Stolen Youth

In fields where daisies grow, the mines await.
On muddy roads innocence lost again.
The sky which brought the sun now brings refrains
of fire that feed upon the children’s fate,
as evil men consume the land with hate.
The weapons made for death upon them rain
and bloated bellies soon reveal their pain.	
The voice of saneness locked in much debate.
			
When darkness comes, their shattered minds release
a fear within that futile hopes oppress.
The night invites a fleeting time of peace
and fragile sleep quiets their mind’s distress.
When dreams of home appear all fears will cease
as Mother’s hand bestows its warm caress.

The Clash of Cultures

On waters harsh and cold this cultured man	
of faith and law would come from foreign vill
with book and gun to test the red man’s will.		
 How oft came they to shore with bow in hand,
to then retreat with pledges full of sand.
While both the blood of innocence would spill,
the bold invaders were made stronger still,
as woodland dwellers pushed to barren land. 

With ax and plow they turned the forest floor,  
as towns and settlers blossomed from the fray.
The Indian brave saw the deer no more
the simple life for him in disrray.
While losers mourn, the lusty victors roar;
yet both made victim of the white man’s way.

The Price of Pride in 1861

With rifles ready, lines were long and lean,
came they the young and bold with confidence
to fill the morning with exuberance.
Then cries of charge and death would intervene
as tested courage soaks each guillotine.
The clash of lead and steel in deadly dance
bid birds of prey, who with no allegiance, 
did reap the harvest of this blood machine.

Now grays and blue in clumps on meadows lay,
while generals strut about upon their mount.
In distant homes hopeful Mothers pray
but criers of the story take the count.
Decrees of headstrong men our fathers slay
and pride negates the giving of account.

The Fall of Man

The fount of darkest evil spoke that day;
creation’s peaceful way deceived with lies.
Still even now the earthly preach, with cries
and scoffing words, about a gilded way.
While laying bare before the earth did they, 
with their deceitful tongues of gold, not kill 
the sacrificial lamb while he lay still,
and facing death a single word not say.
		
Yet man still lame on murky paths traverse,		
deluded souls with little truth endow.
In masked oracles ‘tween themselves disperse
the conclusions that only they allow.
Until the Light of Truth this way reverse,
the errant mind in praise to blazes bow.

Ode to the Railways

Lie they in silence beneath weeds and briars.
Abandoned tracks; a forsaken highway, 
where iron and creosote will melt away.
These dying symbols of the past were ours,
when rumbling wheels of steel built great empires 
and lay foundations for the U.S.A.
A nation’s rhythm moved the westward way;
in tune marched they as utopian choirs.

The rich rode to and fro in fancy style.
The western steer on eastern tables laid.
From mountains came black gold in mercantile
pursuits of wealth and power through trade.   
From rear booths politicians spread their guile.
To all, these mighty wheels, a serenade.	

For the Love of a Woman

O’ maid of night that walks on Sorek’s path.
A swart Princess born of Philistine’s might.  
For only you could take away my wrath,
with cool and gentle hands, the demons smite.	
Though I was strong, yet a fragile man. Hath
not thou with eyes inviting, sought this knight?
For I a thousand soldiers slew from Gath,
and brought reprieve for my own people’s plight.  
Before eternal’s throne of Israel,
when hopes of people shifted with the sand,   
this nasty deed upon my shoulders fell
to chase the heathen from the Holy Land.
Though many warriors I have struck before the Lord,
lay I victim of this damsel, who hath no sword. 

Writer Block

My mind’s a blank; am I sure I have one? 
The words once dwelling there won’t come to it.
I’ve lost contact, nothing but a rerun
of old stale facts that ancient men have writ.
Why can’t I think? Is the message I send
being hijacked in transient to my pen
or jumbled so I cannot comprehend?
Could it be a shortage of oxygen?
As I now struggle, with pratings to quote, 
let me declare, I have plenty of air. 
My brain is functional; though I’ll not gloat,
for years of use created lots of wear. 
So I must write, my existence define,
then carry me off when I’ve lost my mind.

The Spider

The sticky strings you’re spinning smacks my face.
Again, you’ve strung them across my back door.
Can’t you see that you’re treading on my space?
This constant weaving makes you quite a boor.
To me this lifelong job of yours seems dumb, 
yet to your friends, I’m sure, a work of art. 
You’re so small;  I could squash you ‘neath my thumb.
It would be in your interest to depart.
What was that you said?  Did I hear you laugh? 
This foolishness you’re creating must cease. 
Go find somewhere else to practice your craft.
Leave now!  So I can come and go in peace.
Your silly web is made to catch a fly.
So I tell you now!  Go catch it;  not I. 

The Sacred Body

The fount of life reposed within your breast. 
It nutures still the ones whose fathers bled;
who sleep the sleep, unabated blissful rest,
where mysteries of life in truth were read.
The ones of book and breadth would never guess
or look with learned eyes on simple joy
which comes from love submissive, though ageless, 
in sacred birth where sin cannot destroy.
From living springs we sip this timeless bliss,
for passions numbered earthly will depart.
Let creatures humbled share in hallowed kiss
and drink to fill each soul, to cleanse each heart.
Therein the withered lips will never thirst.
but those devoid of honor be accurst.

The Power of Faith

“From whence the dark; with sunshine all around?” (Say we)
“O’ you with blackened souls, you know from where.
With sordid deeds your sleeping minds abound
and thoughts overloaded in fleshly flair.
Will you not wash your linen clean this day,
before you close your eyes in that deep sleep?
Where light cannot reach even though some pray,
and those who loved with joy, now weep and weep.”
“How can we from this pit of darkness rise,
where clouds of gloom and doom the light obscure?
This heavy evil hand seeks our demise
and fill our weakened mind with thought impure.” 
“Open your eyes with faith, then truth and light
can cast off this unholy power of night.”

The Betrothed

Her body, a mystery of Arden.
In concealment no longer lies flatten.
Beneath the dress she wore in the garden,
the curves now gently caress satin.
She walks as a thoroughbred that’s prances,
with the sway of her hips well rounded.
The bees around her two lips do dances
and sip honey that leaves them astounded.
A sea of milk, her white neck is glowing.
It stirs waves of temptation abetted.
To the valley of delight it’s flowing.
Let me e’er in this deluge lie wetted. 
Anticipation of joy now borrow,
‘til I go to my chosen tomorrow.

Wild Beauty

In solitary muse I take my ride
to scenes untouched until I came today.
In my canoe, between ripples I glide.  
Each paddle’s stroke the silence does betray. 
The magic mountain mirrors it’s display			
of covered caps of snow in mittens blue.  
The mists of morn’ gives way to sun’s first ray 
while icy fingers cast a mystic hue.
My tackle readied for this rendezvous.
A chosen fly is nestled into place.
Timeless pause; our fate flashes in review.
Exploding surface stirs my heart to race.  
A Rainbow wild succumbs unto my might,
but freedom comes, for victory was the fight.