making promises
she can’t keep
she
still hears voices in her head
echoing
all the things she said
she’s
given up on counting sheep
tells
herself lies to help her sleep
with all
those self-help books she’s read
making promises
she can’t keep
she
still hears voices in her head
depressing
thoughts are running deep
she
makes a different choice instead
some
medication by the bed
as
softly she begins to weep
making promises
she can’t keep
gusts of
wind begin to blow
eerily
the trees are creaking
swirling,
twirling powdered snow
I can
hear the branches squeaking
trying
to keep the heat from leaking
I place
a blanket by the door
on the
window frost is sneaking
we
listen to the furnace roar
the
people’s house is made of stone
a symbol
of democracy
but now
the seeds of hate are sown
the
people’s house is made of stone
in
places where these seeds have grown
we view
total hypocrisy
the
people’s house is made of stone
a symbol
of democracy
nineteen
innocent children died
as a
young girl dials nine-one-one
good
guys with guns waited outside
they
scrambled for a place to hide
nowhere to go, nowhere to run
nineteen
innocent children died
with two
brave teachers by their side
expecting
help but there was none
good
guys with guns waited outside
many
young lives have been denied
from
bullets fired from a gun
nineteen
innocent children died
before
the blood had even dried
someone’s
daughter or someone’s son
good
guys with guns waited outside
authorities
already lied
but soon
their lies would come undone
nineteen
innocent children died
good
guys with guns waited outside
I’ve
learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call
from
overhead or forest deep
they
warn of danger great or small
a
warning that goes out to all
protecting
chickens that I keep
I’ve
learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call
a time
or two that I recall
woken
from my morning sleep
they
warn of danger great or small
in
summer, winter, spring or fall
their
information’s what I reap
I’ve
learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call
appear from
nowhere like a squall
in trees
above the compost heap
they
warn of danger great or small
and
standing by an old stone wall
I hear
that same familiar peep
I’ve
learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call
they
warn of danger great or small
while
not all wounds result in scars
and
often things can be concealed
not
every night do we see stars
clouds
or feelings act like a shield
sometimes
the cuts we thought were healed
or
constellations we can’t see
quickly
return and are revealed
exposing
things we can not flee
the
constant swaying of the trees
from
them a lesson we should take
the
winter air, a steady breeze
bend
with the wind so not to break
but with
high winds the boughs do shake
shedding
branches that are fragile
while
leaving litter in its wake
the older trees are much less agile
she still
watches the world go by
but only
now through panes of glass
a narrow
view of trees and grass
a little sliver of the sky
and if
she’s lucky birds may fly
her
expectations to surpass
she still
watches the world go by
but only
now through panes of glass
and from
her window she can spy
the busy
squirrels as they pass
with all
the acorns they amass
yes,
from her window way up high
she still watches the world go by
On this
early November morn
I walk
along the sandy shore
my senses
seem to be reborn
On this
early November morn
upon a
path extremely worn
where
many folks have walked before
On this
early November morn
I walk along the sandy shore
we all
are waiting for a bed
both day
and night we bide our time
a
peaceful place to rest our head
some
wait in anger, some with dread
some so
comfortably sublime
we all
are waiting for a bed
we think
about the lives we’ve lead
our
brains are working overtime
a
peaceful place to rest our head
no one
can say what lies ahead
within
this present paradigm
we all
are waiting for a bed
we
ponder all the things we’ve said
the
mountains that we’ve had to climb
a
peaceful place to rest our head
we think
of better days instead
when we
were young and in our prime
we all
are waiting for a bed
a peaceful place to rest our head
I wake
up to the beat of rain
the
metal roof echoes the sound
November
can be so mundane
my
happiness I can’t contain
it isn’t
snow upon the ground
I wake
up to the beat of rain
continuing
the same refrain
a steady
pattern can be found
November
can be so mundane
the
price we pay for summer’s gain
dead
leaves are lying all around
I wake
up to the beat of rain
I’m in
control of my domain
although
sometimes I feel housebound
November
can be so mundane
How much
water can we sustain?
