Emergency Room

Racing to the E.R. really bites!
‘Cause she took a header on the ice,
landed on her back to be precise,
and her wrist now pays the price.

So when it’s cold and slippery,
carefree walking leads to misery,
and if you move too briskly,
you end up special delivery….

🙂


 

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Lost Year

john_b_stetson_a_royal-style_cowboy_hat_white_beaver_d5338115h

For my friend:

Winter’s sting began last spring,
over one year last,
that’s when he passed away,
now all she can pray is; “help me hold fast.”
Time and doubt are all strung out,
in the ceaseless pale dream,
but memories sustain,
and she doesn’t complain;
as she’s carried upon life’s stream.

Meanwhile, the toiling world flashes by:
And men’s souls rise and fail,
like the stream in the pale dream,
on its wintry race, never ceases the pace,
dwell on its lonesome face.


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Where Will I Be When The Wind Blows Again?

Stillness2

The wind is out’a my sails,
I’ve fought the gales,
and lost my tack,
I’m off the chosen track.

Now in the eye of the storm,
my canvas is torn,
I have no bearing,
and sit here despairing.

Blackness girdles my boat,
hope it stays afloat,
the tempest rushes me again,
Where will I be then?


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Man’s Best Friend

Wilson

She wants to have him cut, he’s been pissin in the hut!
I opined: “He’s just markin’ his spot…. what’s the upshot?”
She said: “I just want you to reckon, this needs a correction!”
I said: “If you cut him he’ll get fat and slow”.
She said: “If we don’t he’ll have to go!”.
Then I offered: “I’ll do whatever training it takes, to let him keep his grapes!”
And she countered: “Show me what you can do, I won’t slice through…”
But if there’s a split decision, and there has to be an incision;

A dog is not man’s best friend!


 

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Promised Land

 

stillwater_creek1

I recline on a beach in Oregon,
drink wine & eat cheese,
as the waves fill the breeze.

There I look for contentment;
this is not the Promised Land.

So I rush to a desert in Arizona,
for the scent of the sage & the sunset,
as my shadow extends to a silhouette.

There I look for contentment;
this is not the Promised Land.

And I seek the brook in Montana,
to take in the view & the silence,
as I hike to the lake in the highland.

There I look for contentment;
this is not the Promised Land.

So I fly the cold sky of Alaska,
to sail the heavens & mull the view
looking down from my 172.

There I look for contentment;
this is not the Promised Land.

Then I espy…those who surround me,
see how they care & love around me,
no matter what state I’m in.

There I find peace;
there I must stand.

This is the Promised Land!


 

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