Writing whether poetry or prose whatever comes pouring out, is my passion. Here are but a few of my scribbles and scratches. Speak up, if you see something good or bad in it. Peace all
BIO: Born and raised in the idyllic wonder of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania where time seems to have stalled in the eighteen hundreds. Corn and tobacco fields, meadows for grazing. All the necessities for a wild and roving childhood.
Tucson is where I found my home. Where the desert lays swelteringly low, and mountain islands rise from the heat and swelter to offer an oasis of cooling escape. Still I am surrounded by animals. Parrots and dogs and a rescued wild pigeon who is absolutely devoted to me. My better half of 36 plus years is the best thing to happen to me. Love is a great source of creative energy and my well runs deep.
I hope you can find something you can appreciate here in my garden.
It was so easy to watch them smile while watching them growing up Discovering life, making their way Becoming what they will be Making us laugh with glee and joy their treasures they gathered just so memories of days when they smiled meanings lost behind unspoken words
It seemed so normal like any other day A pat on the head a kiss on the cheek who can remember the words we said parting our ways and living our lives the busyness of business filling the hours Just humming along passing so fast While they were hiding and cowering in the clenches of fear and pure terror
Death came visiting the halls and danced amid pleas for mercy and forgiveness but death knows nothing but the harvest. walking with purpose he chooses his prize nothing can be done but to mourn and cry to remember the smiles and the good times living with regret and sorrow, embracing pain counting the tears that never stop falling
Muddy watered river flows,
gently drifting its winding path.
Farms and orchards dip in their toes,
bounded by a margin of grass.
To cast my line into its depths,
watch the ripples grow in size.
Water bugs racing to and fro,
speckled sun - a water color sky.
No need for fish to break the spell
just draw it in and cast again.
Breathe in deep that fresh green smell,
a quiver, a strike; the long pole bends
The battle is on - though fierce it's brief,
a run a pull and reel it on in.
Released back into the river - set free;
prepare the hook, cast it again.
Corn fields shimmer with a gentle breeze
birds sing songs as old as the wind,
the lane nearby long and straight.
Just draw it in and cast again.
When waking from this long suffered dream.
being the old man that I never foresaw,
I am grateful for those days in the sun
where as a child I grew both strong and tall.
By brian francis
I watch the sun rise, and pass on overhead, And I see the others flying south again. I wish that I could go, but I’ll stay here instead, my broken wing and I fighting against the wind.
Winter is coming; the leaves are turning brown, the nights are getting cooler, and darkness lingers on. Low clouds on the horizon are telltale of the storm. Whispers beckon in the wind coming from the north.
I feel it as it touches me, the cold, cold hands of fate. I know that I can’t get away, so I’ll lay here and wait. While on wings far overhead, the others pass me by, Oh, how I want to join them, but my broken wing can’t fly.
Cold rain falls upon my back; cold wind blows in my face. Soon the numbness touches me, then soon the light will fade. Then I will cast away this shell, its broken wing and all, To start on a new journey, I will fly into the sun…
She caught the midnight bus to take her down the highway The life that she’d been living had never been her own She packed her bags and took a room down at the motel She slipped away the way her father once had done Danny had waited that first night for her returning He would have chased her if only he had known But by the morning a state line stood between them And the wheels just kept on turning until she was gone
PBR and a shot of Walker had helped him pass the evenings That sense of loneliness was tearing at his soul He’d heard a rumor that she’d run away with a soldier Moved to the Philippines and found happiness at last Red or black don’t matter he just wanted another Walker And they kept them coming until the money was all gone He’d stubble home most nights assuming he could find it But the bushes by the bank had often served as his home.
She’d come home again when her mother passed last winter. She had found Danny standing at the bar just down the road They talked about the time that had passed since she left him She told him how rough times had often worn her to a nub He could only look at her and remember why he loved her The pain had faded and was lost as he looked into her eyes As she walked away again his sorrows were at once upon him Line them up he said as he felt the cleaving of his soul
I have felt you cleaving great pieces from my being. Leaving me to care for my wounds, whimpering alone, Like to toss a canvass over me, to conceal my torture, Until you again choose to sculpt me yet even more. I am the rough image you coax perfection from within. Always becoming what you desire – chiseled pieces fall away. Fearing that a fatal flaw might be found deep within– to be tossed away with the unwanted shards of my being.
Where is this place called America? Where freedom rings and justice reigns. Where equality shares a common hope And compassion trains a steady hand and lifts all tired souls like a tide
The Lady still stands by the doorway lighting the way for those lost in darkness beckoning with the promise of freedom faithfully proclaiming Liberty for all
Where is this place they call America the golden valleys and great forests small patches of remembrance promised to the future generations snipped and carved into nonexistence by the greedy business concerns equal to a soul it was proclaimed
The giant must be sleeping again waiting for some call to crisis perhaps dreaming of its perfection where America becomes itself a pleasant dream
Where is this place called America where can it be realized and when
Only within ones heart I am told in the way we live our freedom guaranteeing the same to all The best that we praise – self sacrifice giving the gift and demanding honor flag draped caskets and caissons and the discharge of rifles of one, seven, seven, and six
There is the place called America in our pausing to honor the flag embracing the promise and creed a willingness to share in the load shh, quiet the giant is sleeping
Asherah, long has your name been bound Josiah’s rage defiled you, hid you in the dust Unknown yet still they pray to you for gifts Your name still hidden your power yet given
Asherah, Mother of all things seen from the heavens Blesser of woman and the fertile seasons of love Wife of devotion and protection of Him who is Mother of creation’s toil, witness to the light
Asherah, Lady of the seas to some, also lost Progenitor of all that is and too of all that isn’t Drawn from the memories of stone we find you On shards your name rings among the highest
Asherah, we when in passions embrace worship you And strive to be worthy of your gifts for life Asherah, I call out your name to witness your beauty To one day hold your gift and honoring you raise it up