Best Reassuringly Poems

When I awake to dawn’s light
I long to pray for God’s insight
For His grace through the day
And mercy to help me along my way

When I...

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Cluttering above huddled rooftops
Of sprawling villages 
And shy provincial towns;
Rising sharply amidst swooping
Declinations;
Hesitating when gathering at the
Tangled woodland perimeters of
Outlying greenland bounds,
Jostled apex ridges detach...

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Listen to the trees…
how dark their voices in the moonless night--
unnerving shades that only today were bright, green, sunny things;
and now their quivering leaves, remind...

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Youth believes love
its own invention
and not Nature’s
intension for all--

of course youth
relies solely on youth
its application
before cultivation
our Baby-steps
then the fall…

but I, now,
a senior citizen
a denizen
just prior...

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Written: October 1st 2023
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In the ocean of silence, I’m stunned 
Astonish by its grandeur as I descend.
A comely curtain of conciliatory calm
Elapse the chaos,...

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again he remembers, just like tonight,
           he dreamt long ago about lying awake
  ...

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In war, no glory confides absolutely.
Or is resolute in its righteousness.
Its essence holds no certainties nor goal...nor future.
Clear objectives fade... Justification merely a work in...

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Do you ever feel like you are losing your mind,
Stand up and speak ~ would you feel so inclined.
Enter a room and ask yourself why...

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HEADLIGHTS ON DARK ROADS

Timid tentative tap on her door at midnight
as she lay expectantly in suspense and the hope
that he would defy all obstacles to...

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Wounded Sacred Dementia

My last foster care-provider
and -receiver story
is also a sad story
of my last special needs adoption
of bipolar born,
and oppositionally reared,
alcoholism.

My BiPolar Wounded Child
turned an...

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As I stumbled on the pebbled road 
I broke a toenail and it left bloodstains 
On the humble stones.

“Why did you let me get wounded,”...

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I knew what I should’ve done, 
What most men would do, 
Ride the donkey and insist, 
That Mary walk, lower than me. 

But I knew...

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Anne Simpson Scott

1895- 1932

Friends, my friends,

I do remember.

On the night before leaving to France in 1917

George held my hand.

He held it firmly in his perspiring...

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As  I walk slowly on the soft-hard interlock
pathway lost in thought, as the rays of  sun drum  
on my hairless head; the...

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As I walk through this colorful boulevard,
cool breeze touches the back of my neck
from the breath of autumn,
breath of life from the nostrils of hope;
I...

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