The Women Who Raised Me

The Women Who Raised Me!!!  

One deeply devout
The other a little bit sly
One too young to have me tied to her side

All generous
And kind beyond measure
To be raised by them
A childhood pleasure

One taught me to pray at her knees
One taught me adventure
The value of a summer breeze
The third how to say
Thank you and please

They all have had their crosses to bear
Those crosses never interfered
With their ability to care

To walk into their homes
Is to know the meaning of Love

One offered a meal
The other instant coffee
From a custom made sink
Tea remains the thirds
Best fellowship drink

When a man is raised by women
Strong Sly and Bright
That man should stand tall
Be a defender of what is right

One is now in heaven
One bruised and beat up
From being hit by a car
The third showing her gray
With a small of a crackle in her voice

If age teaches appreciation
Then thankful am I
For the knees
The breeze
For thank you and please

I did not remember until this final line
It is my Mother's BiRthDaY
Happy Birthday Mom!
Happy New Year Simone F. Costa
Joan Martin

I Love You Both So Very Much
Live Long and Prosper My Sisters

Mom,
We will all see you again when our days on Earth are done!   I am glad heaven was looking out for Joan this week!

Donald

Imagination

Need inspiration
Without hesitation
If not seen in reality
Search the imagination

For a world of sights and sounds
Where squares are round
And anything can be found

A world where invention
And innovation are birthed
Where men create
A richer and deeper earth

Where trees can be people
Fed from lava springs
Where birds can swim
In rocks that sing

Where love is inhaled
Through the pores of skin
Where the sun beams
Through hearts that grin

A place limited
Only by how far
A mind can travel

The best minds
Make gravel diamonds
And bringing healing to
Imagination's unravelled

The Eyes are an Ocean

The eyes are an ocean

Whose depths plunge 

Leagues into the soul

If honest they will tell 

All that needs to be told

All the currents of emotion 

The waves of knowledge 

Contained within 

Are warm moving streams

Fluidity to living dreams

They are like dolphins breaching

Inhaling joy while breathing

If the light refected from its depths

Is rooted in lies

Then all those eyes speak 

Is to be despised

They are like sharks hunting

Fulfilling appetite their only meaning

If those eyes change 

From the churning waters within 

Those eyes are caught

In the subtlety of sin

Not discerning 

Where joy ends and appetite  begins 

The mystery of eyes

Is the mystery of the depths

Where there is life 

That generates its own light

Frightening to see because 

It is alien to the surface

The deeper you search eyes

The more you perceive purpose

So look to the eyes

And you will see more 

Than a school of blind fish

You will find a human being

And fathom eyes 

Made for speaking

Not simply seeing what you wish

Mustard Seed Moments II

A mustard seed moment
Is a changer of destiny
The implications carry far
To life beyond the horizon
Where prosperity or poverty are found


But prosperity and poverty are difficult to define
In a country where all are well fed
Where sadly many have chosen
To live life feeding their head


Many take neither the well trodden path
Or the road less travelled
They just park in the rut
Buying poverty masquerading as practicality
Sacrificing individuality
To the notion that they are like everybody else


Thinking as part of the collective conscience
Instead of developing your own
Means even your mind is without a home


Mustard seed moments
Are fire works hidden in the mundane
They burst forth in the ordinary
In a hand shake
A poem
A kiss
A walk down a grocery store aisle
They spark an identity all your own
They break forth within you
Introducing you to you
And what you might chose to do
When you let a mustard seed moment
Speak to you

Poetry and Prophecy

Witnessing a turned over truck
The day after you write a poem about truckers
Reminds me that prayer and poetry
Are related prophetic gifts
The prompt to write
Is a prompt to prayer

Creativites proclivity
Is too often swallowed
In spiritual warfare's  battle for the mind
When the prompt to create
Is the promise of victory
In a partnership with the Creator

To be continued......

The Wait

Cold night brings truckers in to sleep
Noses of trucks point forward
Like privates Dress Right Dress...
On the first day of marine boot camp

Heads shaved but uniforms not issued

One is oddly pointed in the wrong direction
As if prepared to lay a diesel fart
To break with conformity and convention


The drone of scores of diesel engines is excessive
In a world that has invented the train
But we have to move those microwave ovens and color TV's


Cab beds replace
Home sweet home
For men who spend their nights alone
Between one place and the next
Fighting or submitting to
The process of becoming Borgs


Sleep when it comes
Reminds them they belong to more
Than motor and machine
Especially if they still dream

Cold Friday

Cold Friday night
Fantasy
Plays in the mind
Bring her pleasure
Feel some pain

Lost in round
Pale flesh
Mounds caress beard
Cheek to chin
In softness of willing breast
The dance of Passion slowly begins

Strength gathered
Plunged to thighs
Pleasure forgets alibi
Where the body hides its cry

Limbs hold
Reward and scold
On a pallet of enlivened skin
The cold of winter stripped away
Heated from thoughts within

In want
You ache
To take
The heat
Where it bakes
A frozen porch
To burning torch

Reality or fantasy
In pleasure and pain
The heat found the same

Debt to the Dead

Paying interest
On debts to the dead
For days not mourning
Time to be measured by the heart
Not the head

Confusing depression
For grief and seeking relief
From life and its sorrows
Not contemplating
Our limited tomorrows

A hidden revolutionary war grave
Decorated with flags
Where the dead are honored
A place to be sad

A place to consider
The youth of forrest trees
The age of the bones
How rock walls were made
On hands and knees
How graves speak
Isolated but not alone

Mortality is an enemy
That will meet defeat
On bended knees
Before a Resurrected King

To receive rewards and
To pay debts for this life
For tears shed or
Tears failed to be shed

A bitter task
For all humans in time and space
An obligation and privilege
From the living to the dead

Sunday Night Delight

Sunday night delight
Because life is alright

Moscow mule makes me feel cool
Not too much,
Or you will I will be a fool

Pasta in the kitchen
For Monday morning not itching

No one is complaining
For a balance life
I keep aiming

Grandbaby giggles
Grandpa's loss teeth nibble
On peasant food
That is OH so good

Spaghetti just right
Ice cream treat tonight

Checkers then chess
Dad is still the best
At least against 11 year old competition

Life is good and then it is done
A legacy of love is the price to be won
From a life well lived with my family

The Forrest of Trust

Got to ride the Zip line at work today. Reflecting on what we really do!

