Come, sit you down, put pen in hand
You’ll travel to a promised land,
Or mayhap one of tears and woe
‘Tis your choice where your senses go.
There’s magic in the hand that pens
Of worlds, adventures without ends.
Is it a tale of woe and strife
That burns and crushes out your life?
Or memories sweet from days long gone,
Of girls who sang loves sweetest song.
Trawl deep inside let your feelings flow
Memories will guide you where to go.
No matter what let your thoughts run free

It’s frigid now so I must go
Leave crystal glass lakes
Leave blanketing snow.
Go where there is warmth,
Razor winds don’t blow.
So cold here now, swift, I must go.

"What you doing Grandad?"
Danni's voice calls clear and shrill
"Writing a poem sweetheart,if I can only find my quill"
"What's a quill then Grandad?"
"It's an old name for a pen"
"Oh!"
(Pause as she thinks).

"Can I write a poem Grandad?"
"Of course you can my pet".
I hand her pen and paper
"Don't think I can start it yet,
Don't know what to write about
Ideas Can you help me get?”

Against the swift current, my love, a foundation laid,
like sticks and mud, our bond is built, never swayed.
Each shared moment, a willow branch woven in tight,
holding back the flood of the world with all its might.
Our union grows strong, where the clear waters rest,
a tranquil, deep pool within your loving breast.
The perfect sanctuary, this enlightened nest.

I’ll pen my words soft
As she stands in the shadows;
Her presence inspires and sets my soul free.
I’ll sing to the sunlight,
I’ll sing to the moonbeam,
I’ll sing my song glad for a love that should be.

I sense her each night
As she stands in the shadows.
How near yet how far can a love ever be?
So I’ll sing to the rain,
And I’ll sing to the rainbow,
And sing for the day my love comes close to me.

A little bird came and sat on down
Suddenly it had a sort of frown
On a clay sewer pipe
Next with its little might
Gifted the world a clover leaf crown.

It was the privileged ranks of the school,
Juniors and seniors, whose sturdy labor built.
The origin of those timber ties remains unknown,
But their immense girth and weight were felt.
Carefully stacked, they formed a ten-foot square,
A pyre filled with discarded rubber from Route 110.
Vinnie's Auto Parts willingly served our youthful quest.

Silent, empty now ‘neath snow clad hill,
Eyes vacant stare over pastures white while
Masonry crumbles as do grey stone walls.

No roof to bar night creatures shrill
Or owls to nest, white eggs to lay.
Silent, empty now ‘neath snow clad hill.

Stout pillars stand where gates hung tall
But the lions that crouched atop, long gone as
Masonry crumbles as do grey stone walls.

Black Hallows night come for the thrill,
Phantom coaches, lights, guests, wild music to hear.
Silent, empty now ‘neath snow clad hill.

Buzzy, my uncle, my guide, my best friend,
A special adventure that knows no end.
He drove to a spot where the tarmac was wide,
Where the sky met the earth and the great planes would glide.

The chain-link a barrier, tall, gray, and stark.
He flipped his small cooler right there in the dark.
A fence for a stool—a king's special seat,
To watch the big birds and the rhythmic retreat.

After The Storm

The path, a serpentine and muddy swell,
was hemmed with puddles where the heavens fell.
All things, in colorless and tangled skirts,
hid pools of light where silent wonder
had once embroidered every vibrant hue.
Within the mud, the ancient footprints grew
like hollow smiles that yearned for tears to lie,
as twilight blurred the canvas of the sky.