Why me:

A school project for all to see, brought pain and questions from my daughter to me.

Why me, she asked tears streaming anew, why me here, sitting with you?

I pray for words to come out right, while sitting and holding my child real tight.

The day I remember was shining and clear, when the angels gave her, my darling, my dear.

Yet as I filled with gladness, there is pain, as heaven rejoiced for another they gain.

One little angel danced her way home, leaving behind her sister to roam.

Why me? Years later the question of fate, because my child your sister could not wait.

She knew in her heart you’d live life for two, she watches and smiles while she lives life through you.

And some day when your life here is done, your angel will weep as two hearts become one.


Fear engulfs when I look upon his face,

Torn to shreds, a cancerous maze.

Flesh is gone and a monster appears.

He beckons me forward but I am froze.

My young eyes see with devastation.

For grandpa is gone, no face remains.

Propelled forward, mother pushes my back.

His eyes show pain that I should falter.

He pulls a sack from under his pillow.

Familiar magnetic balls spark my memory.

In his eye I see his hope;

Accept his gift, his joy provoke.

Upon the floor I silently play.

Wonder Woman on the black and white screen.

A soft touch upon my head.

A smile of comfort and I know him again.

The next I see him I know him not.

In his coffin his face is whole, his demon gone.

But in my memory I hold his look,

The smiling face on our last day.

A Glaziers lass:

A glaziers lass both bonnie and sweet, with hair so shiny and braw,

Walked upon the Loch Lomond, and with her there was naw.

Along came a dobber gaunnie ta the fair,

he pushed upon the lassie hoping her to snare.

A hammered galoot he be and she creet out in despair,

And to her came a bustling, a laird to bring her care.

She dunnae noo his name, but in his eyes she saw his quest.

Aye, she said and withoot a fear, from the dobber he did wrest.

Upon his steed he pulled her forth, to a highland castle they did ride.

And in the wheest of the night, he did haud her to his side.

The faeries came to bless them in their passion of the nigh.

A bairn for the laird to keep, and his lassie he shall tie.

Writers Peace:

My greatest peace blossoms from the words upon the screen.

Writing my imagination, in an abundance of visionary scene.

The lull of the keys chirping as visions flow majestic and free,

Calm my troubled, aching heart, and I soar through the images I see.

Within my own adventures I can travel anywhere,

Sit upon the grandest mountain or breathe in the mystic ocean air.

Smooth aquatic crystals can brush across my skin,

Or the heat of a thousand summer suns can warm me from within.

Before my eyes the moonlit sky shimmers out of sight.

And the watery diamonds of dew, glitter in the morning light.

I’ve seen a million sunsets, I’ve sailed a thousand seas.

I’ve captured a hundred magical sights while soaring above the trees.

With each new word that’s written another is on its way.

And inspiration fills my veins with everything I want to say.

A candle flame left burning to conquer the darkest hour.

The gentlest brush of true love kiss to fill me with such power.

The moments I feel the strongest are when my characters take flight.

And win their impossible battles and stand for truth and right.

In glorious descriptive assurance they teach me a lesson learned.

That though my hardships out number most, those demons I have burned.

I remember (song):

I remember looking up at her face

And I remember, such elegance and grace

I remember the sparkle in her eyes

And I remember, two arms to sooth my cries

She was my mother

So rich in love

She was my mother

She’s Gods gift from above

She was my mother

I can see now looking down at her face

And I can see now the satins and the lace

I can see now the love that flows so free

And I can see now because it’s happening to me

Cuz I’m a mother

So rich in love

Cuz I’m a mother

She’s Gods gift from above

Cuz I’m a mother

I pray now that I’m as good as my mother was to me

And I pray now to teach the lessons of life that there should be

I pray now for the hope, the love, the guidance from above

And I pray now that she can feel the wonders of this love

When she’s a mother

So rich in love

When she’s a mother

She’s Gods gift from above

When she’s a mother

Just like her mother

Just like my mother

Eyes are windows:

She looked up and met the eyes of her enemy. He stood towering above her, legs apart and arms casually at his sides. His stance reeked of power and strongly declared, he would not be challenged again,

Her parade

A child of two stands with gloom,

As she watches the parade pass by.

