romance

please send the answer to my only prayer

a good book, a lap and a cat napping there.

A Cup Of Tea And A Bubble-Bath

 

it's been a long day, too long

nothing went right, nothing

every bone and nerve hurt

time for bed, I can't sleep

then comes to mind

my mother's words

“nothing is so bad

that a cup of tea

and a bubble-bath

can't make it better”

so I run the hot water

and I brew the hot tea

and give thanks for

a mother's wisdom

tried and true

passed down

real remedies

for looooong days

 Woman Of Grace

 

be a woman of grace, let the stress

roll off your soul, there is nothing

wrong with respecting yourself

enough to leave a man who doesn't

 

be a woman of strength, ignore slander

for there will be slander if you leave

people are quick to believe the worst

they didn't live your situation, ignore them

 

be a woman of strength and be ready

to pay the high cost of a prison break

you will have to choose, you may lose

your family, friends and even your children

 

decide if freedom is precious enough

to pursue or accept the chains that bind

your self esteem, your desires, your talents

freedom is never free, can you pay the price?

Long Time Poet

 

I've been a poet a very long time

penned free verse, written rhyme

reverenced nature, questioned death

known both poverty and wealth

I've been a courtesan and a nun

described tragedy, had literary fun

 

I've been a poet a very long time

thinly veiling truth in verses sublime

emoting in intensely personal verses

a passenger in carriages and hearses

I've been a cowgirl and a fairy queen

oh, the poetic wonders I've seen

 

I've been someone I'm definitely not

penned horror cold and passion hot

traveled to places I've only read about

found grace the brutal truth to tout

fought cruel wars, languished in peace

discovered mysteries that never cease

 

penning poetry saved my life, you see

allowing me to be anybody but me

life was often hard, living was rough

sometimes I had more than enough

then I'd escape into another place

wear different clothes and another face

 

speak mystic words, sing a new song

find another place I could belong

so for poetry I'm thankful everyday

it soothed my soul and let me play

for I've been a poet a long, long time

the day I die I'll be writing rhymes

Christmas Eve Long Ago

 

On Christmas Eve, long ago  

the shoppers were running too and fro 

buying last minute gifts and food for the feast  

the sun was setting to the west from the east  

at twilight the city Christmas lights gleamed 

but for some, times were lean, or so it seemed  

they made their home in alleys and under bridges 

they had no pantry and owned no fridges 

they had no gifts, no meats to eat  

no cookies, cakes or dainty sweet

 

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 they sat on the sidewalk, two tiny waifs 

desperation and hunger showed on each face  

they sang Christmas carols with perfect pitch  

but four bullies pushed them in to the ditch  

they climbed to the sidewalk and sang again  

peace on Earth and good will toward men  

the day grew late and night came on  

soon all the holiday shoppers were gone  

no money in their cup, no food to eat 

their Christmas assignment was complete

 

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so they stood up tall and spread their wings 

the Earth wasn't ready for such heavenly things 

they reported to Him who rules all nations  

“we sat all day at our begging stations  

but no one gave us even one cent  

it was the same wherever we went"  

“and so,” said The Lord, “it grieves my heart  

such selfishness is spread and now must start 

a time of grief,  of want and pain  

when earthly riches are no longer counted gain"

 

 

   “please, Dear Lord,” the angels said  

“charity on Earth is not yet dead 

give mankind just one more year  

give them one more year, time to hear  

about the greatest gift you have given  

help them to stop and look toward heaven" 

The Father smiled and said, “very well 

just one more year for me, the judge, to tell  

another Christmas, another opportunity

for the greedy to give and the blind to see" 

 

 

 

My Bucket List

I remember hearing old folks say,
“the older you get the faster time flies”
I used to think, 'how silly, that notion'
but now, as I age, I know it's true
and my time is running out quickly
many things I wanted to do
can never get done now

I have a very simple bucket list
it includes nights home by the fire
with the husband who makes me happy
times my dog looks deeply into my eyes
and I can say for certain, dogs have souls
sunny days to walk beside the ocean
and God's unchanging hand to hold to

The Woods Call My Name

I grew up in the country, woods all around
from the time I was five I could be found
walking olden paths of Indians and deer
songs of owls and frogs brought no fear
for I was one with them as I'd always been
walking familiar, wooded paths again

