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I'm an inventive and rhythmic writer. I listen to the beat of what I'm writing and try to avoid the use of cliches. I tend to write more abstract and figuratively, using contrasting word pictures to convey deeper meanings. I'm interested in crea
Held ~ Song for My Wife
Like beckoning winds
I am tossed,
as spring rain.
What have you done with my heart?
Cocooned and ravished
I am held by your love;
Like an unadorned pebble
in a bejeweled hand,
you have caught me.
If I were Lot's wife
I'm afraid I'd be salt.
The lures of sin have been cast and I have
yielded to the bate; time
What once seemed nasty has become my
with nothing to wash the palate clean.
I have been warned, judged,
chastised and cradled.
But in the haste of my exodus
I did not refrain from looking back.
I should have.
Some decisions are permanent.
Fraggiss and Moakley
were the best of friends,
kind and thoughtful to no end.
Till one day
a thorn passed between them both
and their hardened hearts would not bend.
The thorn had pierced them thoroughly
and in its exit it did leave
a hole no larger than a pin
but all engulfing it was within.
In time the hole would disappear
leaving the smallest faintest scar
but deep within the ravaged hearts of
Fraggiss and Moakley both hardened hard.
weeks then months then years
all fell away with few tears.
Now old and stooped both would agree
Once best of friends
were Fraggiss and Moakley.
As a weathervane stilled
By a winters rain
So too was my heart.
Like a million star cast nights
When fleeting moments of passion
You beheld me.
In your presence
The fragrance of the rose lingers
And the lifeless soul
Song for Anna ~
and full of wonder
is my golden haired daughter.
My, how her laughter peels through my heart.
The gleam in her radiant smile.
Her precocious spirit.
I love to be with her.
Brimming with effervescent life
and recoiled by little;
A great comic actress in the making who
Makes Coca-Cola seem flat.
Her eyes are the color
of the sand and the sea
against a backdrop of brilliant marble white.
Tanned and rough
gentle and childish
is my golden haired daughter.
How I adore her.
Stolen Years (for Stephanie)
So many days alone
with songs unsung
and walks not taken.
I miss you.
With hair the color of a blazing field
of poppies and eyes
as an early morning sky.
I remember your beautiful face
and long to see you.
have left me grey.
But from the moment I knew who you were
God placed a well of love
within my heart
its floor is
A Song for Jameson ~
A petros from my petra ~ a piece of who I am
and wish I could be.
You have outgrown the crib which held your infant body,
shot past the lofty heights of our pecan dining room table and
the strength of my shoulders only
to tower over me by 2 inches, though
my shoes will always be 1 size larger.
Your gold hair has long been replaced by a dark mass of swirling curls cropped short
while the rising pitch of your voice when excited betrays its natural baritone timber.
Your eyes are a wistful blue,
and the once soft cheeks now darkened by the beginnings of your beard.
Lincoln logs are now but a sweet memory.
Who will you become, my little giant?
Who’s shoes will you fill exuberantly
and what greatness awaits?
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