Harnessed for a thrill
On a zip line hill
Repairing the souls
Of some who killed

Grounded in midair
To a new found care
The Love of Brothers
In a forrest of trust
Teaching art of loving yourself
In the dare


To remove the lust
Of a mind addicted to distraction

To engage in The Work
Recover is Action

To make Amends
To end the Pretend
To own your behavior
While feeling your very real hurt

To seek and give forgiveness
Is the cure for the illness
That drives us to death prison and madness

Scares remain
The prescription the same
For pain managed by the day

The reward is the thrill
Of a life Lived
Feet on the ground
Surrounded by people
Who love you
And who want You
To be around

Traffic in New York

Most people throw a fit
When they hit it
But me
I like being in it
Bumper to bumper
On The Cross County Parkway
Toward George Washington Bridge
Garage bands and jazz
Add to the Zen

Sounds echo off steel of
NYC suspension bridge!
1931 engineering marvel
How moderns still travel

Urban organization plays its chords
On lines, steel, and cables
With dashes of grass
For humans in NY

Traffic moving in formation
With no leader
As conducted as an orchestra
At a Broadway theater
Upper or lower
Too much life
Makes things slower

Creator

The creator of all
Is the creator of me
Why would a mind so vast
Consider one so small
As the ages pass

We are a vapor in time
As He describes thru James
Yet in intimacy
He communes with me
And knows much more than
My Name

My pain
My sorrow
My Joys and concerns
All of the secret things
For which my heart yearns

The chemicals in my brain
Those He created
And knows by name
But God isn't seeking a relationship
With Serotonin or Dopamine

He wants to talk to human hearts
Those that are dirty
And those that are clean

No sinner ever found Him
By a decision of the will
Every soul has been a slave
To the spirit of the age
The one who seeks to kill

If you have not seen
The sinner in yourself
Prepare to swallow
The humility pill
Kept on the
'This your life' shelf

The Lord Most High
Is Near You
Around You
Right by your side

He is not a man
From which you can hide
He desires what is best
In every living soul
We are created uniquely
Then He breaks the mold

The response of man
To this incredible truth
Should be to Praise Him
In all we do

In Work
In Play
In the things that we say
In song and dance
In our lives romance

For He is Great
And Greatly to be Praised
Once He has touched you
You will never be the same!

Collective Mind

The collective mind
Tightens its grip
The loss of individuality
Means freedom has slipped

Dad's hands don't teach
Kids don't hide behind
Mom's protective hip
Force fed pop psychology
Our intelligence dips

Liability and the fear of law suits rule
We need leaders that know when to say
Chill out dude

We got this!
Trust me!
What do you think?
Are better solutions
Than I am afraid of the blog
And the ink

I want to walk stride for stride
With folks who have a sense of self pride
Who shake your hard and mean what they say
Who look you in the eye
When they say have a good day

Nothing was ever built by sheep or drones
I want to be with those who have fire in their bones

Power to the people
But one by one
If we all think alike
Then no one has won

Mustard Seed Moments

Mustard seed moments
Can change the direction of a life
To the good or the bad
Toward fulfillment or the sad

The Glory of humback whale breaching
From the stench of a ocean cesspool mired
In the excrement of sin
A description of our fallen nature
Where self determination ends and fate begins
Are some made for shade and others for muck
If that is the God we serve
Then we are all out of luck
Divorced from heaven
Jesus came to the dirt
Nailed to a cross
Naked beaten and bleeding
Covered in less than a woman's skirt
For mankind interceding
Clothed in blood
Forsaken from Love
A sacrifice
For the vice
In the sewerage we call homes
Finding yourself in the mustard seed moments of changed fate
Remember the one God did forsake
Now is the moment salvation is at hand
Except the mustard seed and be glad

Saturday Morning Contentment

Saturday morning
Passes too quickly

Cartoons play for
Gigi on Netflix
Just like they did when
Aluminum foil was a
Reception fix

Teenager Tim borrows the car
For work at surfboard shop
Mom runs off for violin lessons
So Angelina can learn her chops

Dishes get done
From the night before
Grandbaby Hazel plays
With toys in the floor

The normality of the moment brings comfort

Intrusive work calls
Almost break the  mood but
I complain too much and
I am prone to brood

Trying hard to work to live
Not live to work
Don't want to be
A grumpy old man jerk

Could have lived different
And collected
Those pensions
But I would not change much
Despite the tensions

Don't know if the chapter I am in
Is long or short
But at the moment I am
Enjoying my spot

Cookies in the kitchen
Coffee in the pot
Wiggling my legs on the sofa
Like my Old Man did
Life is good
Even if it can be a tough gig!

Monday Morning Faith

Monday Morning Faith

Long Sunday Night
Passes slowly
As the early Monday morning
Is anticipated
The juggle of demands
Reacted to in half formed plans

The halfback sweep of life
Stretched for linebacker tackling ways
The violent wrap
And driving feet
In stress
Contrary to being present
And giving each moment
Loves best

To be mindful
And kind filled
Prayed up
Not laid up
From a swirling mind
Tied to task not matched
To your nature talents

To regret
Yet attend
To the light you hold within
Certain and confident
That your life is directed by Him

To testify to the accomplishments
Of things you were sure you could never do!

Conformed to an Image
Not your own
But one conceived
At a Heavenly Throne!

My Generation

Don't want to burn out or fade away

Just want my generation to have its say

Don't want that say to be 

Look at my stuff

Don't want that say to be

Look I am tough

Hope we leave the world

Better than we found it

Racism might die

I hope by starvation

Domestic violence

By relentless confrontation

Our planet can't sustain more

Oil and plastic

Recycling garbage

Isn't really that drastic

There is plenty of land

With plenty of food

For plenty of people

If life were valued

The whole world

Would be a successful

Commune!

Addicted to War

It was never my goal
But a merger occurred
The fright of fight
Met the pump of Adrenaline
War is Hell
But I am High Like Heaven

Bombs bursting in mid-air
And I don't care
I am a soldier of misfortune and
I am addicted to War

Limbs that fly
Guts that jump
Owning the world
On a cocaine high
I am a soldier of misfortune and
I am Addicted to War

The heroin ache
The ripping of my insides
On the chase
Fuck normal life and
It's meaningless rat race
I am a soldier of misfortune and I am
And I am Addicted to War!

The Lonely Patriarch

The Lonely Patriarch

The lonely patriarch of our time
Left his third wife
But he will tell
He is fine

Ain't seen his kids
Since he don't know when
But he has a 401k
That will keep him comfortable
Almost to the end

He used to own houses
Now he rents a one room flat
Yells at Fox or CNN
Because Facebook
Keeps him in the facts

He stop thinking about his linage
Years ago
Back when he was Kool
And picking up hoes

He lights another smoke
Because he doesn't really care
If he losses a year, or if seven are taken
If you open his shallow heart
It beats out the word forsaken

He is not really sure
If he did this to himself
He never gave much thought
To feminism on academic shelves

Not a victim or a perpetrator
In his own mind
He is just the lonely patriarch of our time

Not Magic

Magic moments not a spell
The Spirit moves
Human hearts swell
In His presence
We were made dwell

Repeated in time
Never twice
The magic lives
In the air of life

Being present, being real
Is laying life down
Love The face in front of you
There the Spirit is found