A child of six gloats and grins,

As candy fills his bins.

A mother’s heart is filled with pride,

Her son notices the child has none.

To the little girl standing nigh,

His candy given, her parade turned fun.


Awakened with viscous betrayal as he panted and sweated over.

His body crushing and stealing, my body bleeding with disgust.

A fate of mocking brutality, my roundness growing.

A ring of domestic horrors forced upon my finger.

His lusty games of torchere, his agonizing touch.

Bruising, bleeding, weeping

To die would give me gain.

Whirlwinds of deception, dominance, abuse.

He stole my voice, a demolition of my pride.

Nothing was my identity, a child was my prize.

Strength within a simple call, a Mother’s heart revealed.



One step forward until you cast his spell away.


A curse is broken, but the mind always remembers.

Who is She?

Who is she, that girl with class?

The one with wit, humor, and sass.

Her long straight hair shiny and gold,

With perfect eyes, sparkling and bold.

Who is she with that straight white grin?

Long and limber, her figure thin.

Her laughter bright and sounds of bells,

Her perfect world hiding her hell’s.

Who is she, that girl of strength?

Telling her stories, not trimming the length.

Songs that ring a beautiful sound,

With radiant heart humbly found.

Who is she, that wonderful nurse,

Saving lives and sharing her purse.

Serving others in their need,

Striving hard plant that seed.

Who is she, that mother of four?

Feeling her failures, yet trying more.

Pinching her pennies to make all right,

Picking her battles, but ready to fight.

Who is she, that girl of thunder?

Nothing more than a waiting blunder.

Her heart is true, her kindness free,

But under it all there’s pain to see.

Who is she, haunted by ghosts?

With a past feared by most.

Shunned and hated for the life she lives,

Never cherished for all she gives.

Who is she, that girl who smiles?

And paints the world in brightened tiles.

Forever feeling the hateful words

Yet listening only to songs of birds.

Who is she, feeling the peace?

Though painful words never cease.

She is a child planted in sod,

Carefully tended by the hands of God.


It sweeps into the celestial core.

Touching deep within visions of time.

Leaving behind encompassing sounds.


Send me now into a land of light, of peace, of truth.

A faraway place with gentle hands that calm the woes of youth.

Give a home free of hate and creatures of love and care.

Where all are cherished as thyself and treated equal and fair.

Take me away from bitter pride and prejudice and greed.

Where one can walk the narrow street and find a happy deed.

Belong me to a grateful land that serves its people love.

And all are blessed with honesty and share a workman’s glove.

Embrace my heart with gratefulness to share along the way.

Where wars are gone and forgiveness reigns to rule the light of day.

Share me now a doting smile faithful to its heart

Where everyone is at their best and plays a loving part.

We need a land of joy. We need a home of peace.

We need a world of gentleness where love shall never cease.

The creek:

The creek ran through a collection of large boulders and trailed down through the forest. During the spring, water filled the strip with cool waves of glistening aquatic stars. They flowed from the hills and caressed the stones on their way to blend with the sleek pools of Majestic Lake. Over the spring She had watched the stream slowly bring the forest back to life. Bright flowers had bloomed along the banks and thick green vegetation had tickled her toes on more than one occasion. Now, however, the water had emptied its last drop into the hungry lagoon and the stones were long dried by the hot summer’s sun. She disturbed several of the stones so their damp undersides stood out against the muted colors of the dry bed around them, then made her way to the largest boulder.

His prairie he shall ride:

Upon a silver mustang with spots upon its side,

There’s sweat upon his brow, and his pony he does ride.

O’er the plains he wonders, morning noon and night.

There is no rest for him to find, for coyotes he must fight.

When hunger stirs within him, he sits upon a log.

Jerky, beans, and bread he’ll share with his trusting dog.

Then back on the trail he wanders under the blistering skies.

He welcomes forth the cooling wind though dust gets in his eyes.

And when the call for dinner comes this cowboy he will run.

