For the Faithful

If God exists, He exists, and not because anyone believes or disbelieves in His existence. It is an individual's personal choice to believe or not believe, and not necessarily to try to prove their beliefs to someone else.

Once a person decides to declare their faith, they are often open to challenge which does not indicate a lack or verification of their belief, but sometimes those who do not discuss their beliefs are often the most faithful.

I Do Not Long For Yesterday

I do not long for yesterday,
Now is kinder than before.
Through the years I've learned a lot.
I could not ask for more.

To Care or Not

Nothing is the matter,

I am alone and caring not.

I do not love or hate you,

Although I once cared a lot.

I cried once too often,

Now it will never be the same.

I knew next time I saw you,

I would be prepared to say goodbye,

But then I looked straight at you,

And still do not know why.

It was the same old moonbeams

Shining in your eyes.

I will decide tomorrow

Whether to care.

No One Else Can Take Your Place

With the fading of the night,

In the early morning twilight,

I see angels in your face.

No one else can take your place.

In the misty freezing weather,

I feel warm and light as feathers.

It's because I think of you.

You make all my dreams come true.

The dew has left the marigolds,

You and I are growing older,

I still see angels in your face,

No one else can take your place.

Dust House

Ashes to ashes,

Dust, too.

Scrape off some paint

And rust,too.

Sprinkle some sawdust,

Mix with glue.

A little more fluff

Some light stuff

Add some water

A thimblefull will do.

Wipe off your hands

Throw in the towel

Add cement,

Stir well.

Let dry for about three minutes.

Start another with the same procedure.
When you have a dozen dust stones,

Start building the wall of your dust house.

Before you know it,

You will build many dust stones

Out of carefully selected bones,

Discarded ice cream cones,

Various jewelry,

And dehydrated marshmallows.

Attach dust stones to each other

With flour paste

Or whatever might become glue.
With enough of these dust stones

You can build quite a fancy place.

You can even build a secret hiding place.
Welcome to my house of dust

In a blue sheltered lagoon.
Tomorrow's great,

Be there at seven.
Bye, now, see you soon.

Crimes of the Heart

Telling me your faults,

Admitting them to me,

Puts me on the defensive, somewhat.

It gives me the responsibility

Of trying to decide what do do about

Crimes of the heart.

Perhaps the best reaction

Is to say nothing,

Do nothing,

Hear nothing.

No matter what you tell me you did,

Nothing happened.

Perhaps that is the best.

Listen intently well,

Don't give specific advice.

Remember the situation

If you are asked about it

By the person who told you.

Don't pretend you don't remember.

But if someone should ask you,

Then nothing happened.

Especially when it concerns

Crimes of the heart.

Changing Faces

You look for a reflection of you,

But there is another view.

You look in the mirror

Until you decide who you think you are,

Compared with the truth.

You say you know the me you see,

Although it is how you want me to be.

I know how you think I appear,

Then I can decide what I want you to hear.

The Meadowlarks

An agile gentleman plowed forward in heavy snow in early March as the spring dashed over the crystal brook during the season reckoned astronomically in the southern hemisphere as extending from the September equinox to the December solstice, one of the two points on the celestial sphere where the equator intercepts the ecliptic.

Monday morning, the inquisitive baby meadowlarks descended upon the exquisite park where pine trees marked the early pathway.

The wind was writing a fine tune above a nearby goldmine and the king meadowlark zoomed over to inquire as to why the wandering baby meadowlarks arrived so soon.

The king meadowlark was urgently awakened by an electric thunderstorm as he shot to the deserted farmhouse on this misty morning.

In his concern for the anticipated loss of the wandering baby meadowlarks, he arrived at the park where the branches yielded to an abundance of yellow birds.

The birds dove through a tent fence unnoticed by the king meadowlark in the dense twilight and hid their slings, arrows and stones discovered by the king meadowlark, who placed the stones side by side creating a magnificent palace where the wandering baby meadowlarks were joined by the agile gentlemen who scooped up the birds in his fishing net and moved them to the palace accompanied by the majestic king with a banquet of marinated oysters, vanilla blossoms, crisp cabbage, baby sweet corn, turnip seeds, green string beans, radishes, celery stuffed with baked pigeon eggs, wheat sprouts, and spiced pasta trimmed with sprinkled parsley.

Women in Boxing as Metaphor

Women in boxing as metaphor might be compared with women in combat and women firefighters.How could a 5-feet 110-pound woman carry military equipment, dig trenches, and fire weapons at the enemy? How could a woman of equal height and weight carry a 200-pound man down a ladder during a fire emergency? Why should she when there are capable and willing men to carry out these tasks?

During the various recent wars, women were required to be mother-father and began to cherish their independence from men. Men returned from war and hoped to resume their place as head of the household, women resisted, and some men preferred military life because of loyalty to their country and the camaraderie, structure and purpose of military life as compared to the forward pace of domestic rivalry.Once women were emancipated, there was a demand for equal pay for equal work in such fields as accounting, engineering, and in the medical profession.

As the population of women increased at a greater ratio than that of men, some women began to dominate the household and feel naturally superior to men, and in many cases, some women could not return to baking cookies, teaching the children, and weeding the garden.

Women in boxing as metaphor evolved because of a need to emulate the symbols of masculinity attributed to men.Some men want to protect women and open doors for women, but once women walk though the doors, the status is equal, and, if men do not acknowledge the merits of women’s intelligence and need for personal identity, women stroll ahead, and hopefully, look back smiling.

Forward Through the Past on a Beautiful Afternoon

Golden threads weave through time.
We stand still.
Time stands still.
We move on.
Many choices,
Few Choices.
One is where one has wished to be and suddenly wants to be where he was when dreaming of somewhere else because the dreams were better than the place.
Fresh air feels like an angel's kiss.
When there is no place else to be pushed or pulled, we walk through the hills.
Suddenly, we are in the light again.
We walk alone in the dark.
Quiet shadows watch the feathered sky.
We awake from the dream and hear the veil of ocean on the sides of our yacht and feel the soft promise of afternoon.