Spring menu of snowdrops, daffodils, dandelion, crocus and anemones
Each color blossoms the beauty swaying inside a breeze dancing thoughts
The image of spring changed colors roaring never thought my heart might burst
Within waves blowing kisses warmly touching the chambers endless bliss
The moment the sun draws the mist from the sea to the skies feels magical
Your footprints on deep sands fluttering wings of an angel beaming sunshine
Under the wing of an angel you will find safety, happiness and beauty
held within a gasping breath your love true and complete beautiful
Written by Liam Mcdaid & A-L Andresen
Water rushing through the brook
leaving drowned out laughter
and a blooming lilypad
A mother with a weary look
as she wades through, feet clad
It’s her children she’s looking after
Hair threatens to fall in her distant eyes
She remembers when she hadn’t worried
stealing kisses under barnyard roofs
She begins to chastise
“Children put on your boots”
She raised the voice, and they scurried
But inside she was grinning ear to ear
Thinking of sweet-smelling memories
and grass-stained linen
As her children crawled near
She said, “Now listen,
I must share some stories…”
After the storm gale force red a calm light filled baby blue sky
whistling birds singing a choir of divine beauty fills the air
deeply warm touching without profit costing nothing
fills inside with strength casting dark shadows out always remains
enveloped within prayer death love one's power inside weakness pure
White sparsely scattered mother of pearl clouds cap Snow mountain
sweeping over Amazing grace dreams casting magic spells spring
Coming down the High plain gazing towards Trawbegga bay
Tides enchanting a dark shade of blue distant thoughts brew
without cost profits nothing spirit of kindness overwhelming true beams
A cool spring breeze dusting the brow speaks
silently warm finger rays paint a beautiful garden Eden
Bells tolling calling the flock to worship kneeling humble
Spirit of freedom cries in the town of the Sunday cross
blessed I am oh Lord in this amazing view honored by your deep presence
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall,
As children gay the songbirds call;
Should I then cry or blithely sing
This dreary day in merry spring?
As children's cries the winds will squall,
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall;
To know the reason, I desire,
But dare a mortal heav'n enquire?
Some girls pick flowers wet with rain,
An old man smiles and waves his cane;
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall
And splash upon the cheeks of all.
As if in prayer the grass bows down
To meet the clover's purple crown,
For both on them and on my shawl
Like angels' tears the raindrops fall.
*April 28th, 2014*
It's been nine years, I have counted the tears-
they have made trails of guilt
worried into my heart
then filled with loneliness and bitter despair
but by your grace I have been shown...
For the first time, in these nine years, I have not wept
nor held a vigil to honor our grief
though the loss still burns, this time it is transformed
Peace from your love still reaches through death
and through your eternal love I am reborn
It is Good Friday.
When God took your spirit home
and left me dying to know,
how to love him for his sacrifice
when he asked me to give up you?
How do I heal this death and rise with you in his arms?
Through your love I was born, and in your arms I grew
and it has been your love the kept me whole
that taught me how to be reborn
for even though your body has gone
your words lost in the wind and breath no more
The essence of grace and strength you lived
- it grows still in your daughter soul
My being and existence came from your womb
my heart and mind shaped by your enlightenment
I have lived a life you gave me and for once
I live it in pride to honor your sacrifice
your words giving me the guidance I'd lost nine years ago.
Alas, I've come to know, that as you died
and went home with our Lord, you saved me from my death
not in your dying, my grief and love can attest,
but in your living strength and loving example
you showed me how to live a life
open to our Father's gift
We knew it would not wait, but the parting was too fast.
I sat in thought three days before your sleep and asked,
"In three days time my savior died, I wonder hence
what of my soul will rise with his?"
And now sitting Easter morning,
holding my sons candy-filled basket,
I realized Three days passed.
He took you home Friday morn, but left me love,
that eternal love that never dies
whose comfort is unending
I honor your love by giving it to my children
and Easter morning I felt your hug, your kiss, and knew
you have never left me
Though God took you home Mom
I know you have never left me
for as our Savior died and rose
you too still live in my heart,
showing me proof our Father's blessings
because you, my love, are my soul and all ready there
there fore I am strong enough to give this pain up
to honor his sacrifice and transcend,
to be humbled by the grace and mercy
that could forgive such lost lambs as I
Sometimes I have the courage to think of the things that made me what I am today,
My memory takes me back to terrible things far away far off into my bitter past,
My mind like a maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste, loss and disgust,
The losses, the drink ripped away, not happy until it was all gone respect as well.
