A Little of You

I walked along a sunlit lane
through golden autumn leaves.
Wondering where I went wrong,
a little of you left inside me.

I tried as hard as anyone should
but you couldn't seem to see.
The devastation you left behind
torments my soul relentlessly.

I made believe it was a dream
I'd wake to the way it was before.
I pictured you laying on my bed
instead of walking out the door.

So many times I've seen your face,
it haunts my thoughts and dreams.
The best two lovers ever shared,
we were happy or so it seemed.

You've gone forever from my life
and I've this terrible pain.
Nothing will ever be right again
times I feel I'm going insane.

I only wish there were a way
to set this heartache free.
Now sadness fills all my days,
a little of you left inside me.

Shiny New Dime

When we were children
we slept in bunk beds.
Rode down hills all day
on our Snow King sleds.

Spent all day in the creek
catching green bullfrogs.
At Christmas we drank glasses 
of fresh egg nog.

Made bikes sound special
with a playing card.
Called our siblings names
with little regard.

Just curious young rascals
most of the time.
Who would do anything
for a shiny new dime.

Drove parents nuts
with things we had to own.
Skinned our knees as
we ran all the way home.

Made rabbit ears
on the wall by lamplight.
We argued at school 
and got into fights.

Then we giggled 
when our Fathers broke wind.
Got worried when they wondered
where we'd been.

Watched them watch us
when we made them proud.
Listened to them yell
when we got too loud.

Made them nervous
when we borrowed the car.
Even more so when
we went out to a bar.

They watched us go through
every fad and style.
Shed tears as their daughters
walked down the aisle.

Now if you're lucky
these things will happen to you.
You will know the things
your parents went through.

Parents remember
they're only kids for a time.
Then it's their turn,
their kids and a shiny new dime.

The Depths

To the fathomless depths I'll descend,
then through the black heart of night.
Until my last breath leaves and then,
I'll find my love in the fleeing twilight.

Undaunted by what fate shall bring,
not a quest for the faint of heart.
A song of love my soul will sing
to free her from the anguish in the dark.

From a far distant shore I love thee
to the depths of purgatory, I will go.
Your heart will set me forever free,
through eternity my love will grow.

Tired Feet

How many times a day
do you look at your feet.
Be they young or old
or pedicured so neat.

Some smell very nice,
and some not so good.
Look at them twice,
you know you should.

They've walked for miles,
brought fortune and fame.
Tread straight and narrow
and followed our brain.

In all shapes and sizes,
extra large and very small.
They make you realize,
they're important to all.

We make them look nice
with fancy leather shoes.
We prop them up high
and lay down for a snooze.

They're the first on the floor
when we get out of bed.
They can hurt and be sore
as we aimlessly tread.

So be kind to your feet
and give them a break.
After you walk the street,
give 'em a soak in the lake.

The Rain Came

Twenty sailed from northern Maine
in the light of early morn.
Twenty would never see home again
or lands where they were born.

The sea was calm as mirrored glass,
daylight piercing sleepy eyes.
Twenty fates would come to pass
as they bid their last goodbyes.

They were sailing for the Carolinas
the crew's spirits, running high.
There wasn't a single hint or sign as
to the anger in the distant sky.

A twelve knot breeze was coming in,
the holds full and the keel low.
They sailed with backs against the wind
as the eye of the storm would grow.

They were eighty miles out of Charleston
when they hit a howling hurricane.
Lost fourteen men as the monster spun
'til only six of them remained.

The sea will play the cruelest game,
she takes what 'er she will.
The last six lost when the rain came
and the sea would have her fill. 

Hands

I see these hands
and how I wonder;
are they winning,
do they blunder?

Are these the hands,
did I use them late?
Can I use them now 
to change my fate?

Some hands grow up
with clenching fist. 
Others hold on
while some are kissed.

There are the hands
that hold the match.
Some stay at home
behind the latch.

One keeps the straight 
and one keeps the narrow.
Some hold the bow 
that shoots the arrow.

One counts money
and one counts coin.
Some lay limply,
some want to join.

One wants a rest
and some want to feel.
Some take a test 
so all of us heal.

