Winston Churchill..
"Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing has happened."
"It is a sad day when the truth is just an obstacle in man's quest for power and a lie is his preferred entree for sustenance."
M. Beatty
Josephine Hart...
"A concealed truth, that's all a lie is. Either by omission or commission we never do more than obscure. The truth stays in the undergrowth waiting to be discovered."
THE LIE REVEALED
Coiled and ready to strike
In the wicked weeds of deception
The truth is poised to bite
And reveal its resurrection
No amount of cover can permanently hide
What liars don't want to be seen
Truth waits patiently inside
To show itself and intervene
There will always be one to spill the beans
And betray the liar's trust
Truth was always there and has forever been
To ensure the liars are double crossed
"Every moment and every event of every man's life on earth plants something in his soul."
THE MAKING OF A MAN
The slap on the butt that makes a baby cry
First steps into a mommy's outstretched arms
Waving sadly to daddy "Bye bye!"
Learning all too soon the ability to charm
Riding a bicycle, crashing a car
A first failing grade and the punishment
Over-encouragement that he will go far
And when he did, such astonishment
The first job at a pizza place
The first time fired from it, too
The first jilted girlfriend, the slap on his face
A month earlier the first "I love you!"
Each little noodle in a lifetime of soup
Every little pat on the head
Each little "man to man" on the front stoop
Hanging on each word his father said
All this and more is planted in his soul
It makes him the man he will be
Every incident, each word will make this man whole
Marked forevermore for his world to see
"To consider persons and events and situations only in the light of their effect upon myself is to live on the doorstep of hell."
TOO BIG FOR MY BRITCHES
It is not all about me, you see
In the garden of life I'm just one little pea
Let's take a crane and move my ego aside
Tone it down a little, my selfish pride
Every little gun is not pointed at my head
If it was I'd be stone cold dead
Every Cupid's arrow is not aimed for my heart
I'm not the focus of anyone's art
Consider the world did revolve around me
I'd be the target of hate in all humanity
I'd be so overwhelmed by love and affection
No mirror could be large enough to hold my reflection
I'd be the blame for global warming
They'd say I set the killer bees swarming
I'd be the suspect for each murdered corpse
I'd be the hero of whatever the sport
I'd much rather be one flute in the band
One little grain of a beach full of sand
Totally ignored for much of the time
With just a little piece of life claimed as mine
" When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability...to be alive is to be vulnerable."
OWNING UP
A child will dream of independence
But arrive in the world of adult incumbrance
What little one would have ever known
Rules are stricter once we are grown
Play is scarce and work is plenty
Promises are broken or empty
Building castles on the beach
Is a fantasy that can't be reached
We never again would expect to see
Our childhood vulnerability
As adults we become more prone
That vulnerability is ours to own
"Artistic temperament sometimes seems a battle ground, a dark angel of destruction and a bright angel of creativity wrestling." Madeliene L'Engle (1918-2007)
THE BATTLING POET
Sometimes I wish I could
Bask in the simplicity of it all
Ride the gentle winds, I would
Instead of tumbling down a waterfall
Then inside my head it comes
I become trapped in it once again
The whirlwind of creative eloquence
Will carry me off to way back when
I think in terms of flowers growing
Tides and mountaintops
The images my mind keeps showing
Never seems to stop
A poet's mind is never idle
I close my eyes and words appear
It seems that I'm incapable
Of competing with the likes of old Shakespeare
But then again I find my way
Amid the fantasy to which I'm entitled
In the words and rhymes I have my say
Not harnessed in, a steed unbridled
In my world the angels dance
Beasts are slain and left to die
Folk are caught up in true romance
And it never matters how and why
MEMORY LANE
The old lane is nearly overgrown
The board fence leaning towards the ground
This is one place I am pleased to have known
It's been so long since I've been around
In the old carriage house still tucked away
Is the old buggy great grandma and grampa used to ride
I had heard it was special back in the day
It's where grampa proposed to his bride
Dust and cobwebs drape over the buggy's fringe top
It has been decades since this place has seen much light
I guess there's been some where the ceiling has dropped
The stars likely peek in during the night
And there is the mansion, once so stately
Quietly finding its final place to rest
It hasn't been entered much lately
Now inhabited by ghosts, it was once picturesque
The old barn is still standing, but leaning a bit
Faded APACHE painted on an old stall
A rusted out tractor, alone still sits
Remembering the fields, she plowed them all
But in an overgrown patch of ground
Is what is left of what has my heart breaking
The remnants of the fire damaged caretaker's house can be found
It was once so quaint and breathtaking
I can still hear the laughter of the young family rising
Who started their married life in that cute little space
That the happiness lingers is not so surprising
It was so cozy to raise a family in that place
The deterioration is a sad thing to see
For one who held the place so dear
But somehow it finally comes to me
So many angels like to hang around here
