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Words
cannot always express The
feelings of friends. They
look, and know The
troubles, the joys, And they
see Beyond
what is said. Friends
don't always Realize
who they are-- Or where
more friends May be
hiding. But in
the hearts of many you will never Remember
having once met, Are
thoughts of people who called you a friend-- And your
friends all around the world Will miss
seeing you in this place; But we
wish you the best-- And we
will find a way To carry
on the standards That you
have set in the past-- And in
future days You will
continue to see The
fruits of the trees You have
been planting these many years. |
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I see a bright blue sky, Dark as the sapphire for a king, Bright with the glowing rays of sun Scorching the mesquite and tumbleweed. This is Arizona. I see toys of the gods flung across the
sky and Angels throw out their lights in play. I hear the Drums of Thundermountain in
the hills. Cherubs in the clouds dump buckets Spreading golf balls across the desert. This--is Arizona?
I feel softness in the air. I smell sweet humidity wrapping me The heavens play once more, And it's
going to rain again, Because this is the MONSOON season--
In
Arizona. |
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Words are not a rhyme, Not a poem. not a song, Not wisdom. My thoughts are the waters That drench the land of my soul. My words flow, swim, trickle. And evolve through the rain. They sprinkle, drizzle, And freeze in my head or On my tongue. I rhyme, I meter, I beat my drum. I verse, I limerick; I sonnet. Let us haiku through rivers To uncharted lands of ideas Unstored, untraveled, unsung. Explore the lands of forgotten days. Fire up your warriors for battle. Bring tears to the eyes of your lonely, And kisses to the lips of lovers. Let your tongue twisters alliterate— Obliterate the sensible languages of
professors And make the games of children. Words feed the cultures of the masses. They strike the heartstrings in a few. Without them I would not survive But with them I thrive abundantly, And pass them on to you. |
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From the mist of the world beyond . . . That Forest from which She returns-- Paradise . . . that sweetest place For which the tired soul yearns. "Come, come with me," she beckons, "Away from your rat race world." "I could leave awhile," I reckon' Her charms at me are hurled. She caresses, she leads, Her warmth around me wraps; Down, down, way down she pulls And around my eyes she taps. My lids begin their slow descent And then I start to creep . . . I've fallen prey again to the Mistress . . . Her name . . . is Lady Sleep! |
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Momma-- Did daddy die a hero? Is he somewhere special now? Is he still a soldier? Can I find Him? How? Momma Where do heroes go? Where does a body lay? Who picks who lives and dies? Why did MY daddy go away? Momma Can you tell me If everything's okay? Maybe he isn't really dead-- He'll come home today! Momma-- Is Daddy Still a hero?
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Wipe with the towel When your fell like crying, Dab with the towel. When kids need chasing, Twist the ole towel. When idiots need strangling, Grip that same towel. When bills need paying, Write on the towel. When messes need cleaning, Wipe with the towel. When dirt needs laundering, Wash the poor towel. When kids need celebrating, Toss up the towel. When thoughts need provoking, Hang up the towel.
But no matter how hopeless You believe that you feel— Never
EVER
Throw in the towel. |
When dishes need drying,