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