Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Seldom the Silence, but 3AM

There is not a more peaceful time in my world but 3AM

It is crisp and fresh from the cooler morning airs flowing quietly into the new day
It is a virgin present for a new day’s dawn
It is as quiet as a whisper
Beckoning all to awake
And taste the new day

But few can see this time of day
Few can understand the making of a day
The darkness as it molds with the coming of daylight

The songs of the tree frogs
The chirping of the unseen bugs in the trees
The quiet footsteps of the deer
And the soft, fluttering of the wings of the night moths

There is not a more peaceful time in my world………

But 3AM!

If I Were Me

If I were me, I’d think about the seasons
Are they there for a reason?
What changes can I expect?

If I were me, I’d spend more time at home
Wandering in my gardens
And exploring the wonders of rain

If I were me, I’d listen to the music
The poets of today
Telling me how it is

If I were me, I would taste all the flavors
And criticize none
For a flavor serves it purpose to someone

If I were me, I would talk to my dogs
And listen to their stories
Of life inside a fence

If I were me, I’d walk with my cats
To see the things they see at night
And feel the things they feel

If I were me, I’d look in the mirror
And question where I’ve been
And where I was meant to be
And where do I go from here

I AM me….but what if I were Me?

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Hope on an Empty Page

Hope on an Empty Page

Empty rooms and empty beds
Remnants of what was a family

Pages of writings from years gone by
And thoughts of a daily feeling

Now stored in cardboard boxes
Surfacing at a later date

Pictures of travels and family affairs
In old and worn shoe boxes

Stuffed animals longing for a hug
Looking for love and a place to call home

Living animals, longing for the comfort of youth
And periodically this comes

Seasons change…from summer to fall
And daily routines adjust to the change

But is the adjustment really there?

Friday, August 15, 2008



Perhaps, one day, we can come together
Or reach an agreement to reconcile


Perhaps, one day, we can agree to disagree
Or respect each others' opinion


Perhaps, one day, we can look at each other, face to face
And color will have no bearing......


Perhaps, one day, we can listen to John Lennon....
And understand....



Sunday, August 03, 2008

Through My Father's Eyes

Through My Father’s Eyes

I often drift away, as I ponder my life
And try to see the world through my father’s eyes

What did he see when he looked upon his sons?
Did they grow up as he planned or was there something else?

He left us far too early and I never got the chance to ask.
Is he still looking now?

And does he approve?
Does he wear a smile or a frown?

He often sat in his chair and watched the activities around him……
His sons playing guitars and laughing at their mistakes…..
Their wives sitting in the living room, around the fire….
His grandkids running around the house…..
Looking for treasures and secrets hidden by their fathers……
His own wife, busy in the kitchen trying to serve up her finest dinner
And the never-ending football game on the television……..

This was Christmas in Georgia…….and only a faded memory