For his jobs not through until he sees the setting of the sun.

And when she comes a looking to bring him forth to sup,

She finds her little cowboy with his stick, his hat, and pup.

She’ll carry him inside their home and lay him on his bed.

His cherished hat she’ll lay beside his slumbering sweet head.

In the morning he shall rise for breakfast with John Wayne.

And then outside his stick to ride, this cowboy rides his plain.

But when a job is fencing or hauling grime and muck

This hard working rustler is not above driving lifted Tyco truck.


Quickening rate of the beats in my chest.

Shivers that ripple and tears me from rest.

The fire he sparks when I look in his eyes.

Comfort and care he’ll sooth all my cries.

For joy is crinkles upon his face

He smiles, no anger, not a trace.

My souls responds to his desirous plot.

For I can’t resist one who smiles a lot.


Once a father they could not see, Alone and lost, no sheltering care,

No comforting hand to pay their fare.

Out of the night extends a hand.

A hopeful heart to give them land.

A man who’s heart, kind and true,

Extends the part the other won’t do.

He opens up and gathers them in,

A protective stance to fight away sin.

Gather them near to call his own,

Raised them up until their grown.

A father once is never, no more,

But a dad that rises is so much more.

For he is one that calls them home,

And they’ll return no matter where they roam.


I squatted behind a tree, because I knew I could not last.

Happy was I at half past three when several came right past.

I asked for a roll they had tucked into their shirt.

Happy was I when they pulled it forth, so soft and free of dirt.

The count of ten they called to me I nodded my head in glee.

But lights flashed bright and sirens sang but still I could not flee.

I took a look around me at the home papered with great care.

And knew I held an incriminating roll, but throw it? I did not dare.

The officers bid me rise, but I knew I couldn’t stand.

For I knew my pants would stay aground the moment I raised my hand.

Please, I called, have mercy for I participated not.

But into cuffs they put me, in a cell they’d make me rot.

For though I did not toilet paper the house out By the sea.

My crime, they said, was simply put-that was not the place to pee.


Another agonized shriek ripped through the village, vibrating off the trees and echoing down the valley. Animals hiding in the shadows, fearing the tormented,scattered to find refuge deeper in the forest. Birds perched high in their nests exploded from the treetops in fright, flapping wildly in the sky until settling on the branches once more. "She's dying," he whispered-hanging his head in defeat.

Hell is not a home:

Darkness itself is not to be feared, but when it is your only companion in the deepest blackest tunnel of hell, words cannot define the amount of trepidation that twists the mind and torments the soul. Thin, damp air constricts the lungs. The distant moans and screams are the only connection to the outside world, but never for long. Sooner or later the voices grow quiet as their owners wither away and perish, unable to withstand the anguish of their sins.

Upon the walls:

Words of power escape the lips,

Wounds of deprivation upon the hips.

Upon the souls on which they stick,

Lay me down the first red brick.

Never smile, hide the cries,

Weakness shown, forever lies.

Upon the mind from which they hate,

Board the windows, seal the gate.

Next the heavy hand which lay,

Forced the bruise to hide away.

Upon the heart from which they bleed,

Bury now the vine to seed.

Broken down for selfish gain,

Cast away into the rain.

Upon the fears in which they wrote,

Dig me now a deepened moat.

Stealing hands which rip away,

Will not return the yesterday.

Upon the body from which they tire,

Cover now with thorny wire.

Stolen youth, a shattered life,

Hardened now from toil and strife.

Upon the safety they bound with ties,

Behind her walls until she dies.


In the dark of All Hallows’ Eve,

The dead awake and their body’s rise.

Tearing through the misty woods,

They live once more for blood and bones.

Don’t go out, your shadow they’ll take,

Cursed you’ll be, your wraith they steal.

A feast upon your wicked psyche,

Lost you’ll be in the evil night.

A banshee scream, your carriage awaits.

And death, you’ll see, is a lonely place.

To creep within a formidable hole,

No rest be found neath the screeching owl.

But fear ye not when you’re lying in dirt,

For again you’ll rise, the night of Samhain.

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