There's hands held high
to blot out the sun.
The hands of a young man
he's holding a gun.

Some hands learn fast
the secrets of wood.
Some were just made 
to do only good.

With one we write words
we use everyday.
With palms together,
we learned how to pray.

Some held precious
the gifts from above.
Others seek hope 
and the power of love.

Hands of the young
and those of the old.
One reads a story 
the other was told.

Some hands will paint 
with loving care;
the sweetest Angels
with golden hair.

Some hands shake
as Autumn winds call.
Others reach out 
to stop our fall.

Many hands hold us
never to part.
Some hold us close
to a loving heart.

I can't always tell
what these hands will do.
One thing's for sure;
they'll be holding you.

Broken Hearts

Twice the heartache
four times the pain.
Tears for your sake 
in the cold, cold rain.

I call your name 
in the hush of night.
It's very plain
and you were so right.

There's vacancy
where love should live.
Transparency,
and nothing to give.

Can you tell me please,
I need to know,
for no one sees
where broken hearts go.

The Drinking Pool

In a frosty morning's solitude,
sunlight's piercing Autumn leaves.
A peaceful silent interlude
in an endless sea of trees.

The deer are coming down the hill
to their favorite drinking pool.
The hardwood forest stands so still
and the air is crisp and cool.

A squirrel scolds from highest limb,
with a warning to his friends.
This noise could be the end of him
and the fortress he defends.

There's fluffy snowflakes drifting down,
just outside my window pane.
It's dusting all the grass in town
and this gentle country lane.

The roofs of houses all in white
as far as the eye can see.
The snowflakes falling through the night
landed soft and silently.

The clouds are racing fast ahead
in an ever darker sky.
So many things are left unsaid,
in the blinking of an eye.

Such simple things are unrehearsed
for the laws of Nature rule.
The deer will come to quench their thirst
from their favorite drinking pool.

Flowers

The air is thick and pungent
in a breeze that's soft and warm,
with the smell of sweetest Lilacs
drifting in before the storm.

The Roses in my garden die
but they always are reborn.
There's beauty in the petals 
for this flower with a thorn.

The Daffodils reach to the sky
in the early summer morn.
A gentle sun will smile on them,
through the lattice they adorn.

Rain is dripping from my eaves,
kissing my flowers lightly.
It lends a lustre to the leaves,
then paints them all so brightly.

A wooden post that holds my roof
is home to climbing vines.
They wrap themselves around it,
as the wind stirs in the pines.

Retreating is the cool of night,
sunrise brings another day
as fleeting summers hurry past
and never seem to stay.

Violets are my favorite flowers,
I love them as they are.
Shedding light on darkest hours,
my lovely purple stars.

These sights and smells are mine to keep
I've no reason to recant.
The fact remains, I now know why;
I love my flowers and my plants.

The Mantis

I saw a Mantis pray tonight,
clinging to the bricks of captivity
in fear of a passing shadow
so close in threatened proximity

Alone he makes his stance,
under the bright overhead light,
ready to fight as I pass
in his courage and his fright.

Bright green armor bristles,
a predator of the sick and weak.
In precarious pose, he watches;
for increasing signs of the meek.

Freedom is but a short flight
over gleaming blades of razor wire.
Devoured by his loving mate
at the end of passion and desire.

His courage keeps him safe
in one more lonely captive plight.
I pondered his tenacity
as he prayed silently, in the night.

The Mirror

I looked into my mirror
to see the perfect me.
Then I saw me staring back;
how could this image be?

There's something in a mirror,
it always tells the truth.
It never lies about those lines
or the fading of our youth.

Night Sounds

Hear the sounds of midnight call
as they waft so gently in.
Promises from breezes fall,
carried dreams upon the wind.

Hear the sounds of lovers' bliss,
sweethearts kiss in fading light.
Words caressed by evening's mist,
sounds of passion through the night.

Hear the sounds that peepers make
as they call for needed rain.
A noisy splash heard in the lake,
Loons sing their sad refrain.

We'll have to bear the din of day,
silently waiting for our friend.
The dark, my love, will have its say;
when night sounds call again.

