The Garden of Our Youth

Where have the flowers of spring gone?
Those were the days of our youth.
Spent in the hope of something better. Only to be wasted by those who did not understand their value.

Memorials On Tracing Paper

Short words on a long day

Doors closed on faded memories

Listened to quiet hello’s

Silent good-byes

Young children and older siblings

Watched the wind blow through the spring leaves

Yellow daffodils visited by the honey bee

Remembered young faces to be put with old bodies

Cried because that’s the thing to do

The Whistling Wind

Through the cracks
I feel the colds
Soft silk touch
Slow to draw
The warmth from off
My flesh
Outside
I hear it call
Telling me to hurry
There
Come see what has
Been done
I’m no fool
I see
Through those
Same old cracks
How the withered grass
Roughly bent
Blows
I see the hard clasped oak
Leaf
Trembling there
Like clothes
On the line
Even the snow white
Clouds
Begin to blush
Pink
As the setting sun
Bleaches hard
Across a barren
Sidewalk
I know
And I will not
Go
For only the brighter
Shades
And pastels of
Spring to come
Will pull me out
From this warm
House

The Prince’s First Muster

The Prince’s First Muster

The City Lights with You


Nice sunset to stroll the paved sidewalk
There beside the river
Clear blue skies slowly fading like a rose
Into the soft pearl glow of a city night
Reflected backlight of a hundred street lamps
Stealing away the dark
Holding tight with a lovers grasp
Hands and fingers laced
You and I
Side-by-side together
Go
Your soft grip reminding my feet not to walk to fast
Directing them sternly when they go to slow
The same nested hold
With an awkward bump
Pulls the walk to a stop
And with a warming embrace
Hurriedly turns our path back upon itself
Shivering from the coming cold
Leads us home

A Beautiful Day

I wander down forgotten trails 
Searching out forgotten tales 
Weary feet carry on 
Beyond each bend and twisting turn 
In every moment 
I retrace 
The memory of this magic place