Oh, to be a child again.
The ebb and flow of the days,
of the months…alas, of the years.
Soon it will be your turn, my precious one,
to take on the burdens and joys.
But for now, your life is soft and cuddly and protected.
Oh my child, my dear child.
If you could only remember these times,
Not only for the happenings,
but also for the feelings,
And deliver them to your own dear little ones.
Then the days and the months and the years will flow anew.
Oh, to be a child again.
Sun’s light spills
though glass panes,
their hardness nary a barrier,
shines on a dark newel post,
yet only for a moment,
then shifts, casts light
on a different part
of the banister,
leaving what once
was illuminated
to sit in shadow.
Flowers blossoming
Joyful birds flutter and sing
The magic of spring
Oh to be a yam!
White, pure,
And wholly unsure.
As those who grow
Confuse what they know.
A gift sweeter than any apple on Earth!
Or a root,
born of a different group,
Not quite as sweet
As it may seem
Orange or beige or white?
Confused and lost,
Unsure of the cost
How to be sweet
When thoughts don’t seem to complete?
Oh to be a yam!
White, pure,
And wholly unsure.
If I don’t quite know who I am,
Does that make me simply a yam?
The days grow shorter, the nights so long,
An eerie hush, a mournful song.
The world seems frozen, devoid of life’s bloom,
A desolate landscape, shrouded in gloom.
In the stillness of winter, emotions run deep,
Loneliness overtakes , as hearts silently weep.
Memories of warmth and Summer fade away,
Leaving behind a longing for a bright and sunny day.
Grass in shades of green
Snowy fields sparkling sheen
Vault trees offering shade
Mountains giving way to mossy glade
Skies of blue and starry nights
Days of sun rays dancing bright
Morns of glistening dew
Noon’s of billowing drifting cloud
Earth made sweat by drops of rain
And hark to bird songs
I found a little garden in a corner of my mind
It was full of tiny flowers of every imaginable kind
I noticed little buttercups so fragile on the ground
And busy water lilies floated all around
Bold sunflowers seemed to grow straight up to the sky
While carefree, happy daisies were just a little shy
Thorny, velvet roses didn’t let me get too close
And silly, yellow daffodils made me laugh the most
I wondered to myself, “Who cares for these so dearly?”
Then I saw the gardeners so diligent but cheery
They worked all day nurturing their tiny baby plants
They watered, trimmed and chased away annoying little ants
Carefully they pulled the weeds that might harm their precious buds
Never noticing the prickly thorns, the insects or the mud
Then one day, much to all the gardeners dismay
There wasn’t any water and the soil had turned to clay
The gardeners watched helplessly as their little flowers fell
”Can’t someone help us?” “Who can we tell?”
Our daffodils and roses will never be what they could be
And our daisies and our buttercups might even die you see
But no one came with water and no one seemed to care
No one had the answer, it was almost too much to bear
Then I saw a teardrop fall from one of the gardener’s eyes
It splashed upon a tender buttercup just about to die
And the fragile little buttercup who drooped so very small
Began to stand up strong and beautiful and tall
I noticed all the gardeners had teardrops on their cheeks
And it began to look as if it had rained for weeks
Every daffodil and Daisy, every rose and buttercup
Every sunflower and lily started perking up
Soon the entire garden was glistening in the sun
And I began to realize the battle had been won
Was this what tears of anger and despair and fear could do?
Could this really happen? Could all of this be true?
Then I saw the joy on every gardener’s face
These were tears of love, of fear there was no trace
For when it was quite certain the gardeners should do no more
That’s when they so unselfishly gave more and more and more
The gift they gave was precious, one money could not buy
They gave so their little flowers could live and grow and thrive
Though they’ll receive no glory for all that they have done
All that really mattered was that they’d saved every one
What would you do if you knew when you would die?
Would you shrivel
like a crumpled leaf?
Or would you stay as calm
as the ocean on a clear day?
Maybe you would collapse
like an old building?
Or freeze
like water in the winter.
Or would nothing happen at all?
The journey seems to never halt.
When will it be ending?
I’ve been through thick and thin,
I’ve seen strengths and flaws,
But where will I end up?
All the twists and all the turns,
I continue to return to the one place I call home.
My journey leads back,
Through fights and hugs,
Through the appetite of jealousy
They all lead me back to you.
Yes, home may be a place,
But not for all.
My home could be here or there, or anywhere
As long as I’m with you.
I feel your warmth while you hold me here, and I know I’ve ended my journey.
My road could be never-ending.
I wouldn’t mind as long as you were by my side.
My best friend,
Through the bests and the worsts,
You never fail to make me smile.
I may not have started the journey with you,
And there have been cracks in my road,
But I know that wherever I go,
I will always find my home in you.
Cloudless blue sky, day alive and bright,
Savagely altered into gray night.
A President calmly teaching his flock,
Innocence stolen before nine o’clock.
Towers almost touching the sky,
Cruelly felled as we wondered, “Why?”
Our people, though shattered by the vast devastation,
Were strengthened by Rudy’s determination.
Seeing our President, bullhorn in hand,
Inspired Americans to take a stand.
Old Glory waving proudly from cars East to West,
As our generation would be put to the test.
September Eleventh Two Thousand and One,
An ordinary day when it was begun,
But changed in an instant by that act of war,
When we were reminded freedom’s worth fighting for.