Trees so tall they reached the sky
lazy childhood days drifting by
echos of children, bronze and free
never alone for they played with me
in a dry river bed, arrowheads of flint
tokens of who they were, where they went

In cities or suburbs, no woods in which to play
but I still hear them calling, every day
“come home, come home, where you belong”
I will be there again before too long
we'll chase nimble foxes, climb tall trees
steal sweet honey from the honeybees

Then I will be home, home at long last
stepping from the present into the past

Night And Day

I love lying down with you
in our welcoming bed
you touch my hand or
trace my face and I feel loved

the sensation of your
day old five o'clock shadow
against my face
witnesses your masculinity

it is an honor to dream
next you through the night
and my greatest joy is to
wake beside you in the morning

I am so appreciative of you
and grateful for your love
that surrounds and sustains me
night and day

My Friend, Roy Morgan

You answered your phone as “Angel Leroy”
now you truly are an angel
the mystery you investigated so diligently
is finally revealed and solved for you
may you find it to be more extraordinary
than you could have imagined

You could always be counted on for laughs
and rowdy stories of misspent youth
you often referred to yourself as “dumb”
but you were never that, never
you had a searching heart, a bright mind
you were a mystic, a thinker and a fine writer

You lived a good and important life, Roy
two days after you left, friends gathered for lunch
as we often did with you among us
the conversation was about you
your stories, your levity, your value to us
a good and important life proven by your influence

You were a wonderful, unique friend to me
you were one of a kind, Roy Morgan
with a heart of gold toward others
and a beautiful, open spirit toward God
rest in peace is not for you, no not you
you'll be exploring, investigating, enjoying it all

You will be so greatly missed, Angel Leroy
each time we gather, each time we think of you
every remembrance, every humorous story
our hearts will ache to see you again
time will go by swiftly, reunion will come soon
you'll be waiting for us, beyond the mystery

Once Again

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I find myself again in the depths of grief

all the love and care I gave

counted as nothing to you, my Sons

I find myself again writing out the pain

silently weeping inside, my heart hurts

I am condemned for doing less than you did

but condemn me you do, and will

you will take your hatred to the grave

how, oh God, do I release myself from such pain?

How do I endure such hatred again and again

I can show my tears to no one

I don't want to be a burden

even to my dearest one

God, help me, you are the only one who can

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Intimate Poem

They asked me for a poem.
“A poem...A poem,” they said,
Not noticing my mind had wondered
Across the street to the cantina
Where first I glimpsed your tanned face
And the thick, dark hair
I knew my fingers were created to entangle.
I had no poem to give them;
My thoughts had flown far away
To a sidewalk cafe
We used to frequent, long ago.
The only poem I have left
Is the one that constantly traverses
the twists and turns of memory.

The poem that lingers on your face
And still senses your fingers caressing
Places only you have known.
How can I give away such intimate poetry
Meant to be recited only to you?
Rhymes of blue fire in pale eyes
The verses penned on disheveled sheets
Moon glances, secret lexis of love
Only spoken between us.
“Give us a poem, a poem or two”
They ask again as though they think
I am hard of hearing,
But the only poetry left in my soul
is meant only for you.

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Wayfaring Stranger

 

He's been gone decades

but I can still hear

his smooth tenor sing

“Wayfaring Stranger”

my daddy knew how

to sing the old hymns

sweet enough to make

devils cry with remorse

and joyful angels join in

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every time I hear it

I think of him and

I remember that

this crazy, dark world

is not my final home

that song enforces

my gratitude to God

and my love of Daddy

who is waiting in eternity

to welcome me home

The Mourner

she left him in Autumn
where bright colors abounded
she left him with nothing
to inspire him to live
she lay still and cold now
in the dirt far away
he buried her as requested
in the graveyard
of her childhood church

and now he was alone
as alone as a man might be
and he mourned with the sorrow
of a swan without his mate
he grieved without tears
for they had all been wept
so he lay down on their bed
and mourned until he was
still and cold, as requested
he would join his Darling
at her childhood church

God As A Flower

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there is no flower
sweet enough
beautiful enough
to represent
Abba

He is vibrant
giver of life
He is agape
He is our judge
all powerful
vibrant as a red rose

He is the forgiver
fragrant as a peony
gentle, forever blooming
a lily of the valley

but if God was a flower
He would be a gardenia
blooming in white purity
holiness personified
perfuming all He touches
with the essence of
true forgivness
grace beyond measure
and love eternal

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