Invisible thinks of a garden where roses clustered with lilies scent on the breeze,
Bees found stores of honey in the petals of a thousand and one different flowers,
Lovers walked hand in hand along its winding path a beautiful dream of the man,
Bright with the embroidery of nature where children played in new myrtle flowers,
As Invisible thinks of this garden it is neglected but flowers can grow with weeds,
It could put a smile upon his face, a face that had never known any joy recently,
He hopes a gardener can covert this garden get rid of ruined waste, back into Eden,
Tending all the beautiful flowers that spring up with the weeds and smell gladness.
If he helped the gardener in his quest a hand might hold his and guide him through,
Maybe a hand would go around his waist to support him as well as guide his hand,
Dare he wish that the guiding hand and the support would be his angel from heaven,
A dear person to help him clear his garden and walk down the winding path as lovers.
An angel that would smile at him maybe hold his hand and squeeze it so very gently,
Would the angel talk to him and tell him that one day they would be together again,
Her beautiful grace shining warmly as she looks up to him, to her he is her hero,
Not a drunken mess that cannot cope, not a dirty vagrant, but her knight her love.
The tenderness of this beautiful scene in his poisoned mind became real he smiled,
He grinned as she sat down next to him as close a she could get then wriggled closer,
Warmth from her body not only warmed him but gave hope this what he has waited for,
She whispered sweetly she loved him and would be waiting for him and they kissed.
Invisible woke with a start and was she not by his side, was she ever with him,
A dream another heart wrenching let down and how could he have dreamed the dream,
It was so real he still felt the warmth, the impression of her hand holding his,
But it must have been a dream his own mind conspired to deliver the hardest blow.
Lost in a grief so deep, his loneliness complete he talks to Sam his imaginary friend.
These days get worse Sam they really do please help me,
I need to change but I need my drink more what can I do,
But I need to change so desperately Sam can you help?
My world has cracked and I've fallen into the crack,
But what I don't understand Sam that I was once good,
If I had any courage Sam I would be laying in my coffin,
Why does life drag you along with it I don't want to go,
Just a bit of icing on my cake Sam it is freezing cold,
Did you know this is where I was brought up my friend,
Did you know that most of the people that walk past I knew,
Sam! I know many of there people but they don't know me,
Why do they all walk past I wish somebody would help,
Maybe when I have drunk more cider I might feel better Sam,
I can remember being happy but not what being happy is like,
As Invisible sits drinking shoppers give him a wide berth and they look at him with hate.
These people Sam they look at me as if I have hurt them,
The people they are not our sort of people they hate me,
Has the world changed like I have but in opposite ways,
My life is full of sorrow drunkenness and dreams Sam,
Old sorrows wont go away new sorrows should take over,
So we have to face both the old and the new that's bad,
At night I try to close my drunken eyes it all returns,
Sam is that the same as you can you close your eyes,
Can you remember the valleys Sam the ones we used to play,
When we ran about all day Sam in the sun rolling in grass,
The old stream that twisted and turned, it had lost its way,
Floating lolly sticks watching them bounce away on ripples,
Buying bangers in November and throwing them into the water,
What I wouldn't do to go back for just a couple of hours Sam,
Just to feel the innocence and try to bring it back to now,
To enjoy what there is to enjoy and maybe get better Sam,
But that will never happen Sam we are lost on an island,
A well populated island but an island all the same Sam,
People are not like ships they don't bother to rescue people,
They just walk around or just walk away all the nice ones gone,
I remember my school Sam it's now been knocked down and left,
It has all gone, all gone no primroses in spring or bluebells,
Do you remember Sam the bluebells used to nod in the wind,
But they have all been built on, whats the use in talking,
Nothing changes from bad to good Sam remember that, eh Sam,
Still drinking his cider tears well into his eyes his nose runs and begins to quietly
to sob. He sits on the shopping parade seat, shaking as he sobs. His throat has a lump
in it so he stops talking to Sam. Invisible sinks his wet face into his overcoat
hides his misery from the people that walk past he just sat there lost and confused. His
greatest sadness an angel paid a visit to the maze of dirty black alleys that smell of waste,
loss and disgust,
Her Tears Fell Like Drops Of Spring Rain
That weeping broken heart so deep in despair
beating in the bosum of a maiden so fair
No bright Sun in her miserable, darkened sky
she knows the hurt and desires to know why
He lied so well, singing such a false song
remembering his great love seemed so strong
Her tears fell like drops of cold Spring rain
as her young body shook with shivering pain
Young love danced, it gave her such a thrill
never thought he could such a love ever kill
Memories cascaded into her feverish mind
never again would such a prince she ever find
That dark reality finally began to sink in
he was a monster and never her loving friend
What to do when hurt stabs so long and deep
pour it out in falling tears, have a good weep
Cruel is the lesson her broken heart learned
none of this deep misery had the fair lady earned
Would Fate deal with that monster, that fraud
if only she could see it , to laugh and applaud!
