hard rain…

memories
rain upon a tin roof
so gentle at first
almost soothing
but
as night hours linger
dark clouds begin to gather
and the rain pours down
harder than when
they were not memories
somehow
returning pain is stronger
than its first moments
were we not taught
that time heals all
but
apparently not
the pain of memories
in the night

 

passe…

now
i know
it’s not fashionable
but
i’m holding on
to
my old
moth-eaten
frayed
and
ragged dreams
i don’t need
any
fancy fantasies
nor
do i want to be
weighed down
by
all
the depressing
shenanigans
coming
from
the white house
i want to continue
to believe
that
this is a country that cares
not only
for its own self-interest
but
for the human rights
of
all men and women
regardless
of
race,
religion
color
creed
or
sexual orientation
you see
i’m
an american
with
the old
true
american dream

 

spring #14…

a spring sunday
church youth choir
singing
at
a country church
wind dancing
though
the tall grass
along
a dirt road
smells of spring
and
birds’ voices
fill the air
it would appear
the best
songs
of
praise
are
outside
the church doors