Heart Sounds

Restless are the ocean waves
that battle for the land.
Their struggles are so timeless,
against the grains of sand.

Swells rising and retreating,
climbing every shore;
hold a conch shell to your ear
and hear the ocean roar.

Life is like the waves at sea,
gentle in its motion.
A symphony of heartbeats,
lessons in devotion.

Now and then a storm is born;
twenty five foot waves.
Testing us in the journey,
life sometimes misbehaves.

With a rhythm so hypnotic
and soothing in its guise;
footprints fall into the sea,
and fade before your eyes.

Then you hear the waves at night,
crashing, one by one.
Their pounding is so steady;
a skirmish never done.

Looking back your tracks are gone,
sand has filled them in.
Ocean waves will hide the signs;
that you have ever been.

Tickled

The leaves are softly tickled
by a gentle springtime breeze,
passing by so quietly
through a stand of Maple trees.

It dances with the pine boughs
and mingles with the bees,
then suddenly it slips away
with graceful fluid ease.

The ferns are growing lush and green
upon the forest floor,
spreading by the thousands,
twice as many as before.

I saw a red fox running,
timid as could be,
down the dirt path, out of sight,
to get away from me.

A butterfly is flirting with
the sunrays coming down,
they call this one the monarch;
he does not wear a crown.

An eagle soaring everhead,
rules the skies above
while morning doves fly forever,
inseparably in love.

Much like us they stay together,
lifetime's shared in love
and only once will they waver
when called by God above.

The morning mist is growing thin,
creation is reviewed,
then everything is borne again;
as life begins renewed.

A Heat-Wave Afternoon

The asphalt burns my sneakered feet
on a summer's afternoon,
heat-waves rising up to meet
the rain that's coming soon.

Eggs are frying on the concrete,
I think they're almost done,
it seems the heat cannot be beat
and the battle isn't won.

I squint my eyes against the sun,
shade's where, I want to be,
but there's no place for me to run,
no place for me to flee.

Refreshing is the breeze that moves
to cool the sweat of day.
A little touch of heaven soothes,
to chase this heat away.

The softest winds blow fresh and cool,
gentle fingers to the brow.
Raindrops in a futile duel,
thunder-heads are on the prowl.

Lightning bolts and lightning flashes,
then daylight turns to night,
as a storm cloud's thunder crashes
in nature's fire fight.

So in the end the storm will leave
this sunny day in June,
and I'll enjoy a slight reprieve
from a heat-wave afternoon.

A Fallen Tree

I'm sitting on a fallen tree
a distance from the path,
but not so far that I can't see
or hear a squirrel's wrath.

The morning sun has kissed the ground
and caused the frost to thaw.
Something comes without a sound,
it stalks by stealth of paw.

I come here when I need to think,
for clarity of mind,
so often when I'm on the brink
of falling far behind.

Now I'll put those thoughts on hold
a huntress comes my way,
she walks along this path so bold,
hunting for her prey.

I squint my eyes to see it good,
it's coming after me,
I glimpse the prowler of the wood;
my cat is all I see.

Dumpster Bunny

They call me Dumpster Bunny
and now it's supper time,
you know it don't seem funny
when you're trying hard to dine.

People seldom ever care
when you're looking for a meal,
they cannot know about your life
or how you really feel.

Never have they been that low 
or scrounged a dumpster bin,
fighting with the rats for scraps
of tuna in a tin.

Searching through the smelly bags
for a decent pizza crust,
fighting off the hunger pangs
in a restaurant colored rust.

Dirty Kleenex by the hundreds
and a rotten apple core,
a feast for this unfortunate
who can't afford the store.

I found a wristwatch Tuesday
with Rolex on the face,
when I wiped it on my sleeve
a Timex took it's place.

Then the bottom came into view,
spaghetti's all I found,
too old, it was for me to eat,
I wept without a sound.

It's survival of the toughest,
may the strongest stomach win,
when you're that dumpster bunny,
jumping in the dumpster bin.