Complain no more
About doors opened or closed
Where magic is
The Spirit knows

Free Man

Free Man

Want to be a free man

Then you got to take a stand

Break from the 9 to 5

Or work for the man

Neither defines freedom

Because it is found within

Learning contentment

Is the place to begin

My skills they limit me

But I don't see

The risk I gotta take

If I want to be free

To be 

Authentic

Poetic

Romantic

Even Mathematic

Dull as door knob

Or Crazy Charismatic

Two roads winding

Through this life of mine

A road perceived

A road that is real

The road less travelled

Is rarely trodden by foot

It is a journey of mind and actions

Muddied and marred by lovely life soot

As a man thinks so is he

And you are what you habitually do

So if freedom is my concern

Then the lesson to learn 

Is think well and do good

Then freedom won't be about me

It will be about brotherhood

He Will Be Back Soon

Communism blooms
Fascism looms
Just funded Iranian technology
To make the world go boom

Fighting for a republic
In a democratic land
In partnership with the uninformed
Drinking margaritas on the sand

Man makes systems
They work for a while
Until lies take over
Then we become
The devil's child

We need a Monarchy
From Heaven above
Lead by the Son
With the Father
And the Holy Dove

Corruption, pollution
The human race in de-evolution
If we don't acknowledge Jesus
Then we got no solutions

I know it ain't easy
To walk the narrow road
But His grace is abundant
He will carry the load

Some of you worry about
The citizens of Non-Gospel lands
Don't you know
He holds the whole world
In his hands

He is always Good
Always Just
In My Lord Jesus
You can place your trust

So if Communism blooms
And Facism looms
Remember His promise
Jesus will be back soon!

Godmother's Poem

Childhood heroes come
In all shapes in sizes
But long before I was an
Adult what I came to
Realize is

The greatest of heroes
Are consistent in true
They pray for and care
For all you do.

They remember your
Birthday and address
Cards with
Master

It is a subtle thing that
Helps you to remember
Adult responsibility is in
Your future a little bit
Faster

I was never a boy who
Lacked for love
But one of the greatest
Gifts I received from
Our Lord above

Was the Love from what I
Now see was from a very
Young girl
Who continues to bear the
Sacred Name of
Godmother

It is your birthday and
That boy is now more
Than a middle aged man

Accept this poem as my
Kiss on your cheek and
My squeeze of your hand

Love is eternal
And it shall never
Diminish

So our Love will continue
After both our times on earth are
Finished.

Have a Wonderful and Happy Birthday,

Your Godson,

Donald

Managers Circle

Managers Circle

Managers circle and
The sound of country crickets
Looking for a direction to lead
When sitting still and
Listening is what we need

Time square stress
In a garden sanctuary
Because we want to do
More than we want to be

Production is about fruit bearing
Activity without life is
Is a decaying red herring

Organized into paralysis
Venting to an analyst
Solving problems is not allowed
We all joined the compliance crowd

The devil loves rules
Especially those that follow
Bow and worship me
Fools will do anything
Once they agree

We were created for dominion
Therefore you must form an opinion
Through thought and study
Reason and prayer
That kind of being and doing
Will make you a leader
Not a manager
If you are courageous
And dare!

Hippie Way

Hippie Way

Soldiering on

In the hippie way

Even after peace love and understanding

Is disabled by sex drugs and rock n rolls

Ability to stay

Bill W and Enimen have it right

Trust is hard to come by

So keep your circle tight

The corporate squeeze 

Will bring you to your knees

So show me the money

Might buy you more freedom 

Than 32 degrees

John the Baptist 

Lived righteous and small

Morality can't be purchsed

At Barnes and Noble 

Or the Mall

Fighting to keep the best truths 

From the vinyl on the shelf

But The Book of James

Is a better mirror to myself

Follow your skills

Or follow your passion

The hippie in you 

Ain't about words

It is seen in your

Actions

Heard a sound bite on WMVY about soldiering on to one of the artist they highlighted.  The rest flowed from there.  

Adolescent Adults

Adolescent Adults

Broken 

Like cracked 

Red Plastic Cups

A nation of adolescents 

Who are really forty year old adults

No responsibility 

No view to the next generation 

Let's Party On

Like we are on a permanent 

Disney vaction

Who do we blame 

For this national shame?

The Media, Our Mommy,

Politicians, 

The list is endless 

In the point the finger game

When you are educated 

To only consume

How do you make room 

In your own private

Self actualization boom

We are healthy and cut

With just the right amount of ink

Working and working

To pay charge card bills

We are strung out 

And wrung out

With habits that kill

Seeking alternative consciousness thrills

How do we move from 

Self to other identication ?

We have to become grown ups

In our adolescent nation !

Don't see being an adult

As the killer of joy 

Or the ultimate drag

True selfless Love

Is the prize on the 

Adult living shelf

When we perfect 

That kind of living

We will enjoy visiting 

Not living as

Our adolescent self

Taking tour of new substance abuse program.  It was beautiful and needed, but made me sad to think of so many lives being limited by substance abuse.  Addictions literally stifles development.

Rust Rivers and Dents

Rust and rivet lots of dents
Where have all the dangerous cars went?

I know i drove a lot in the bad cars in 1990s
But was I the only one?
That had inspection stickers from the decade past
Twenty dollar tires you prayed would last?

Have your neighbors identified you
By the sound of your slipping fan belt
Or your back firing 4 cylinder yelp?

Did you ever keep gas
To prime your carborator?

I had a car with a hand choke
Honest, no joke!

That Van that shot fire
Was probably too much
But it belong to the church
So Faith trumps Luck!

Did you keep a screw driver
To spark the starter?!

The Air conditioners
Never worked
That didn't matter
I kept the heat on all year
So the engine would not overheat

Clamps and hoses
To cover the leaks in your brake lines
Popping the clutch
Was always a good time!

It was easier If you parked on a big hill!
That is if you didn't need
Chalk blocks because the
Transmission slipped when in park!

Air shocks keep you from
Buying new springs
Rivets and rust make
You look mean

All the cars now are so nice and clean
I still like to See cars with
Rivets dents and rust!
But I am glad I No longer
Drive cars that bust!!!!!

Saw an old green van on Route 1 South just before Jamestown RI exit.  Brought back memories. 

Autum Without Colors

Autum Without Colors

Autums without color

Like lines in a face getting clearer

Like the end getting dark and nearer 

Like wanting to live the life of another

When days sometimes pass

Sometimes smother

Digging inside for what is bright

Need a machete to hack 

Away the overgrowth and blight

Can't understand the struggle when 

I feel like I  been doing right

It is not by brute strength

But by spiritual might

When I am weak

He is strong and gives 

Me Spiritual sight

Lie in my bed pray and grown all night

Got to live as I approach my twilight

Breathing heavy

Like flood waters inhaling a river's levy

The task task task task

How long will they last

A slave to the machine 

That is designed to be mean

Catch a glimpse of myself

In the mirror with a medicine shelf

Autumn in full view 

In the hew 

In the lines of the

Face that defines me

Peace is what I will

Choose to see

If Autum colors 

Are going to free 

To be in me!

