The Missing Friend

I mourn for you in many ways But I mourn for myself, the more I miss our reckless teenage days; the thrills each hour held in store Through the years, the smiles and tears through, love and loss and laughter we lived our lives devoid of fear in search of happily ever after that’s the way of fairy tales and fantasies we were spending; certain in our younger days life would have a happy ending We built respect and trust, my brother through hard work and dedication always there for one another no matter what the situation We gained confidence and courage impervious to every attack we would take them on together and I knew you always had my back So you might call at three a.m. For a friend you could rely on knowing that I was on your side and a shoulder you could cry on without shame or condemnation I gave you a part of my soul and we treasured each other through every occasion Our friendship never grew old There, when your first child born And you were there for mine Our two lives entwined as one like twisting honeysuckle vine We lost wives, nearly lost our minds still our paths went on together over dirt roads and through potholes; through sun and stormy weather The rugged years only made us strong with grizzled cheeks and beards though days and nights were sometimes long we battled back the tears But now I must go on alone over many a silent, lonely mile You live in my heart although you are gone and your memory always makes me smile

Chick and Duck

There was a little duck And a little chick Quick,quack, quick They rode upon a train Choo,choo,choo In the pouring rain To see the coast of Spain The little chick and duck Click, clack, cluck

Of Land and Sea

Fishermen go down to the sea Calloused hands mend nets Leather skin from sun and wind The boats return at sunset Farmers go into the fields Rugged hands upon the plow Land is turned while daylight burns As the hours will allow Dreamers look up to the stars Hoping they might teach them How they sparkle from afar If only they could reach them Lovers walk beneath the moon And spill their glittering hearts Hand in hand upon the sand Where land and sea must part The shining blue, drawn by the moon Goes forth and returns with tides Like men who toil in sea or soil Yet, still, the earth abides What have fishermen learned If not where to find their catch? The tide that pulls them from inside Their strength and skill must match What do the swarthy farmers know If not how to grow their crops? A time to reap; a time to sow And the cycle never stops You young dreamers, chasing stars What do you hope to learn? There is fire in each desire That only sparkles because it burns As for the lovers of romance With hearts on sleeves to see When forlorn, the sleeve is torn And thus, the heart is bound to be Go and return, sons and daughters Apart or hand in hand As fishermen upon the waters Or those who harvest from the land

Tumbleweeds

Once children grew steady and strong
Nourished by roots of family history
growing in the orchard where they belonged
when the sweet fruit of life held mystery

The came the contagion of complacency
And the age of the wandering child
Torn loose from the roots of ancestry
No longer cultured, but growing wild

They had no roots to tie them down
But drifted away like dandelion seeds;
Scattered upon the desert ground,
Instead of flowers, thistles and weeds

Without the water of parental care
the fruit of life made them bitter
taught by a world with no love there
many a seedling died and withered

Others became like nomad branches;
life’s fruit poisoned by infectious deeds,
like nine lived cats with no more chances,
rolling in the dust like tumbleweeds

Oh, generation of tumbleweeds,
seeking revenge for continual hurt
feeling but never knowing your needs
you cannot but wallow in the dirt

You shouldn’t have left your orchard home
nor destroyed the roots by burning your past
the nourishment of your flesh and bone
is blown by whims that do not last

Missing and lost are the tender shoots
That grew in care of The Gardener’s love
But I will feed my orchard’s roots
With grace and peace from God above

Scars

There are wounds in life that leave us weak
and every hurt takes time to heal
We, likewise, may inflict, through words we speak
forgetting the pain words made us feel

A scar can be carried within the heart
or worn like a tattoo, right on the skin
the latter, in ink, should make us think
to avoid those same old hurts again

Scars are unique, both tender and tough
Stretched taut where the healing begins
a testimony in flesh that is never enough
to remind the soul of its former sins

We all make mistakes, but not everyone learns
from things that brought such pain
an emotional neuropathy where cuts and burns
have left their marks, is all they gain

Each scar takes a little more feeling
until at last, there is nothing to feel
picking at scabs that should be healing
we draw our own blood in pictures too real

Memories, heartaches, lost love affairs;
flames extinguished and greatly missed
we clean those scars with the greatest care
and add those wounds to our list

But we all have scars, yes, everyone
and a closet full of hidden bones
some worn like medals from battles won,
others, watered with tears, when we are alone

Some carry their scars, complete, to their graves;
some carry them out to local bars
seeking justice for things that couldn't be saved
but make no mistake, we all have scars

Escape from Oz

The lion had no courage
The scarecrow had no brain
The tin man did not have a heart
And was rusted by the rain

But Dorothy; being tolerant
of qualities lacking in others;
and meeting them on the yellow brick road
took them as her brothers

And with frightened, witless companions
sought out her salvation
She even hoped the heartless
might rise above his station

The Wizard, steeped in subterfuge
Was ignorant of their cause
His title was quite misleading
As the wise, all knowing, Oz

The travelers suffered delirium
although they tried their best
They nearly succumbed to opium
of the wicked witch of the west

Beware the flying monkey hoards
And those who know too much
Beware the ulterior motives;
the revenge and applause of such

But look for Glenda The Good
for wherever you may roam,
to ruby slippers of childhood
there's just no place like home

So Very Berry True

The blackberry in his thorny crown
of verdant leaf and stem
saw the blueberry looking down
and condescended to him

"You are not as free as I
for I grow where I will."
But once prepared into a pie
he sat on the window sill

The poor blueberry, looking up
spoke gently to the pie,
"Now with your brothers from the cup
you are the same as I.

We shared the same blind, blessed ambition
we meet with a similar fate
with flour and sugar from the kitchen
We are both destined for the plate."

The blackberry, no answer, could he make
to the blueberry, still uncooked
for once he had been stewed and baked
things had a different look

It matters not how tall we grow
or what briers are our defense
for in the end, we must surely know
there isn't any difference!