The Big White Bowl

I sat my fanny on the throne,
the seat was wet and cold.
I could not find the culprit,
then I spied my two year old.

Most would think this very strange
but this is what I saw,
she was playing in the big white bowl
with her furry little paw.

The reason for her doing this
was her water dish was dry,
so she's drinking from the big white bowl;
it's elixir on the sly.

Through The Windowpane

I'm looking through the windowpane
to where the sun has set.
There is beauty in this picture,
and time holds no regret.

The seasons pass as do the days
and summer turns to fall.
The wind will blow and snow will fly,
it happens to us all.

The grass is growing thick and green,
my neighbor mows his lawn
and in the woods below my house,
sleeps a tiny spotted fawn.

There's coolness in a summer's eve
when evening shadows fall,
and silence fills the night, for now;
in an ever darker wall.

But still the nights will come and go,
unbroken is the chain,
and nature's beauty is the show;
looking through the windowpane. 

Wastelands

So barren are the wastelands
where we lived our lives,
built by workman's calloused hands,
carved by surgeon's knives.

An arid desert void of life,
time begged them to take care,
no drums were playing or the fife
for car lots that were bare.

Nature's gifts had all been wasted
for ever bigger profits,
forever business barons tasted
riches for their pockets.

In the alleys thieves would wait
for unsuspecting prey,
to work for nothing was their fate
for souls they sold away.

When a witness came to bear,
with all the truth he'd seen,
no one seemed to really care,
gone, were the woods so green.

Underneath the burning sun,
they sat and watched the scene,
when they really should have one
more layer of sun screen.

Nothing, would they ever fear,
held safe in Nature's arms,
no one guessed the end was near
as they heard the first alarms.

When the final man did fall
and humans were all gone;
none were left to fix it all
when all the rights went wrong. 

The Finger Lakes

Snow has dusted my front lawn
in dappled green and white.
Here, winter's final breath is drawn,
with a thaw in morning's light.

Dawn is breaking midnight's veil
across the Finger Lakes.
Warm spring breezes will prevail
against the tiny flakes.

A brighter day has come about,
the outlook is brand new.
The green of spring is peeking out
and here for all to view.

Across the creek the saplings stand
still bare from winter's chill
and in the rocks where eagles land,
there's hungry mouths to fill.

The deer are feeding in the sun
up in Letchworth Park.
The place where Mary Jemison
left her timeless mark.

A red fox hunts the valley floor
and chases field mice.
He is a part of woodland lore,
his moves are so precise.

The bear is waking from his sleep
and hunger fills his eyes.
He's fishing in the eddies deep
for there the brook trout lies.

All these things must come and go
and run the course that's there.
With all the players in the show,
we need to do our share.

Mother Nature has a plan,
all the lines are drawn.
We'll heed her warnings if we can;
before another dawn. 

I'm Staying Put

Snowflakes drifting to the ground
in a soft and gentle dance,
piling up without a sound;
nature's moment of romance.

A dusting turns into an inch,
then an inch into a foot.
I filled the feeder for a Finch;
I think I'm staying put.

A Ray of Sunshine

A single ray of sunshine
coming through the trees.
It paints a pretty picture
on red and yellow leaves.

It lifts the body and the soul,
peaceful pleasure for a day.
I hold it very close to me,
never let it get away.

Cherished moments stored inside,
a rendering of Fall.
Safe within my heart's confines,
behind the inner wall.

A moment frozen in my mind
but my heart will bear the mark.
A ray of sun that warms me whole
when afraid and in the dark.

I'll draw upon it's strength one day,
a qu from the Devine
and let it's warmth envelope me;
my ray of bright sunshine.

More

To see more than the color of one's skin
or the cut of the clothing that they wear,
to see them for what they have deep within
takes more insight than some of us can spare.
A lesson to be learned by one and all,
we have to play the hand that fate has dealt
in the end someone always has to call,
someone loses, another hurt is felt.
it's a game of chance we are playing in
and no one knows who the winners will be,
we are all given the shells we are given
and a chance to see what we need to see.
From start to finish not knowing the score
but given what's needed, no less, no more. 