Not the best foliage this year, had me reflect on Autumn without color 

Bored

To be entertained by others work
Or trying create my own
To do something productive
Or get lost in a phone

It is a beautiful day
And I am sitting on
A couch

Bored
Feeling like a louch
Nothing profound
Flowing through me head
But my Sunday nap
Turned into prison on the bed

Don't feel like pulling on friends for affirmation
But need a distraction
A my life vacation

The solution would be simple
If the Pats game I could see
But only got Netfix
So No TV for me

Surviving the Peace

Surviving the Peace

You fought in a land far away
And did what you had to do

You saw friends fall
At your side
So doing drugs
Was an earned right
And a reasonable place to hide

The War for you finished and done
But the fight with addictions has begun
So now the question is
Will the Peace I Survive!

Seen genocide and suicide
The memories of your killing
Have no place to hide
Your deeds had their place
In the protection of the human race
But will the peace I survive

Up for days alert at the trigger
Now sleep refuses to linger
Your mind that won't adapt,
Won't even nap

As you try to move beyond
The Ranger tag and Army cap
You ask...
Will the Peace I survive!

Thought this poem should be longer.  Inspired by rock ceremony at Starlight Program.   Young Army Ranger, struggling with the absence of adventure and the trauma of war  

My Walk Thru the City

My Walk Thru the City

Roaming thru a city
That was once my home
In no hurry, strutting out alone

Not looking for a pretty place sit
Always been comfortable
On steps with the grit
Grab myself a piece of
Convenience store fried chicken
Chill out listen
To passing urban rhythms

Factory driven cities
Have never been clean places
Jack Daniels nips dropped where they were drank
Tits sag in wife beaters
Worn to help with the stank
Cheap cigars hang on lips
Of wrinkled filled faces with no teeth
I am looking for a place
Where shaggy beards meet

I turn from the curb
Into a storefront art collaborative
Bob Marley sounds
Make the vibe attractive
JFK and Robin Williams images
Are hung are without complaint
Robin has earned his place
Among the tacky art saints

An ambulance siren echoes
On the marble stairs of library on the block
Where street smarts
And street art
Will be cool in a generation
Today they are the voices
Creating the conversation
Some are profound
Some meant to shock

A shop must sell 3 wheeled scooters because I saw two
One was an instant friend to a Harley
The other went to war with a pick up truck
The scooter, then the truck, spun U turns
Running and chasing
And shouting fuck you
All I could think is
What are they gonna do!

Hot pastrami sandwich from a kitchen RV
Ended my trip
Another meal ate on the curb
With the grit
I enjoyed my day
Hanging and moving in no particular way
But I have to say,
I am glad this is not my everyday


A had a day to wander around Fall River while waiting for car to be repaired

Indians and Oil

Oil and Indians

Land keeps grabbing for a place to stay
Hoping white men will rest from exploring each day
Land wants to chill with the grass in the hay
But oil and indians keep getting in the way!

We sign great treaties
When the land's too far the see
But give us some time
there'll be a hankering need
We just need a little bit at as go
From sea to shining sea
Don't ya know

It is not that we don't mean the things we say
It is only that oil and Indians keep getting in the way

The protest in North Dakota are the latest example of ambition and greed leading to the mistreatment of native people.

MAD Men

Our competition for resources
Would end with cooperation with each other

So called, reasonable men have discussed the benefits of Mutual Assured Destruction,  
Truly this is MAD

Does ideology only lead to war in the hearts of hungry men?
If only that were true!

Understanding the depravity of man
Brings little comfort    

Predestination even less 
It is just another form of exclusion 
Making God the creator of the
Haves and have none
Of greed and starvation 

Incomplete Poem.  A portion pulled from another poem, Illusive Kindness!

Thinking to the Sink

Thinking to the Sink

Thoughts follow the cadence
Of a full and slow dripping sink

A drop per thought
Can't decide
Should entertain them
Or want them to stop

Awake and Asleep
Simultaneously
Are these thoughts
Friends or Enemies

Thoughts filtered through Scripture
Provide a clearer picture

Am I Anxious
Be anxious for nothing
Am I in want
He provides all my needs

Whatever is pure on lovely
Think on these things solely

A Drop of a Thought
Is always a search for wisdom
Asking is the only condition
For an abundance
Of its provision

Like cool water splashed on a tired face
Is wisdom to thought
Refreshing in its place

That drop of thought is a friend
If a friend I see
My own mind is not my enemy

Thinking Thoughts of Wisdom
I can Let It Be
If I want my mind
To be a friend of me

Caught part of a conversation at the end of a group conversation about dreaming, but being aware that you are asleep... Awake and asleep simultaneously 

Freedom's Wool

Freedom by definition
Means you do your best you
While you let others do it too
And you avoid all that is cruel

But we are programed for uniforms
And punish those who wear theirs wrong
If you can take your conformity beating
You will break from the sheep
And societies shearing

The pressure to Sheep Up will never stop
It has literally killed many who refused that spot

So Be Strong in the wardrobe of your choosing
Be a Nerd
Be a Punk
Be a Christian
Be a Suit
If that is your Wool
Be them all at once if that is what you want to do
Real Freedom means you be you, let other too,
And as Elvis said
Don't Be Cruel

Warrior Flat Face

Warrior Flat Face

Moving Slow, Affect Flat
Shuffling 
About to fall
Where does this soldier want to be?
No where at all!

How do you connect 
Through the mind fogged with haze
How do you break through 
Those eyes so glazed

Let those who shared that walk 
Show the way
Let those with wisdom 
Have their say
Take life by the hour
When days are longer than a day

Leave no man behind
Ain't just about sand and mud
Sometimes it is about 
Laying down the bottle and drug

Man down
Might mean
My Wife don't wanna be Around
As Memories Drown

THERE IS HOPE
Recovery Wins
Pound for Pound
Life don't have to be 
Lived by the Round

Wounded Warrior!!!
Fight !!!!
Your Mind Will Be Sound
What was Lost 
Can be Found

Laugh, Live, Give, 
Push, Shove, Love
Read, Seed, Need
Let your Heart Bleed
We Bear Witness
You Served
Therefore You Succeed

There are a couple of service men who are contained in this poem... Warrior Flat Face has been smiling lately 

Veterans Circle

Vet's Circle

In a Veteran circle
With men half my age
Listening and learning
To the trauma they engage
In isolation Self Imposed
In the group they find Repose

Avoiding war entirely
Is too much to ask
I suppose

What's caught
What's taught
What's fought
When peace is sought

Not peace with the past
Though that is true in part
Peace with the future
Yah, but everyone
Wants a new start

To know it is or
Wasn't done in vain
That there is justification
For this life and its pain

That there are good reasons
We all should remain sane

To laugh as you go about your day
To enjoy the simple pleasures
Of playing a game

To remain as long as you can remain
And navigate the
Stages of Change
To enjoy both the sun and the rain

To know you can be alone and not lonely
Because what every Vet circle knows
Is you don't live for yourself only

Powerful group work is bringing healing to service men suffering from PTSD

Faces Behind Faces

Faces behind faces
In all of the places
Making paces
For faces
In the best places

No man is an island
And no one is sidelined
If the life they are living
Is their own

But some lives
Shine most brightly
When they work quietly
Behind a face not their own

I saw a friends face behind a friends face.  The second face financed missionary work of the first face.