as we
expect another round
I wake
up to the beat of rain
November can be so mundane
instinctively
you grab your phone
when you
hear that distinctive ring
don’t
worry you are not alone
it’s
called “classic conditioning”
and yes,
it is a real thing
pick up
the phone and don’t ask why
just
mindlessly reach for that ring
reacting
to a stimuli
he
disappeared without a trace
his
friends knew nothing but heartache
they
tried to handle it with grace
but some
things they just couldn’t fake
while
the anger made them shake
as
anxiety level climbs
only
intensifies the ache
that's how
it goes with unsolved crimes
his car
displayed in a public place
a scene
they’re trying to remake
a poster
with his name and face
with
flyers there for folks to take
a
dormant memory to awake?
and as a
distant church bell chimes
his
memory they will not forsake
that's how
it goes with unsolved crimes
leads
come in at a snail’s pace
some
years later they catch a break
a
jailhouse tip about the case
“in a
trailer sunk below the lake”
not wanting to make a mistake
they
searched the bottom many times
their
reputation was at stake
that's how
it goes with unsolved crimes
no
conclusions could they make
I check
the “cold case” list sometimes
it’s
been decades for heaven’s sake
that's how
it goes with unsolved crimes
I see
the roses in full bloom
though
the garden’s been neglected
so I no
longer can assume
roses
need to be protected
left
alone yet still perfected
and the
flowers turned out fine
their
resilience is respected
although the garden’s in decline
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
with
words that came straight from the heart
it
really was a work of art
from
what I’ve read it gets my vote
each
line was worthy of a quote
each
word was clever, clean and smart
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
with
words that came straight from the heart
it left
a lump deep in my throat
no one
predicted his depart
who knew
the pain was off the chart?
who knew
it was a suicide note?
perhaps
the best thing that he wrote
the beams have sagged, the timbers bowed
door wide open, hinges busted
the
ceiling droops as pipes corrode
the
railing’s broke, the iron rusted
the
stairs creak and can’t be trusted
the
floors begin to rot in place
window
sills are now encrusted
the
earth will soon reclaim this place
when other
people set the pace
you have
a greater chance to lose
you’ll
never win a single race
while
wearing someone else’s shoes
it’s
always up to you to choose
just how
to start, how to begin
so, pay
attention, read the cues
and heaven knows you just might win
I walk
the summer path alone
my
grandfather has long since passed
while
everything around has grown
with all
those things that he had shown
creating
memories that last
I walk
the summer path alone
he
taught me how to skip a stone
upon a
pond as smooth as glass
while
everything around has grown
I miss
that time, it was our own
he
answered questions that I’d ask
I walk
the summer path alone
an empty
nest, the birds have flown
into a
world that is so vast
while
everything around has grown
he
talked of people he had known
and how
the years go by so fast
I walk
the summer path alone
while
everything around has grown
violent entry,
uninvited
moving
in the same direction
angry
people now excited
infiltrate
another section
trying
to cause an insurrection
while battle
lines are being drawn
pick a
side, make a selection
still
mindlessly they carry on
with
their leader’s lies recited
in their
minds like an infection
radical
groups become united
to
change results of an election
no time
to think, no self-reflection
don’t
use their brain, just use their brawn
carelessly
without objection
still
mindlessly they carry on
hoping that
they don’t get cited
trying
to avoid detection
trying
not to get indicted
straight
ahead without deflection
on a
course with no correction
while
all the options now are gone
they
expose their imperfections
still
mindlessly they carry on
angry
crowd of one complexion
policemen
with their weapons drawn
while
people try to find protection
still
mindlessly they carry on
a
darkened room, he sat alone
with memories
he can’t ignore
with
thoughts that only he had known
with
photos that he’d never shown
well hid
away inside a drawer
a
darkened room, he sat alone
one time
he tried to make atone
in words
he’d never spoke before
with
thoughts that only he had known
the
things he did he can’t condone
another
casualty of war
a
darkened room, he sat alone
he tried
to end it on his own
a failed
attempt and nothing more
with
thoughts that only he had known
his
final years were spent at home
inside
four walls, behind a door
a
darkened room, he sat alone
with thoughts that only he had known