Stars

I dreamed my dreams beyond the stars
to the highest heights for thee;
and in those distant points so bright,
we lay together eternally.

If all the heavens beckon me,
to those distant points of light,
then I will search in silent vigil;
all the stars that fill the night.

Heaven's Bed

I'm resting in my final sleep
beneath these amber shrouds
as golden angels start to weep
from gently drifting clouds.

God it seems was in my dreams
on watch into the dawn.
My life was like a flowing stream
that always ran so strong.

All our lives the spirit grows
we try to understand
but no one ever claims to know
when God will play his hand.

Until one day the body dies
for life is hard to hold
and far above an angel sighs,
we're led into the fold.

So underneath the gentle clouds
I'll rest my weary head;
beneath these restless amber shrouds
adrift in Heaven's bed.

Wayfarer

On the shores of destiny
beneath a full moon's beam,
lay midnight seas of ebony,
enchantment ina dream.

A salty mist begins to climb
and settles on my face,
I travel to another time;
beyond the realm of space.

In my dream the landscape shines
bathed in an eerie light,
illuminating all the signs,
straight to the heart of night.

I'll not fear a soul's unrest
or shadows dark within,
instead I'll do my very best
to find where dreams begin.

I shall always try to hold
my place down by the sea.
Perhaps there's more to growing old
than just eternity.

Then I wake and nothing's there
for nothing's what it seems
and I am just a wayfarer;
enchanted by a dream.

Ode To Twain

I'll raft the great Mississippi
from the branch of the O-hi-o,
to see what's left of this country,
where did my America go?

Did she run away and leave me
is she where the rivers part?
Think I'll push a little farther
in search of a great country's heart.

By catfish, crawdads and creek-sides,
drifting lazily by a barge,
how often I sit and wonder
who the heck did we put in charge?

I'm navigating the sand bars
the river boat captains all know,
hoping I'll never run aground
or get caught in the undertow.

Flowing with a river's rhythms
while she ambles on her way,
I'm searching for America;
I must have missed her yesterday.

You know I still love this river
for she's wild and gets her way,
she reminds me of America;
did you pass her by today?

Blessed Bayonets

Blessed are the bayonets,
our prayers for the dead.
Who's to blame for all this blood
that turns a desert red?

So as another brave man dies
on sandy foreign soil,
did he die for terror's sake
or was it just for oil?

Someone needs to bear the blame
for soldiers to come home
and dare we gaze up to the top,
to the one we all have known?

Now we need to stop the flow
of cash to buy more guns,
for oil barons have enough
while the rest of us have none.

So give us back our daughters
and give us back our sons
and don't be shocked to find one day
we've taken way your guns.

Loon Lake

The autumn sunlight shimmers
on the surface of the lake,
a million brilliant diamonds
are suddenly awake.

A moment of such beauty
is never far away
and the ripples on the surface
never tire of their play.

When words sometimes elude me,
my eyes still see the truth,
Loon Lake is right below me,
a vision from my youth.

On a canvas so appealing,
the surface glimmers still,
a sight that's worth remembering
and I shall have my fill.

I've traveled far and seen so much
but this sight will always be;
one that stays forever as
my favorite memory.

Dodging The Bullet

Did you ever dodge a bullet
or see the muzzle's gleam?
Could you hear it as it passed you ear
like a phantom in a dream?

When you're riding down the highway
do you hear the Devil's call?
And will he push you hard enough
to crash into the wall?

Did you lay upon the table
when the surgeon saved your life?
Did he cut you chest to navel
with his shiny, gleaming knife?

Do you feel the north wind blowing,
pounding at your back?
Is your collar pulled up high enough
to block the wind's attack?

Can you hear the thunder of the train
as it roars down the track?
Have you watched the serpent in the smoke 
as it's curling from the stack?

Do you fear the Reaper's wrath
when lightning rips the sky?
then weep the tears of many years
when it's finally time to die?

When you push the limit to the max
will you step out on the ledge?
When a killer's waiting in the dark,
will you test the razor's edge?

And when you've lived through all these things 
Death will find his mark.
He'll find you in the cold black night;
grinning in the dark.