The pain, the darkness,
I'm under attack.
All roads are closed,
No going back.

At a standstill, a place
Of no return.
A crossroad of decision,
Still so much to learn.

Going the wrong way,
Headed for hell.
Who has the answer?
They won't tell.

Stuck in an endless rut,
Of what could be.
Taking care of everyone,
Forgot about me.

The pass haunts me,
No looking back.
Hey, here's Karma with
Another smack.

Miss Jones – No!

Don’t play me like you do.
My strings are not so taut
that I can stand your mellow tones,
nor will my bow sleep in my hand
whilst you seduce me with your notes.
Though I’m tied to another’s band
my quavers, unquivered, will shoot your heart.
With crotchets flying to your breast
I will play my best scored part
and all your worries will soon depart.
Once our music has done its thing
and minims note where birds should sing
you will breve your last sweet sigh

I don't know if you remember
A time not so long ago,
When we could choose to disagree
And no anger had to flow.

We could often find some neutral ground
And agree to give and take,
To listen to opposing views
And decisions there to make.

We didn't have to change our stance
As we listened to the news,
We just had to try to understand
Other's thoughts and points of view.

She wore her favorite shirt that day,
A loosely fitting black shirt
With three-quarter sleeves
And buttons up the front
That could be worn over a pull-over.

To the ER she wore her favorite shirt,
Not wanting dinner or even a snack,
A gnawing pain within her stomach,
A disquiet too strong to be ignored
She needed more help than I could give.

I think we all have stories sad
From our past we just can't tell,
About those times so long ago
And more recent ones as well.

Through our scars there is a story
That we never should forget,
And if we try to learn from them
Some peace we might find yet.

But time can be a teacher
To show us how from hurt to grow,
A time to find a way to heal
So some comfort we might know.

Life, I lost my words.
Tomorrow is another end.
I cannot see through.

I remember.
The house high upon the hill.
It was so long ago.
But I remember it still.
Those nights when I would sit and watch the night drift by.
Nights that were silent and still.
The air filled with a chill.
Stars shining bright.
A soft glow of moonlight.
the glow of distant city lights.
Perhaps one day a place to go
My imagination runs wild.
Those days when I was a child.
It seems so long ago.
But I still remember.
Those nights so silent and still.
The air filled with a chill.

Tiny ball of fur,
Playing with the Christmas tree ornaments.
The world is your toy
And I chuckle with each new discovery.

Fuzzy little ball,
Curled up in my lap and purring.
With me, you are safe
And I bury my hand in your warm fur.

Sleek and sassy kitty,
Chasing your brother through the house.
Knocking things akilter
And I am aghast at the destruction in your wake.

Purring furry roommate,
Sleeping next to me through the night.
Snuggled in my arm,
I am comforted by your trusting soul.

I am, the least of your worries.
If You know how to talk exciting.
I could save You tears.

Just like the cherry tree blossoms.
I could look.

And see and touch,

your idea.

Ernest Hemmingway: 1899-1961
John Steinbeck: 1902-1968

Thank you Ernest for the gifts you gave
The beautiful paths you paved anew,
And all the scenes your words described,
All the places you took me to.

Thank you John for your thoughtful prose
And the seeds of wonder you would sew,
Thank you for the trips we shared
From East of Eden to Cannery Row.

Hemmingway's and Steinbeck's words
Their master's touch on full display,
Have given readers so much joy
And their wonderous gifts live on today.