Did our parents not have better things to do-
better things than to suffer our indifference-
our rebellion-
better things to do than return to us love
for hatefulness-
patients for intolerance-

I truly long to find a place-
were the used-to-be, now history,
still exists in time and space.

Where childhood innocence is sublime-
and yester-days again replay-

Do not with children
a contest of wills make-
for this only provokes
them to anger
and is a mistake.

you might prevail
for the moment but
you can not win-
it will just keep happening

The time has passed so swiftly by;
where have the years flown to?
Since I heard your very first cry
and was the first to hold you.

As I look back on childhood days
and then to teenage years-

There is a not so distant sound of drums –
drums echoing in this land –
drums whose rhythm is seductive
whose resounding beat is socialism-
the camel’s nose is health care.

As summer yields to winter,
so must life yield to death-
that doth end Man's earthly quest-
a sojourner on this spinning earth,
his path-way through from birth
ordained-

Like gluttonous pigs-
Engorging at the slop trough-
Oblivious to their impending fate-
Many-

Seeking only instant gratification-
Ignoring the allegory of the spider and the fly-

Born again, how I love to proclaim it,
ever freed from the bondage of sin.
Jesus Christ is my Lord and my Savior,
and some glad day at his side I will sit.

Yester year’s graveyard
just don’t go there anymore
make room for today.

Spring time’s false promise
summer’s cruel reality
winter disappoints.

Moonlight on water

There are no roses without thorns
nor is there pain that can not be borne.
Between love and duty sometimes torn-
there are no roses without thorns.

There’s no promise of tomorrow

Grizzled and gnarled
now ain’t she a pretty sight
don’t she even shave?

Sun lights eastern sky
sun flowers turn their yellow heads
away from the dark.

Seasons come and go

Dourly I watch Autumn’s falling leaves
slowly drifting towards the ground
blown hither and yon all around
by a chilly November breeze.

I ask myself must I be like these

Once upon a mid-summer’s night
I dreamed a dream of horses white
of Billy goats and little fishes
of dogs and cats and childhood wishes.
I dreamed of monsters living in the sea

Striving to obtain all lofty goals set,
while dwelling not upon those never met.
Refusing to quit and staying the course,
getting up from the dust and back on the horse.

Seeking to enshrine
their names in history-
they strive to pull down
the Colossus of Rhodes.
They fashion scoundrels
and heroes from naught-
which then become
vivid and definable.