Writing & reading poetry Is delicious, Like smelling & eating Mom’s Apple pie without the dishes, What is life for but
Every friend or relative I knew Who passed on before me, I keep close in my heart, They live on in memories, Of good times starts
I live to weave my thoughts Into words, My word into phrases, My phrases jump to life On paper;
The man said “please” The woman heard bees, And cringed under her bonnet Saw it is as a misunderstanding... After all—bees are harmless,
If your thoughts Consume you with misery, Your mind tortured full Change the channel, Now look at things beautiful,
Obituaries are dark curiousities, I hope I’m not in there, In black & white, Not yet I conceed, Death Notices are morbid, macabre…
We are born Not for ourselves But for each other, Brother for sister, Daughter for father,
Love is neither a color Or lack thereof, Love is not a belief or lack there… It is not wrapped in beauty or ugl… It is not male nor female,
Another day has past, I feel peace at last, The spings overflows their banks As I give joy & thanks A bird once in bondage is set free…
To love God Is to desire Him, This is the source Of my pleasure, I no longer seek
I know my own destiny, My future is finally cast, All my life has been in motion, To this point in time is vast, Now that I’m here
Am I a Girl or a guy? I ask myself this question All the time, So If you ask why I will not be offended,
Why is blood the color red? Is it because our Creator wants Us to notice it when shed? Like taking in a blood-red sunset, Or when we are alarmed
What innocence lives! Found in her sweet face, So pure, simple barely A trace of knowledge, her world is without cares,
To honour one’s predecessors, Is deserving & kind, Especially ones of the same name So fine, James Dickey writes 'Deliverance’