Black Holed Hearts

Being a Dad Ain't Easy
Especially when fools keep
Treating your family sleazy

Try to teach mine to
Consider the source
But who wants to give
Their own neighborhood
A divorce

Jealousy and accusation fly
Mouths acting like they
Got No Dirt to Hide

Just making noise on
Social media
Ain't happy unless
They making enough
Drama to fill a theater

Living in a good place
Like it is no place
Because when your heart
Is as dark as a black hole
All you can see is Ghetto

Time proves all things right
When tragedy falls
I take no delight

Karma shuts up
Wagging tongues
And hard work
Always gets it done

So when Me and Mine
Are living the life
You'll be old and probably
Still creating Strife

My kids, have been targeted by a lot of Newport's worst elements 

Heaven Home

Heaven Our Home
Hinged through this temporary time
Into the larger chapter of this life of mine

Rooms
Some large, some small
Their size representing blocks of years
Measured by clock and calendar
Mechanized through laughter and tears

I am alone
In this grand home
Rooms vacant of any furnishings
I just left God's throne

This mansion's beauty indescribable
Opulent with ocean view
Fountains spray rainbows on lengthy lawn
On winding path with subtle dew
This is not my lifetime home
But the one my Savior gave form

Here come those I was expecting
There are those who followed
And those that preceded
Me through the Gates of Heaven

They are all carrying a treasured possession
I did not expect this
Jesus leads the placement directions
Stories are shared
Telling the details of the furnishing birth
Fashioned by the moments we shared on earth
Each guest blesses
With laughter, embrace, and kiss

All are accounted for
And now I meet more
Generations of family who interceded
Before the Author of Life
Their prayers carried us all
Through rooms full of strife
Who seeing our worst inclinations
Prayed for us as a united family nation

The list of sur names
Boucher and Kaeterle, Costa
Suprenant, Sowalskie, Michaud
Martin, Gomes and Andrews
Guana, Dearing and Harris
And others still

All of us living with Jesus
This is a thrill
All of us having come through refiners fire
Are beautiful and meant to inspire
Each tear has been wiped from
Crying and laughing cheeks

Our Redeemer
The architect of this Mansion reunion
Invites us to sit,
We share communion
No more tears
For all of us are home
Heaven is now the place
We get to roam

 

Street Beat

Street Beat
Too Sweet
Never Repeats

Listening to life
However you define it
Call it ESP
Call It the Universe
Call it Revelation
I Call it Prayer or
A God Conversation

Catch it in a rhyme
Catch it in a song
Catch in a look
If you are practicing catching
Ultimately you won't get it wrong

Don't boast about your leading
With those who leave you bleeding

Casting your pearls
Is more than dinner for swine
It separates you from the pulse
Of your listening line

Don't get bitter
In the haste of Earth
The whole thing catching fire
In the grand New Birth

I am looking for the Christ
The ultimate King
You may be looking for Nirvana
Or that kind of thing

I am not looking for an argument
About what is true
What is true remains true
No matter our view

What I want are friends
Who have ears that hear their own beat
Whose fellowship and company is
Always so sweet
Who get there are zero moments in life
We get to repeat

Street Beat
Too Sweet
Never Repeats

My Newport Home

My Newport Home

Living free in my Newport neighborhood
Two blocks off Broadway

A walk for coffee, milk or beer,
Will most times result in a
Hey what's up
Man fist bump
Or embrace by a wandering friend

Music floats out of bars
Singles stand under stars
Folks fish all night at the pier
The view of the Pell Bridge is clear

My island home
Has been a pleasant place for me

Get on my bike
Point it toward Thames
Where passing tourist and students play

Turn at Wellington
Where I always see baseball and hear music
Real or remembered
As I look right to Kings Park
And the sailboats anchored in the bay

To Ocean Drive from there
My pedals lead the way

Fort Adams
Viking ships, craft fairs, rugby and sail boats
Flash in my mind
As I greet cow, horse or llama

Each day the ocean changes display
Some days roaring and splashing
Other times calm and dashing
The tides petting its rugged coast

The homes solid on rocks
The best of them blended perfectly
With the backdrop of sparkling sky and sea grey

The Mansions inspire ambivalently
The summer wealth
Built on immigrant stock backs

The opulence remarkable
But child labor is not forgettable
When having a union sympathizer attack

RI Ave with its walls, fences and gates
Manicured and secured
Handsome and straight

There is still much for this
Newport carpetbagger to discover
But there are many in this city
I Love like a sister or a brother

Illusive Kindness

Illusive Kindness

Why is kindness so illusive

Why is it so exclusive

My heart burns for the family of man

Separated by so little

Bonded by so much

All men want Love

All see life and children as blessings

Everywhere, food and drink and dance and art are celebrated

All want shelter and warmth

But the Heart of Cain says

There is not enough for all

So men must also love

Rocks and kicks and bayonets and

canon and bombs
I must have therefore you must fall

Able's blood is screaming through

The fallen soldier in mud and sailor sunk at sea

Many will say,

It is written

So let it be done

If that be the case 

Then the devil has won 

I say, fill all the bellies we can

The warmth of food

Heals the body and the mind of man

It heals the minds of those 

Who have had to fight for scraps

That burn in hot sun

Feeze in winters chill

Who risk life and breath 

On open Mediterranean or Haitian Sea

Who hope for better days

In a world full of refugee camps

Kindness is only illusive 

If it is illusive in me

Kindness is only exclusive 

If it is exclusive in me

So I will quench 

The darts of racism 

Aimed at my soul

I will demolish every 

Pretense that separates me 

From my neighbor 

I will believe that kindness

Is contagious and 

Will be caught by those 

Who see kindness 

At work in me

My Clock

My Clock

Wrestling with The Clock

Inside a wind filled 

Parachute

Dragged through the dirt

Scrapes on my knees

Its clicks unaffected by 

Strong gust or gentle breeze

It mocks with a body   

Of only face and hands

Being pulled from ground 

How do I pin this 

Relentless time piece down

I lose, 

My strength gone in a 

Fight of attrition 

Me or the earth is pulled

From its secure  position 

My loss carries me 

To high places I did not want to go

Teaches me things I did not want to know 

The view from age

Is broader than expected

I can see Six maybe 

Seven generations 

When the view is clear

As I declare Peace 

With The Clock

That was never at War with me

I see

This time piece 

Is not in a 

Parachute but in an

Air balloon

Fins Wings and Feet

Do I consider what I eat
It once had fins or wings or feet

Could I do with less
Would my smaller portion
Be Blessed

Would my consideration of
The animal kingdom
Make me a kinder
Human being

In the land of plenty
There is so much to eat
Maybe I could skip
What once had fins, or wings or feet

1940's Phone and Fans

The heavy black 1940’s rotary phone was out of place in my office, as was the GE clock from the same period, with its think orange cord and brown plastic casing, which must have been the absentee father of gorilla glass. The office was cooled by a 1940’s fan with wide spaces in its metal framing, wide enough to pass a small cat through while the fan was spinning, but still too attractive to children’s fingers. I miss that fan when the temperature is 90 degrees at night.

