Halfway Through

Forty-eight inches,

a decade of growth,

curled into fetal comfort,

seeks the safety

of mother’s womb.


Smooth tender scalp

rests on her shoulder,

arms encircle her neck.

Cuddle toys can’t

fill his need

for security.


Radiation’s brand marks

the tomb of the enemy,

robber of joy, peace and play.

Plastic tubes pump

poison into his chest.


Dad is big and strong,

Mom, warm and wise,

but sarcoma sucks;

that’s just the way it is.


A Chill in the Air

On Tuesday you cried

upon my shoulder,

trusting Jesus to save

your soul.

On Friday you played

the entertainer, making light

of fearful faces in the room.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


You danced in the face of death,

a can of beer in your hand.

But morning came with raindrops,

in your bed you would remain.

You communicated in silence,

lids weighted with eternal sleep.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


We ate brownies topped

with ice cream, while the lesbian

hugged the Catholic and God’s

Spirit sweetly smiled.

We laughed through tears

as we remembered; said

our prayers to fill the void.


You left us in November

as the cold was setting in.


I said goodbye on Thursday,

and left roses in the snow.

And The Wind Wails

The sounds of loud wailing

drops down to low moaning


a chorus…

rising and falling

rising and falling

rising and falling

like waves upon the sea.


The sound of mourning

heard in the streets.


The wind wails for Egypt

In turn, she moans for Libya

And now today, she weeps and sobs…

for the islands of Japan



Published in: on March 11, 2011 at 10:51 pm  Comments (3)  
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Faded Blooms of Purpose

Sweet cordial of summers past has lost its sparkle
And fading blooms of purpose wilt on empty table.

Stains of yester-year recall a joyful celebration
As moon beams touch on silken folds of final resignation.

Silhouettes of uncertainty appear on the horizon
As winds of season’s change portend ambiguous direction.

Songs of nightingale have lost all enchantment
While languid lovers wait–on new day’s dawning.

Published in: on August 28, 2009 at 3:04 am  Leave a Comment  

Carousel Ride

The carousel spins and the music plays
Set in the center of an open expanse
Shadow faces blur in an obscure haze
Eyes catch my focus, slightly entranced
Mysterious melodies not quite heard,
as I strain my ears for some direction
All the sounds seem dull and slurred
Hence muting words of Your affection
I sense Your presence still with me
When darkness does envelop
You’ll take the reins and ride with me
On this horse that cannot gallop
When spinning stops and music ends
You’ll lift me gently to the ground
When time is right, You’ll suspend
This ride upon– the merry-go-round

Published in: on June 15, 2009 at 11:19 am  Leave a Comment  
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