Home Sweet Home

There is a place I know,
Where daffodils and roses bloom,
Tall trees and green grass also grow,
While bluebirds sing a lovely tune.

People love to sit on the rickety porch swing,
While watching little children hard at play,
Seeing the joy that kids will bring,
And, growing old together come what may.

The sun is shining ever so bright,
Reflecting the image off a blue pond,
Of a young girl with her Barbie kite,
Then, a grandfather looks proudly on.

From the kitchen come wonderful smells,
Of fried chicken and homemade rolls,
It is finger licking’ good, as you can tell,
Good for the body, mind, and soul.

In the den, a family sets up board games,
I see Monopoly, Trivial Prusuit, and Scrabble,
Family favorites always remain the same,
While buying property and watching words unravel.

This is a place I like to call home,
Within it’s walls remain a love that is steadfast,
It is where horses, cows, and prairie dogs roam,
However, the memories are made to last.


The Story of Hal and Sal

There once was a man named Hal,
He was friends with a guy named Sal,
Together they drank,
Some say they stank,
And neither one had a gal.


God’s Sacrifice

Our Heavenly Father

Looks down from above

On this Earth, You have created

Out of worlds of love

Lord, when you spoke

Precious life into being

Your creations were perfect

Each and everything

For we have sinned

Perfection is lost

Seperation from you

Is what it cost

Many, Many times

Throughout the years

You tried so hard

To draw us all near

It took your only Son

To pay the ultimate price

When he laid it all down

The most Holy sacrifice

The price Jesus paid

Has brought back to you

The fellowship we had

When we were born anew


Tomorow’s Woman

I see before my eyes a little lady,
Now being held by the hand.
But soon she will be like her mother,
And grow up to  be a strong woman.

Her world is filled with Barbie’s and ballerina’s,
Make believe and tea parties are were also oa blast.
Soon make up and clothes will win her over,
While boys and parties are not to be outdone.

Another challenge is driving and cars,
Graduation and college are around the corner.
She is looking toward a bright future,
While wishing the fun didn’t have to end.

She is now dealing with endless papers and tests,
These deadlines are met with groans of distress.
Her graduation day has come once again,
So, she can come out at the top of her class.

Today, her job as a successful teacher,
Has led her down a chosen road.
The path is rewarding, yet taxing at times,
Although, she loves everything and everyone.

Retirement will soon be knocking at her door,
With many dreams and hopes to renew.
Continue to guide and inspire her,
There goes a woman with much left to do.


Daddy’s Voices

Daddy speaks in many different tones,
At the time of birth until you are grown;
He uses these voices as a guide,
To set rules, which his children must abide.

First, is the voice of authority,
It shows his towering seniority;
Daddy may sometimes deny a request,
Kids feel saying no is what he does best.

Second, comes a timeless expression,
One that will not bring about depression;
Happiness is among Daddy’s favorite traits,
An “I Love You” makes a smile easy to create.

Next is a man who looks cross,
He only shows kids who’s boss;
Although, Daddy’s upset when youv’e done wrong,
His firm but gentle hand makes children strong.

Finally, Daddy shows an assertion of reason,
It’s a voice reserved for every season;
Weather it be winter, summer, fall, or spring,
I always cherish the joy that Daddy brings.


In My Front Yard



I step outside upon the grassy lawn,
In the wee hours of the morning.
A fresh new day has arisen,
The newspaper flung on the ground,
Like a jacket thrown in a lwn chair,
In my front yard.

Brilliant colors spread over the horizion,
Like a box of crayons scatterd across a table,
As the sky stretches
From northeast to northwest,
Like an overstuffed rubber band,
In my front yard.

The yellow sun shines brightly,
Like a blazing ball of flames,
Pearly white clouds,
Drift lazily past me,
As children play games,
In my front yard.

The dusty hot day winds down,
Giving away to the dark evening,
Shadows dance upon the twillight,
When I watch children collect fireflies,
As I sit on my porch swing,
In my front yard.


Fame or Fortune



We want to be rich,

We want to be known

We want to be read

For we write on our own

We follow our muse

We listen to our hearts

We follow the leader

It’s a great place to start

Hard to say “I’m sorry”

Open mouth and insert foot

Something you wish you had never done

It’s easy to do, and hard to take back.

Words can sting, and words can often hurt


It’s hard to say “I’m sorry.”  


Someone punches you in the face.

Do you feel you should give a quick hit?  

Tempting to do, but will it be a quick fix?  

Bruises and scrapes take time to fade.


It’s Hard to Say “I’m Sorry.”  


What if your rights were taken away?

You have worked so hard,

to be where you are.

No one should stand in your way.  


It’s Hard to Say  “I’m sorry.”  


A smile could brighten the mood.

A firm handshake is also good.

Maybe a gentle embrace would work.

Do it l’ike you mean it, whatever you choose,

Because it’s hard to say “I’m sorry.”  


When Grandpa’s Gone



My time is not my own.

I am on call from dusk till dawn.

I feel like a circus jugglar,

Trying to meet each of his needs.

Banker, Chauffeur, Housekeeper, Teacher,

Yes.  I do it all.  


But I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.

No more Saturday fishing trips.

Or Sunday mornnigs at the corner store.

He was going to teach me to whittle.

Yet, he never had the time.

I loved hearing all the family stories,

Of times with Grandma and his cousins.

I will miss Grandpa when her is gone.  


Will he miss me?  

It’s hard to tell.

I work to keep him clothed and fed.

All the while he sits and stares,

Out the large picture window,

At the birds and tall trees.

Maybe, Grandpa will miss me when he’s gone.


He is waiting patiently for a journey,

In which I cannot travel along.

But, I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.

He has served his time here,

With nothing more to do.

He is going home to the Master.

I will miss Grandpa when he’s gone.


Writing Woes

Writing Woes


Talk to the blank page,

As if it were an old friend.  

Great writing should set the stage,

Hurry, lets get started, and begin.  


I sit in my chair, poised and ready for action.

My blue pen rests on the kitchen table.

Writing always gives me pleasure and satisfaction.

But, try as I might, I cannot think of what I am able.


Write about the time you and Grandma went to Vegas.

Or, write about your last big move.  

I think….Okay, that trip was outrageous.

I began typing, I.m back in the groove.


I love stringing words and sentences together.

To make paragraphs turn into a story.  

Oops.  I’m slowing down, stuck forever.

I will try to finish this book when I am forty.