1955

I want to take life back to that World War Romance,

To return safe home in time for one slow dance.

 

I would have survived World War II, and come home to You.

We started our life together.

We bought a house after the War, I’m not away any more,

And we vowed to love each other forever.

 

I want to sit next to you on our wrap around porch while the family dog sleeps at my feet.

We watch the sun rise above our American Flag as the paper boy rolls down the street.

With faint fm static the radio is playing.

Our son runs from the field with a cheerful voice, saying:

The apples are nearly ripe enough to eat.

 

With a day off work I have no reason to worry.

Content in the moment, we have no wish to hurry.

You finish a book and add it to a shelf where there’s not much room for more

So we set it aside and flip through the letters I wrote you during the war.

 

We reach the middle of the day, and our kids want to see the town.

So we dress ourselves in our nicest set of clothes and drop the convertible top down.

While cruising along you stand on your seat. You smile with the wind in your hair

You give me a kiss for good times sake, and you laugh up a breath of  fresh air.

 

Everyone waves as we come to a stop.

Our kids run by the bookstore to the ice cream shop.

Hand in hand we saunter along.

Our son has a pocket full of candy.

We skip down the sidewalk to our favorite song

As our daughter holds laughter handy.

 

We drive back home to prepare for the night

And work in the garden till we run out of light.

After supper is through I clean up with you

And I come to realize… at the moment my whole life is right.

 

I want to take life back to that World War Romance,

To return safe home to a life long dance.

Let’s live like they did in Nineteen Fifty Five

And I promise you now, we’ll  keep romance alive.

When the Injured Bird is Heard

It was late in the spring with the clouds drizzling

On a cold rainy day in the middle of May

When a bird tapped my window with something to say.

I opened the window to hear the bird talk

And could tell as he entered, he struggled to walk

I noticed his limping and knew he was hurt.

He also was dripping and needed a shirt.

“I don’t like the wind and rain!”

The young bird whimpered in pain.

“It’s difficult to fly so I stopped in a tree,

But the branch wasn’t dry so my grip slipped free.

I toppled right over to the branch right beside,

If I didn’t have wings I’d surely have died.”

I patiently listened while the bird told his story,

Then hastily told him to no longer worry.

“The rain can’t last long, for the sun will come back.

But stay here till it’s gone and we’ll both have a snack.”

He lifted his head and gave me a smile:

“Why thank you my Friend! I’ll stay for a while.”

With fruit in my hand I gave him the seeds.

With a toothpick and band I tended his needs.

I fashioned a cape to drape on his wings

So he could stay warm in the rain while he sings.

I ended up spending the day with my Friend

Till the sun went down and the day had to end.

So eventually my Friend had to leave me alone,

To return to his tree with a home of his own.

But I promised him shelter in all types of weather

And to show me his thanks my Friend left me a feather.

Mother’s Day 2017

It’s been said ‘third time’s a charm’

 But 4 can’t do you harm; Right? 

Now with 3 out the door and 1 soon to go,

We need to say this more, because we want you to know:
We all love you, and you’ll always be our Mom,

So in that sense, you can do no wrong. 


But it’s hard to show appreciation when it’s all abbreviation.

You’re the best mom in the nation.

In the world. 


But all rhymes aside, 

You made life 4 times a ride,

Through thick and thin, and love and sin,

In you we all confide. 


We think more of you, than we’re able to show,

And with your help we’ve learned to grow,

But we’re great with commotion, and bad with emotion

So we wanna be sure you know. 


While we’re sure to make more mess, like we’re destined to do,

We pray again for God to Bless every little thing about You. 


Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! 

Winter’s Fall

Remember then when I took your hand,

In November when we walked again,

Through vineyards and the orchard lands.

I wished my friend, it would never end,

And it hasn’t.

See, we are still walking if you can imagine it. 

You asked me where we were going, 

Following without knowing…

I didn’t have a clue.

So to you,

That night, I told ya:

“Wherever the left leads the right, and vise versa.”

When leaves fall from my heart, may they take me to your soul.

Because this Fall I fall for you, my Autumn Tree, my Doll. 

Moreover then, around the bend,

In December when we’ll walk again,

Through snow storms and the winters wind.

I hope my Friend, it’ll never end,

And it wont. 

There is always room to fear, but I don’t. 

You’ll ask me what I’m thinking

Peaking, blinking, speaking..

I’ll reply, shy:

“This is all my dreams are made of, 

This Journey, with you, my Love.” 

General Conversation

I smile.

But can you read it in my body language, the overflowing pressure gauge,

Like something’s about to blow?

My anxiety, triggered silently, when you speak; I fall below. 

It’s not you. Trust me. It’s not you.

Honestly true, just me, nothing new.

But can you feel it?

Can you see it in my eyes? Maybe hear it in my voice?

Maybe see it in my hands as they sweat by no choice.. of my own..

… alone … 

You’re here; talking. I hear mocking. 

Not in your words, or even your tone; 

But in the voice in my head, which I’m prone to condone..

… alone …

“Stop blowing holes in my ship!”

I yell at my crew, as they unload a clip.

A round of bullets, shot straight through;

The mutiny aboard my mind.

This panic anew. The heart skip, tongue slip, I’m drowning. 

My boat quickly sinks, in the ink on the page,

As my skull deeply thinks, in the loll of it’s cage :

Your misinterpretation of my total misconception

Of the total imperfection of my ‘horrible impression’

A confession of depression from my no doubt flawed perception

of you.

Teach myself a lesson.

Help.

General conversation shouldn’t strike an ill sensation.

Depression takes it’s tole

Compression of my soul.

Help.

…Don’t stop talking. This is good for me, right?

These words keep stalking my conscience at night.

I scream.

You can’t hear me, it echoes within.

You’ve done nothing wrong, but patience is thin. 

I do not like to feel this way.

If normal was an option, I’d be it today.

So please keep talking, I’ll learn to survive.

My eyes just blocking, the demons inside; alive. 

But to whatever you’ll say..

I smile.