UNREQUITED LOVE
(Published by Blue Mountain Arts - Greeting Cards)
I wish I could stop loving you, but I can't.
No more than I can stop the World from turning,
Or the sun from shining, or stop the flowers from
blooming in the Spring.
Our's is a silent love -
A forbidden love -
A love that should never be - but is.
What a shame it would be to let love pass us by.
A love so beautiful should be allowed to blossom
and grow - Not wither and die.
But if thoughts of you can make me happy,
how can we say that all is lost?
Maybe something good has come from loving you
if only in my thoughts and dreams.
I love you now as I loved you the first moment
I saw you - and I know that in my heart
I always will.
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A DAUGHTER IS BORN
(Dedicated to my daughter, Karen, who was born three months prematurely and weighed 2 lbs 3 oz. You have grown into a beautiful young woman, my Darling, and I am so proud of you. Always. Mom)
The waiting is over
The time is here -
A daughter is born -
He shed a tear.
Now he's a Daddy,
He's handsome and tall.
He asks, "Am I ready?
She's so tiny - so small."
He goes to his wife,
smiling with pride.
She's the mother of his child,
His Lover. His Bride.
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DADDY'S CHAIR
(Written in 1994 on the second anniversary of Daddy's death.)
Your chair sits empty now; an oversized, worn-out, brown and tan recliner that represents so many cherished memories. I sit in it sometimes when I miss you most and I feel somehow closer to you there. Your warmth and your love have never faded from it.
How many times did I sit on that chair arm and play with your silky, wavy, silver hair? Or sit on your lap whan I was a child, when I was sick - or even as a grown woman, expecting my first child, and I just to be close to you and feel your love.
We must have watched ten thousand Westerns from that chair, Daddy: everything from Roy Rogers and Gene Autrey to Gunsmoke and Bonanza. How we would laugh every time the dog barked at the cattle stampedes on Rawhide, as if he thought he were actually helping the cowboys!
You were sitting in that chair the night Mike proposed to me. You were sitting there when we announced that I was pregnant with our first child. You sat there and recreated those same sweet memories for Karen: memories which she, like I, will always cherish.
I guess that old chair isn't empty after all, Daddy. It's piled high with a Lifetime of memories of you.
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A MOTHER'S LOVE
(Written for my mother for Mother's Day - 1994 - and read at her funeral in June of 1998.)
A Mother's love is Special, but the love of a mother who adopts a child is the most special love of all.
You could have chosen any other babies...but you chose us. You gave us your home - gave us your name - You nurtured us - nursed us - loved us unconditionally.
You gave us a strong faith on which to build solid foundations for our lives: a faith that has sustainted us in times of trials and troubles. There have been times when we have disappointed you - broken your heart - but you never once stopped loving us.
You always told us WE were special - because we were "Chosen". For that, Mother, and for all the love you have given us through the years, we owe you so much. All that we are and ever hope to be, we owe to you, and we shall love you forever in return.
YOU are our Mother - and your love is so very Special.
(NOTE: Our mother was 40 when my brother was adopted; she was 42 when I was adopted. Mama and Daddy loved us as their own. THEY were our REAL parents, and one day we will see them again in Paradise.)
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ANDERSONVILLE
(Over 13,000 Union soldiers died of malnutrition, exposure, and disease at Andersonville Prison between February 1864 and April 1865. The official name of the prison was Camp Sumter, in the State of Georgia. I wrote this after watching the made for TV movie by the same title in 1996.)
A miasmic stench hangs in the stale air of the Georgia prison compound they call Andersonville. Hideous, emaciated forms that not long before had been healthy, strong soldiers fighting proudly for their beloved Federal flag, roam aimlessly about in a dream-like state - a race of living dead - pitious to behold, forgotten by the government for which they had fought and pledged their faith.
The Reaper works overtime here, gleaning his field of the dead and dying. One hundred souls a day pass through his shadowy gates, finally free of their wasted and putrified earthly shells. No more shall they listen to the hateful shouts:
"If you try to escape the dogs will get you!"
"If you cross the Dead Line, a bullet will get you!"
"If you don't watch your back, the Raiders will get you!"
Only one thing is sure here: DEATH is certain. DEATH will get you sooner than later. But if you are strong, and very lucky, you just might survive. But you will never, never forget this hell-hole called ANDERSONVILLE.
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DRAGON MOON
(Dedicated to my daughter, Karen)
What do YOU see in the face of the moon? An old man? A wolf? A young couple in the back of a '57 Chevy? I see all these things - Depending on the mood I'm in.
But sometimes I see the portrait of a Dragon in flight. I think of THE HOBBIT - and THE DRAGON SLAYER - and THE SWORD OF SHANARA. All these books told of dragons that terrorized the country side by night (mostly when the moon was full - depending on the mood they were in.)
The next time the moon is full, take a closer look at its pitted face. What do YOU see there? (How boring to see the shadow ONLY as craters on a barren piece of rock floating in Space.)
LISTEN! Is that the flapping of wings I hear? Or is it the wind playing tricks on me again?
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A SOUTHERN SUMMER
Summertime in the South is many things to different people: swimming in the lake, fishing the rivers and bayous, sailboats and canoes, water skis and jet skis. It's a time for Roses and Magnolias, Honeysuckle and Gardenias, purple and white Wisteria winding seductively up the massive trunks of ancient Oaks - and of cotton, rice, hat and corn growing tall before our very eyes.
Handsome young hard bodies and beautiful buxom blondes proudly flaunt their tans - strutting like proud young peacocks in a mating ritual as old as Time itself.
Soft summer evenings bring June bugs and mosquitoes; and the tiny, blinking lights of fireflies remind us of days gone by - when in our Youth we would lend chase and run the length and bredth our our yards to capture them and put them into Mason jars, only to let them go again to be enjoyed on another night.
We gaze in mute wonder at the twinkling stars above us in a vain effort to become - ourselves - creatures of the night - and let our imagination carry us away to the farthest realms of the Universe and Beyond.
Summertime in the South is, indeed, a very special time to all of us who are blessed to be a part of it.
Amen and Amen!
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COME LIE WITH ME (under ROMANCE) was also published.
