When I was young, I made a list
Of things I hoped to do and see
Before I felt death’s cold hard fist.
It was a detailed list, indeed.
But years have passed, and goals change, too,
As age and money interfered.
My modern list, revised and true,
Gives me joy as I persevere.
The first goal now: to give more love
To everyone within my reach.
To lift them up as high above
The mundane as I can, and teach
Them to believe in their own worth.
My next goal is to stretch my heart
To bring more people of the earth

She bobbed there in the gentle swell,
The little boat I knew so well.
The sail wrapped tight along the boom
Gave me a feeling of dark doom.
I saw no anchor chain hung down
To stop her, lest she run aground.
No one sat in her empty bow.
No hand controlled her keel just now.
A gentle breeze set her to rock.
How did she get loose from the dock?
As the breeze caused her to turn,
I spotted paint along her stern.
Rough letters where my name had been -
The words now looked like "Mortal Sin."

Spread the word
and spill the beans.
My bucket-list
is full of dreams.

Some are big,
some humbly small,
but they are all
aspirations to call.

We might suffer
disappointments,
we might suffer regrets;
and we shall always
meet doubts and threats.

I wanted to be a poetess
and a good mom too.
I wanted a world of justice,
that speaks but true.

But as it tends to forge
I find me a dreamer
with a bit of despair,
a modest human being
who dreads and dares;

You’ve left pieces of your heart around the planet.
Did you know at the start this life would demand it?
Your heart set your course to protect, to defend.
You joined an armed force. They give orders and send
You to places so far from all those you hold dear.
But you do it, because when the need is so clear,
You must go and respond, you must meet duty's call.
So you leave those you love and you stand up tall.
Like a flag, your heart's banner waves all unfurled
O'er the pieces of you left around the whole world.

The lights of the parking lot shine into the room,
As glaring at midnight as if it were noon.
Feels like I’m center stage in a reality show,
Everyone watching and I just don’t know
What my next line should be.

The curtains don’t close ’cause there’s no track to ride,
And they’d hang over the A/C if I tried.
No electrical juice in the wall outlets there.
My devices need feeding or I wouldn’t care.
And a lamp would be nice, though, to see.

The Couple
They sit together in the amber glow of a heavenly Mississippi sunset,
Gray heads moving back in forth in unison.
Sixty plus years of rocking have worn subtle grooves in the wood of the old porch.
Gnarled hands touch in the gap between the white-painted oak rockers,
Barely clasping as stiffened finger joints protest.
She smiles at him, her eyelids downcast, the shy smile of old.
He winks a rheumy eye in response, as he did when first they met.
Hearts communicating, they stop rocking and lean to a kiss,

Procrastinate, I leave it late —
as possible, and contemplate.
While still undone, I ruminate —
to taunt my mind and fabricate.
If truth be told, I deliberate,
and cannot help, but complicate,
I overthink, and obfuscate.
Integrity, I shall negate.
Don’t stop me if I exaggerate.
If you were I, we’d delegate,
And give to her, considerate.
Still, I must, delay, or hesitate.

In search of truth, I ask the question,
Have you ever seen your God?
Does the flame burn bright, suggestion,
Or pierce your heart as lightning rod?

My flicker of intention cries in shame,
With cowardly request, I ask for more,
As I am forgotten in my fame,
My answers fall as death to shore.

Shall we stroll ‘neath darkened skies,
On streets anaesthetised, in drink and dope.
Our lust undone with frenzied cries,
To live a moment of impassioned hope.

Five cats sitting on the wall, and Limpsy brings a friend.
They groom and cry for breakfast, each one fed in the end.
And mammy takes the food out to fairly sub divide,
Five cats wait upon the wall, they’re the ones who decide.

And every day they’re eager, a choir of lion’s roar,
As mammy climbs the ladder, frenzy more and more.
Now milk won’t do it has to be, delicacies of fish,
Each of them has their very own, individual dish.

To rise each day, use a curtain alarm,
it saves you from pain and personal harm.
Allows you to arrive at unhurried pace,
and celebrate slowly, coming last in the race.
Each morning a comedy, free of ill humours,
Secured in whispers, not celebrity rumours.

With stories unfolding, innuendos expand,
And every reporter, shakes dysentery hand,
To chat over cow muck, the snake oil salesman,
In game of banter, to buy and sell you again.
But I’m as happy as shit on a rock,
Late out of bed, daylight savings o’clock.