that touches the hearts
of the timid and coy.
It touches the souls
of all that hear
and disperses sadness,
sorrows and fears.
It raises all to the light
bring smiles and laughter
good memories strong
as rights all that is wrong
and sending theirs sorrows into retreat.
Oh I sing a song
of love and joy
won’t you join me
and all sing along.
22 June 2014
(Author’s Note:
This was written inside my church, The Church of Deadwood
just prior to my doing my morning Sunday service.)
as it slips behindthe shaded purple mountainsbefore the sun goes to sleep.Night of a million stars appearto set the night alightand cast a rainbow around the moonas far below in sleepy hollowsmidnight lovers swoon.The chorus of nocturnal creatureskeeps the night aliveas the moon withits rainbow crownsmiles down on the lovers below.Soon the sun will rise…
The past, the present and the futureall of them lay there.As we dip into the waters,we try to pluck out each coin.We may grab the past,maybe even the present,but the future lies beyond our reachelusive, as it will always be.We have lived the past,the present we are living.However, the futureis never ours to seeand so…
and the conclusion is out of your hands.You say you want to give up somethingbut others objections are so loudyour decision is reversedwithout your protest being heard.Their agreements are persuasivethat you reverse your decision reluctantly.This happened to me recentlywhen I tried to give up my churchthe powers that would bewould hear nothing of itand just…
I wrote a little poem aboutand posted it. Then up popped Alison Cassidydreaming of summer.In England, we are all doing that.We have to walk in our wellies,hoping not to get our feet wet.Andy Wilkinson postedanother romantic ditty,then he comes along,and calls me sentimentalbecause I wanted to say goodbye to a ghostwhere I used to work.Yes,…
Each room need a sparklewith pictures on the wall.A fire needs a steady bedto yield its warmth there.The sound of heartbeatsneeds to fill the airand each room needs laughterto echo from within.With out those ingredientsa house is not a home.6 September 2008
when they said white manspeaks with fork tongue.The Indians spoke with politicianswhose words twistedlike a snake in the grass,whose promises broke like piecrust.The politicians claim to famewas their broken words.“Oh yes this will be your promised land”then whisper to themselves“when we send you to an early grave.”“Oh come along and vote for me(for I will…