Robert J. Lindley, 02 -06-2015
As I sat on my porch
I gaze up in the sky
I see the calmness way up high
No breeze,and the sun is setting
I think of you and the smell of the pines.
I see the tall tree's so big in the night
I hear the chirps of birds so low
Night has come to all things outside
the end of morning leads to a new day
the shadows of winds so lightly they flow
seeing the branches just take it slow
squirrels scamper to hide in their beds
bugs start to roam as night takes hold
now I will sleep and dream of a land
where we can hold each other
so safe by the sand.
Written by:©Betty Bolden
A silent wave rushing inside my heart
Your hand leading me so far we won't depart
Your voice I heard in away that's taking me far
Into a silent wave rushing inside my heart.
Oh the thrill it was to hear
your voice so silent as I opened up to you
so wonderful this silent wave rushing inside my heart
I was searching for a answer to a question for so long
there it was a silent wave rushing inside my heart
Your voice Lord, in ways I never found
a silent whisper so very loud
inside my heart the silent wave replied
to me your love is so divine..
So when the shattered dreams are filling your mind
please please listen to the silent wave rushing inside your heart.
Written by:©Betty Bolden
The vines are greening and the old man who owns the vines
was busy trimming them although it was Sunday and church
bells chimed He is very old 92 last year, and it was father’s day
a few days ago. He never married, but every bush is his child
And he gives them equal time. He is in many ways a lucky man
the vines love him, he knows that, leaves softens in his caring
hands that carry a promise of everlasting worship.
On father’s day, I never left the house, sat by the phone waited
for a call from my daughter, she is everything I never achieved,
my futile dream of respectability.
A whisper of a wind came through the open window, gently told
me that my cherished is a figment of my dreams of perfecting.
Then an irate storm cast rattled the window, your real daughter was
born in poverty in Kingston, Jamaica, the child of a prostitute and
she became one too.
While I'm reading a poem about it on the previous page
the girls come over to visit their boyfriends and dance
in high shoes and perfume. Their legs are strong and their voices high.
And the guys get high and hard thinking about what the girls are like
behind their eyes.
That says more about me than reality. And it's exactly four lines.
Ken Patchen would say his angel smells sweet and sassy.
I feel the bony fingers of mine who has been working to stay alive.
Enough small poetry. One must conceive of a project --
say a poem about a bridge -- or stop writing
and instead walk over the bridge at sunset and see the city in a nuclear
the clocks, the Watchtower and the docks gone and no smoke.
I still exist but I'm late for my job. I'm dressed well
in honor of true love and Spring which both outlast the holocaust.
The manager cans me with the cold hard eyes of one who accepts the
Goodbye to the rows of dead metal desks and goodbye
to those who can take it longer than I.
The guys downstairs do not read poetry and very little prose.
The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money does not
occupy their minds.
The sex pistils of the mountain daisy is no concern of theirs
and the man upstairs who plays the horn is less than a curiosity but makes
When I feel like this nothing matters and this is good --
get warm with wine, turn out the lights and turn up the radio --
if only there were a woman who liked the down and out life too.
In the end someone sticks a gun in my face in the South Bronx.
How I got among the fire escapes in the sooty alley I cannot say
but it is one of my earliest memories. Perhaps it is my grandmother
holding my hand
or one of the clowns. I say drop that fucking gun and he blows me away.
if its cold
brids love warm
don't not there forever
theyer what god brings
BRIDS OF SPRING