I picked up the phone on the third ring and recognized the bright hearted tone of a woman who had just completed her solo maiden voyage on San Francisco’s BART system. Her destination was Ohlone Community College where she was a sixty-two year old freshman. The tutorial of her son through the system had made her independent beyond her Archie Bunker temperament bearing husband’s wildest nightmares. I am the son of that woman and her husband, and brother of that successful tutor.

I alternate Cochran paratrooper boots, brown for my WW II father, and black for myself and my Vietnam era brother. My suits would be at home in a brat pack casino and a Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis comedy, with required vest for skinny man coolness. My six channel CD player music releases start in the 1950’s. Willie Nelson and the Doobie Brothers are permanent residents. I have managed to create a life, with the items of my parents and older sibling’s generation around me.

However, Van sneakers and straight legged, non pleated suits have become attractive as the life styles of my twenty and thirty year children, and their associate friends, become a source of curiosity, fascination, and personal enrichment.

Twenty was once an intimidating age. The spinning of Dire Straits, Sultans of Swing album on a turn table was seared into my memory; its needle and grooves scratching me into the new cool at my first college party. That song changed what Rock n Roll is, while claiming it was what Rock n Roll had always been.

The Sultans reminded me of awkward moments, of feeling out of place, too young, not smart enough, and dorky in negotiating opposite sex interactions. The gender awkwardness I experienced seems absent from so many who are twenty and thirty now. People are just more comfortable with each other. More free, meaner sometimes, but with an integrity of personality that few my age experienced when they were their age. When in their company I begin to feel young and a part of it in a manner that is leading to unexpected friendships.

I wonder if the bright hearted tone that I heard in the Mother’s voice was as much about her friendship with my brother Rene, as it was the excitement of new adventures on commuter trains and community colleges.

I was able to develop a friendship with my father in part because he graduated from Archie Bunker to Benjamin Spock. His hair was the longer than all of his sons in the 1970’s. It reached nearly to the middle of his shoulder blades, but he still put Brylcreem in it when combing it back.

Maybe this is what we are suppose to do, gather the things of those older around us while reaching for the styles and taste of those that follow us. I still like the wisdom of the formality of my father’s generation over the casualness of the sons and daughters, but that is coming from a man that did not know how to tie a Windsor knot until he was fifty and learned how to do so by watching a YouTube video.

The Know It All Spider

“Shhh”, said the spider to the duck. The spider had learned long ago humans hear so well they can hear a spider spinning a web. The spider therefore remained very still in the middle of the sunlight window, as the boy pulled his bike upstairs, the back tire banged in steady rhythm up each stair.

Ducks are not usually in basements, but this one had found shelter there. His friends would return to fly with him to the pond after he recovered from an injury.

“You’re so noisy” the spider said, “human boys hear everything, thankfully I was very still so he did not hear me spinning. I know they see poorly therefore, I am as safe as can be in this window” “I was sure he would hear you moving around in that corner. Go Away! You don’t belong in a basement”

The duck had seen many humans, some brought bread to the pond, others tried to shoot him out of the sky, and in fact his injury was from a boy’s bebe gun. He knew humans saw just fine, and he also knew the spider was wrong about how well they heard.

The duck said “Humans see very well and you can be seen easily in the window where your web is!”

The spider again said, “Go away! Us spiders are independent and don’t need advice, especially from a broken down duck”

Ducks are patient with each other which allowed the duck to be patient with the spider’s rudeness.

“We ducks need everyone. At the pond we all help each other, the squirrels make noise in the trees when they think there is danger, crows squawk, ducks are pretty good as seeing families bringing bread, even the fish benefit from us working together.

The spider grunted “go away, you don’t belong in my basement.”

Just then the front tire of a bicycle passed through the door.
Spider became very still, as the boy got both tires on the basement floor he picked something up, then he wacked the spider, in his still quiet position, with a magazine.

As the spider woke up from dazed state, he said to the duck, “Tell me more about your pond”

Missing People Places and Events

My mind reflects on missing memories, missing friends

Delightful dinners cancelled with a couple 
Alike enough to enjoy but
Different enough to challenge

A conversation with a potential lifetime friend
Who was spoken to once and never again

Honored birthdays with an open seat
My memory limited to seeing the photos

Trails I passed but didn't walk
Beaches discovered but never swam

I mourn the loss of these people, places and events

So many first annuals have become once in a lifetime
So many once in a lifetimes
Part of other people's history

History does not record
Those who are not present

And present I want to be!

I want to drink deeply from the pools of spirit
I find in each soul
I want to be molded by the landscape of life
The dirt from the trail and the sand of the beach

I want to be affected, changed, and made into
The best version of me
By the people, places and events of my rich life.

I am greedy for more
I want each day peppered with people
Salted with places
Blended with meaningful activity

All of it is good to me
Mountains, rivers, oceans, cities, and
Fields of corn and grain

I don't even care what we do
To Live while I am living
That is the joy
And it is the reason I miss
The friends I have not made
The people I have not sat with
And the places I have not seem

Personification of 50 Washington Square

The Personification of 50 Washington Square

Yellow brick skin, and marble stair bones

Conscience watched by a prince of the street

He is depicted in recycled art,

Sitting on the wall doing his part 

Shadows of soldiers and sailors

Adorn its historic walls

Mother's sons did more than their share

Lungs in a shaft that sniff the Newport sea, 

But breath Broadway blues neighborhood air

Frames of all shapes and sizes

Circulate through veins

Of its living corridors

Each man and woman

A life sized cell and more

Its hands belong to

Working men, and fisherman

Cooks, cleaners, and CNAs

Its creative mind belongs to

Painter, bakers, music makers

Seers and poets, writers of verse

Its thoughts heard through

Lips and on tongues

Of those who converse

This yellow brick body

One building, with three addresses

Has its very own Oz

Who has protected it from

Those who do not understand

This building
Is a vital organ

In Newport's larger life

Why would you need to protect

What is vital to life in our city

A place where all are greeted with a smile,

Shared laughter or handshake

Well you see

It has housed many

Who did time

Others have illness of mind

There are those that fight addiction's monkey

Others whose dress is more than funky

And of course some who ask tourist for money

It's personality wide and winding

Like it's artful banister

Three addresses one building

For the soul of folks who

May need a hand

4 Farewell,

Where no one need say good bye forever

15 Meeting,

The place for a roof top BBQ

50 Washington Square

The shape that will

Help if you come 'round

Its architectural excellence

Adds to the hospitality

The heart beat of the building

Sits in the directors seat

Looked over by a service man's Mom

Who gave life to that heart

And commissioned a building form

Where living art is the norm

Fake Fire

Fake fire place and fake fire
Somehow still comfort me
Are they close enough to reality

