Leaves of rust dot an aggressive sky
The blacktop and yellow lines that divide us…are covered with dew
Such as a, cold sweat from a fever that will not break
Friends to the right teaching from a treacherous dream
Tired and worn neighbors to the left…correspond to the dead
Across the great dissect…acquaintances no longer fed
With watchful eye, I sit on a weathered deck pondering…’where has my neighborhood gone?’
A mortgaged life singing her swan song
Original sin and I…obeying the wrong
Many people will walk in and out of your life,
But only true friends will leave footprints in your heart
To handle yourself, use your head;
To handle others, use your heart.
Anger is only one letter short of danger.
If someone betrays you twice, it is your fault
Great minds discuss events;
Small minds discuss people.
He who loses money, loses much;
He who loses a friend, loses much more;
He who loses faith, loses all.
Beautiful old people are works of art.
Learn from the mistakes of others
You can’t live long enough to make them all yourself.
Friends, you and me … You brought another friend …
And, we started our group … our circle of friends …
And, like a circle … there is no beginning or end …
Yesterday is history.
Tomorrow is mystery.
Today is a gift.
If there is a battle
I hope my head always defers to my heart
Some…things, so beautiful…one must look away.
Of these things,
set us apart.
Moments worth capturing…yet, set so
you wonder about the state of your heart.
A corner curls just a trifle from the far reaches of her parted lips.
A nuance clutches your breathing.
Something that never was…
Something that did not always fit.
It is the kind of love that ruptures and raptures your heart…
Though it was not yours, you watch it, well lit.
Even if it is somebodies love you did not know.
It was someone’s else love to have and to hold.
Forgive me, friend, I had been skipping rocks from the beginning.
Another cursed devotee from childhood.
As they say,
I have become comfortably…numb.
My yellow-brick road…stands brittle with sand and gravel.
I seesaw between what is and what has been done.
I cherish amid the drawn lines…every campfire song…sung.
Ghost tales reduced by the midday’s sun.
Our gossip, rusty from the probability of love.
Every flung red Chuck…now faint from hanging onto wire…too long.
I have sometime back, given up on…
Voodoo dolls with no style…
Holy Rollers with crooked smiles.
I have not been a perfect person.
And, similar to a child, I wear a yellow slicker around my heart.
Miles have aged what I do,
the games I have played
and the wars I have waged.
Forgive me friend, a glass of Dandelion wine begs me to stray.