Who Will Help The Children?

Copyright - January 19, 2000

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Who Will Help The Children?

They walk with gentle hearts

And souls abound with innocence,

The laughter of the children

Bring joy for all to relish.

But in the night, in the dark,

There lies a blank canvas,

Nothing is what it seems,

Soon to be seen a little garden.

Children reaching arduously for heaven,

Appearing to be trapped in purgatory,

Their youthful souls caught

Between the living and the dead.

Glorious days of their youth

Torn from their very existence,

Blackness now fills their hearts

Walking through life in restlessness.

Perpetrators stalk their dreams

With heartless acts of cruelty,

Tormenting their every thought,

Tomorrows consumed with blight.

Screams of anguish cry out,

In their outward acts of defiance,

Weighted down with responsibilities.

The world has missed you.

spirling up

Copyright - August 16, 1998
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spiriling up

i am a tomb buried

in a spiril of pleasure

the journey goes

deeper into the dark
a place where only
the mind exists

a journey of pain

brings me there

the lashings

no illusion of ecstasy

to be found

my breasts tingle

masochistic desires

weals of discipline

a token of love

an open sky surrounds

time has stopped

my freedom granted

wet and throbbing

moans of pleading

a quick tug, hard

pleading for more

a starburst of light

back again into the dark

Fallen Leaves

Copyright - November 15, 1997

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Fallen Leaves

Warm air and sunshine give daytime strength.

Clinging to the twogs that keep them safe.

A security that lasts but a few months each year.

Cooler air at night prepares them for their destiny.

Frostbit and cold shocks them from their secure places.
Once fallen to the ground, different routes to be taken.

To be pasted on paper hanging as a project in a classroom.

To hear the laughter of children playing.
To smell the landfill from inside a trash bag.

Some end up in fires permeating the air.

A scent imprinted in the brain forever.

Only to bring back memories year after year.

Leaves . . . . . begin in the spring.

Stay vibrant throughout the summer.

Finally kaleidoscoping in the fall.

What beauty, what grace, blowing with the wind.

Fallen leaves . . . to begin again nex year.

A Ride To Bradenton

This morning Corky and I had business in Bradenton. It is almost a two hour drive so we had planned to leave around 8:30 am to make the 10:30am appointment.

There was fog in the air. I had mentioned to hubby that colder air was moving in and he said that there was no wind to blow it out of the air. Both comments sound logical to me. But seeing that we are in the fall season already and I believe that the universe has a way of preparing itself for seasonal changes. The air is much crisper nowadays. I saw several weaved spiders webs on scubs and tree branches. I thought the webs were neat to observe and was wondering about the life of spiders that weaved and resides on them. I enjoy looking at the countryside while riding along as a passenger. I watch the cow and bulls in the pasteurs, the birds that fly around, the way the wind moves the tree branches and grasses, and how the clouds move about. It puts me in a meditative state of mind and at this time I feel like I am part of the universe, breathing, moving and living.

We stopped for lunch at Chilis after our business was over. Corky ate boneless chicken wings with french fries and I had lettuce roll ups. Of course as usual I had a take home box. On the drive back I noticed the name of this old adobe looking building that I have always looked at as we pass through this area of the SR. The name of the place is Old Mission Winery. I would show you a picture but I didn't have my camera and most likely would not have stopped because I was not driving. There were rows and rows of grape vines on either side of the mission. It made me think of the time to come when we might plant some grape vines in our back yard. Time will only tell.

Keep a Joyful Spirit.

The Core Never Changes

Copyright - March 23, 2000

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The Core Never Changes

I am what I am today - beguiled,

and if tomorrow brings to life,

another side of me, then so be it,

the core of who I am has not changed.

The cartoon animations of being

arouses the primal instincts of survival.

The everyday frailties of being human

emerge in a multitude of emotions,

giving way to vulnerabilities,

while others thrive off of the meek,

vacillating between the plateaus.

Torn from the vernal existence of childhood

slowly stripping me of all humanities,

as each rung up the ladder fades away,

tasting sweet success, hungering for more,

leaving no tangible source for descent.

On the surface, I am but a mere mortal

gaining knowledge with wisdom,

envy snaring hate with discontent,

admiration by those seeking power,

the core of who I am has not changed.

The gnarled chapters of life become difficult

sometimes in a blind attempt to return home.