Is it just warmth I seek.
Is reality all it is cracked up to be
Madison Ave is too good a feeling me

Image makers image takers
What is fake what is real
What is the latest version of the ideal

Too fat, too tall, too next door
We want more of that
You can buy it at our store

Are you credentialed
Do you have a degree
If you have both
You can be an idiot you see.
Intelligence is only one marker
In our new reality

Don't want to be too cynical
Don't want to be too clinical
I like my fake fire
And what is cool
Is often cool to me

But I don't want to be told
My fake fire is real
That image can heal
Or its a bargain
When you are trying to steal

So in front of my fake fire
I will stare
And reality I will give due care
While remembering
Buyer beware

Sons of Sons

My Sons

My sons are sons of a son of a son
Of the US Army

Four generations of soldiers served
To a country we believe deserves
The respect and honor of the people
Who understand freedoms price

So much of history has been put on ice
Children taught our enemies are nice
When all our necks they would slice

Enemies domestic making us weak
Doing deals for themselves on the sneak
Mysteries death to those who leak
No I am not a conspiracy theory geek

When a former KGB agent sounds reasonable
When there is no representation for the people

How do I teach the next generation
When what I feel is apprehension
And what makes sense is preparation
To live in country whose ideals
Decay in rates of incomprehension

Friends buying arms like virgin oil
Packing food away that will not spoil
Ready to fight on their own soil
The whole thing is starting to boil

I am by nature an optimistic man
But the level of corruption
I can't stand
It is transparent to see
Even for optimist like me

I want to soften my thought
Because my Fathers and Sons fought
And I too was prepared to fight
But how do I do that when
Our leaders have no vision or light
Nor a clue as to what is right

The Basement Books

The Basement

This basement of mine
With walls of books
And centipede nooks
Has hosted a decade and a half of living

Its shelves of knowledge
Might bless a small college
As it has a few friends minds

Its weight theological
To memorize impossible

Its treasures inherited
Or had for a great price
At a used book stores

But this room comes to life
As I lie with my wife
And entertain a tribe of
Early morning needs

A grandbabies cry
Or sweet little Hi
The dog in a rush
Bows her head in a blush
As she is found curled on the matress

6 foot children flop on the bed
Often with complaint
Of stomach or head
Most often for school assignments they dred

Mom to the rescue
98% percent of the time
But it the 2% that causes the stress
So even then she switches from robe to dress
To assist so grades are the best

Milton and Tolstoy have their place
D.H Lawrence and Margaret Mitchell were read aloud
But most of the volumes come from the evangelical crowd

It is a modest abode
But it is pleasant enough
For a man who loves pages
And children of all stages
Who lives in a basement
With books for walls

The Ride

Road coming toward you
Lean is tight
Road moving away
Twist the throttle strong

There is way to live right
A way to get it wrong

Life brings both twist
And straights
Wanting one to be the other
Will only irritate

The bumps
Sometimes hitting them
Is the best way to beat them

No road is perfect
But all of them teach
Riding in the elements
Is not out of reach

Obstacles
Are more than distractions
They call for your
Most thoughtful actions

The mud and the dirt
I know less about
I do know sometimes
Life needs a shout

Knowing the next move
Depends on you seeing
Reality is the ride
For living human beings

Summer Sunday

Summer Sunday ticks by slow
Until I watch the children go
To find the cat the neighbor lost
See the wading pool make them boss

The breeze of the day pleasant to the face
I smile at the love of slow pace

Pep' s motorcycle a jungle gym
A toddler's dream
To ride with him

Why is the street so attractive
I want to sit but she is active

Rotate between pool and bike and street
Every passing stranger we greet

An old wheelchair
A source a adventure
Sparks memories of building go karts
Children laugh as fun passes
Pep's looks on and
Adjust his glasses

Summer Sunday ticks by slow
Until I watch the children go

Hazy Crazy

Starting to feel hazy
About this thing we call crazy
It gets kind of shady
When you get paid to be lazy

Sharing diagnoses
Has become a new focus
For dysfunction worn like a badge

I know illness is a real
But for others it is a steal
And sometimes we all have been had

Need a pill
Take pill
I am a fan of the science
And results
But if your pill
Feeds your head
While zone on your bed
Then your pill is an insult

Hillbilly Cajun Cunuk

Dedicated to Too Many Dead People

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

Work hard to pay your way
When you're done
Then it is time to play

Many did time with Uncle Sam
In order to feel right
You got to serve the land

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

If you fight
Get hurt
Don't give a damm
Sometimes you just
Gotta throw hands

Never minded
Paying my own way
Got that job
Intended to stay
I gave you my back
You gave me the wave

Left in the city
Factory gone
Ain't educated but
I am young and I am strong
Easy to see
The Man did me wrong

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

What to do with my time
Maybe I will cop a dime
Pick up a pint and few beers
All I got to kill
Is years

That pint turns into a quart
Lost my crib
No place to squat
Now on probation and parole
On some kind of devil roll

Doctor gave me oxy for
Factory back
The odds against me
They are stacked
The needle and the damage done
In a coffin
I am laying flat

Hillbilly Cajun Canuck
To me they all got that
Same kind of look

The Life Cycle of Truth

The Life Cycle of Truth




  The Life Cycle of Truth

Truth is conceived in living imagination

Nurtured in creation's imitation

Heard in ears of revelation

Born through the womb of expectation

Strengthened in recitation of generations

Taught in the mind of consideration

Lived by tradition's reputation

Weakened in language deregulation

Buried for cause of atrophication

Lost in the dust of institutionalization

Discover in archaeological restoration

Reborn for new interpretation

Truth there finds revitalization

Ambitions Changing Condition

Ambitions Changing Condition 

Playing cards 

With my 20 year old man

Nothing more important than 

Playing that hand

 

Pushing a swing 

With a 16 month old smile

Added up the pushes

Must be miles

 

Watch skate vids

With a 17 year old cool cat

Nothing needs to get done stat

 

Playing War

With a blond 11 year old

Nothing needs to be bought or sold

My how my ambitions did fall 

Bicycling around Ocean Drive

16 year old girl by my side

The sights of the bay

Getting us high

My how my ambitions did change

Dubbing on the living room sofa

Me and my 19 year old girl

Pretending we are loafers

My how my ambitions rearrange

Blessing and tickles

Mixed with a 9 year old prayers

Makes to worth it

To climb those stairs

My ambitions might be on the rise

Laying in with the wife

An extra hour

No need to exercise

Any type of power 

My how my ambitions surprise 

Getting old enough

To know what is important 

Changing priorities 

In those cast off moments

My how my ambitions have rose

Family of Dreams

A Family of Dreams,
So it seems,
The names of our kin
Were all Named by Him!!!
All named in the recesses of night
As we slept and meditated
To His delight,
He infused the character of
Those yet to be formed,
In the minds of myself,
My wife Esther,
Now my daughter Deborah's
New born.

In case your having a hard time figuring out what I am talking about,
Let me make it clearer so you have no doubt.
All my children's names came to us in dreams,
Most before they were conceived,
That is the truth,
I know it is hard to believe,
But we are a Family who names their babies in dreams, so it seems.

Hazel is especially special
It is her Great Mamaw's name she bears, She was born exactly 58 years after her Grandmom, to delight and to cheers!

Parenting by Deborah Lopes

Parenting
On the day you were born I was forever changed!
Whether you lived or died I was for eternity your parent.
A piece of my heart was engraved with your name.
Through the good times and the bad times
Through acceptance or denial
The fact remained you had my heart.
No matter if you crushed it one minute
You melted it the next.
You made me laugh or cry quicker than I knew was possible.
The cycle of breaking and mending became the rhythm of life.
Now I am old and you have children of your own but still…
In my quiet times my heart reaches out for yours … and forever will.

Cars That Rust

Rusty El Camino
Parked in tall grass
Another indication
Time that has passed

People, my wedding photo seeing
Seriously asking
Am I that human being

Weekends lived on waterskies
Now grey bearded tours
My knees in the breeze

Age is just a number
They keep saying
Moses said number you days
No one is staying

Cars that rust
Ashes to dust
The grass and the rust
In God I must trust

Charlie's Poem

Two Sons, One Moment

The moment I held you in my hand
I was taken to a foreign land
To a time when your Dad
Was placed in my same hands

I saw You!
My son's very own son
Part of God's continuing plan

You taught me
That time can make a stand
I was two places at once
Two times at once

I don't know
If this experience is the norm
But the day you
Charlie Boucher was born
Time itself was taken by storm

For Charlie

Abby Boucher David Boucher

All Your Seasons

Watering the grass
Knowing it is going to rain
Doing what you always did
Though the elements have changed

Life is tolerated
In the same old routine
Wisdom recognizes
When seasons switch scenes

Are you shovelling sand
Acting like it is snow
Are you sticking around
When it is time to go

Are you raking leaves
Through puddles of mud
Living in fear
Is really a drug

A summer heat wave
Is not made for igloos

Don't blow up your spot
For confusion of reason
There is a perfect place
In all of your seasons

Emily's Poem

Happy Birthday Emily Boucher

You Were Ours When We Believed

One in a half years
Before you came to this world
We knew the name
Of our little girl

We knew you were coming
We told the doctor
The day Tim was born
18 months later
Everyone knew our words
They were not wrong

You Were Ours When We Believed

You have been a joy
When acting like Lucy Ball
Or getting clarinet reeds
At that Warwick strip mall

You Were Ours When We Believed

I will never forget
The sit up day
300 sit ups, Wow
All you said was
Daddy I am board
Can I stop now

Push up challenge for
Suicidal vets
Helping Best Buddies
Best President Yet

You Were Ours When We Believed

Motorcycle trip to Mount Washington
Turned into a trip to Mount Ascutney
Neither of us cared
The time we were not watching

The helmet you wore
Two sizes too big
After that trip
We had to get
New motorcycle digs

You Were Ours When We Believed

It is the 16th anniversary
Of you being you
Your Memee said you
Will see the world
Before you are thru

Someday Me and Mom
Will meet you in heaven
We will talk to God
And hear the story
How you became ours
On the day that we believed

Trump and Hilary

I make a lot of noise
That is my liberty
I yelled at Trump
Now I yell at Hilary

I yelled for dead cops in NYC
NOW you expect me to stop
At the DNC

I am pissed as can be
At Trump and Hilary
Although Trump is hilarious
Hilary  is just nefarious

Trump stole a party with insults and more
Hilary hides truth behind basement doors

The industrial military complex
As happy as can be
The one who said he would not sell out
Endorsed Hilary

Political revolutions should
Continue until they bust
Especially when the alternatives
Are haloed in distrust

The Russians did it
A 1989 excuse
Some might call that
Cold war been abuse

So don't tell me to quit it
When I yell with all my lungs
I may be young
And comfortable numb
But despite your best efforts
I am no longer dumb

My parent got screwed
Out of pension plans they had
Hilary or Trump
Both will leave me
Empty handed and sad

So shout I will
At Republicans and Democrats
Because despite the corruption
Democracy is where it's at!

Belinda's Poem

Happy Birthday Belinda Andrews!

Your laugh is infectious
When you walk in the door
Christmas day relief to build
Toys bought at the store

Thanksgiving potatoes
Always a hit
Very few holidays
Have our families missed

Double date anniversaries
Have been fun
Put Jim on a boat
Nowhere to run
Play house food was great
The waiters became actors
After we ate

Playing to win
No matter the game
Win or lose
Your laugh is the same

Bud light shared on many occasions
Each bottle drank a mini vacation

Swimming with the kids
At Boone Lake
We might catch fireworks
If we left kind of late

New year's weekend
In Washington DC
None of our GPSs
Made that trip easy

It is your birthday
Don't let that get you undone
With a laugh that is infectious
You will be forever young!

Lora's Poem

You were mine the minute I saw you!
For one of my favorite people!

In cut off jeans and
Pot advertising shirt
That look in your eye
You could have spit dirt

You were Mine the minute I saw You

Late again
Three A.M
Scared, what were we to do
Mamaw was tougher
We knew that was true

Last minute for our wedding day
Your dress a little different
For the moment that fit
You looked great in it
No matter what happened
Things would never be the same

You were mine the minute I saw you

Signs of Reign
Carried us a few miles
No one could have predicted
It would end in marriages
And revival

They we were filling
Two rows of seats
Running around the church
Was kind of neat
That is a time
We will never repeat

You were mine the minute I saw you

Blue jean wedding
Because of God's conviction
"Not living one more moment
In this sin condition"
Michael Dearing is so in Love
He is absolutely positively is
Still listening to your bitching

You were His the minute He saw You

Navy life
Navy wife
Pain and sorrow
Difficulty and strife
All I can say is
Ain't that life

Phone calls galore
I never once minded
It was the you in you
You kept on finding

You were Your's the minute you saw You

It has been a joy to watch
The girl become a woman
Plan parties, take vacations
Jump out the boat
OWN YOUR OWN VOCATION!

You were Your's the minute you saw You

We are friends now
We even like the same peeps
Amy and Ish
They are friends you will keep

You were Their's the minute they saw You

I wish you and Mike
Weren't a half a nation away
I would stop by often
Just to say hey

I Love You Lora Dearing
You get better every day
But always thought
You were great anyway

You were Ours the minute we saw You