Behold this welcome image.
Where a hill rises from a bay.
There a tiny sheltered village lay.
All in the shadow of Windmill Cottage.
Steady breeze most every day.
Sails from afar spill their goodwill.
From their nets sea treasure abound.
Farms thrive above on fertile ground.
Good fortune trickles down the hill.
Sea birds fill the air with sound.
Ancient timbers shade from lofty stage.
Labored grain grows upward at the season’s rate.
Winds howl, warmth’s aglow on the hill top grate.
Flour flows freely down from Windmill Cottage.
Where nature’s breath spins the wheel of a poets estate.
He attends happily to familiar chores.
Quarterly ledgers bulge beneath waistcoat fair.
His quarterly journey to the bankers’ lair.
His shadow alone opens Main Street doors.
Harvest moon will guide homeward the fortunate heir.
Dusk creeps up as day slips by.
Modest and ordered with nothing ablaze.
Must avoid the many scrupulous gaze.
In the shadows inhibitions die.
A visit with strangers, heads all a daze.
Journey’s end in darkness where hill meets bay.
Tufted coaches dash the posh up to their inns.
Others huddle by fire pits drinking homemade gins.
The trades of the night swap those of day.
Church bells echo, atoning for their sins.
Just another blurry face on the wooden shores.
Where the day’s death lingers and ships bells ring.
Taverns fill, ale flows and drunken sailors sing.
Fiddles play and jigs are had on the dirty floors.
Habitual killers all, Oh what joy they bring
Few will stay, most homeward bound.
Some laugh loudly while others cry.
Some will fight, some will die.
In search of peace to be found –
In the deep or endless sky.
Faceless comfort fills empty space.
Men with silver are sick for a day.
Boys with gold suffer years away.
Moonlit romance lingers on perfumed lace.
Then life’s anew beyond the tiny bay.
Sharing much common thread,
In this moment “ brothers all.
Whale lamps flicker on sooty wall
Making friends while breaking bread.
All await the Bosun’s call.
In a corner where shadows overlap.
The poet searches for his light,
Where the day’s brew flows all night.
Safe, for now from his hilltop trap,
Layers of darkness, out of sight.
Behold this most unwelcome image.
The seat no more where the poet presides.
Now in his shadow a filthy little demon hides.
Return not quenched to Windmill Cottage –
And wait again for the new moon tides?
Lonely candle spews depth on a lonely face.
Unseen pests sing their unwanted song,
The scent of time ticking long.
His travels must be many, all left a trace.
In the darkness our senses strong.
Hat brim low to hide his shame.
The poet stutters with utter surprise.
The traveler snickers, doesn’t rise.
With sideways glance he asks the poets name.
Honestly answered by the fear in his eyes.
When after long hesitation a hasty reply ”
“A traveler like you” was all that he said.
But after some ale the silence was dead.
Yard by yard many distant words fly.
Palettes grow when faces shade red.
Cider was next and followed by rum.
The traveler’s tales all told in prose.
The wetter the lips the faster it flows.
Hated by most, loved by some.
That’s how a traveler’s life often goes.
The poet a rather tall fellow.
The traveler a poet by name.
So many ports traveled they all looked the same.
His heart pumped blue, the poet gay and mellow.
Opposite sides of a coin, no one is to blame.
“With little time to hone a craft –
With a draft from an open door.
To close then return no-more.
To open then evermore – the draft.
Spirits gone, gone the craft – nevermore.”
What dribble do you speak my friend?
The poet inquired in disgusted tone.
“The dribble I think when thirsty and alone.”
The traveler quipped with message to send.
I’ll tell you another, that’s my own.
“Silent words are never heard –
The voiceless poet stuttered.
Repeated babble muttered.
His rhymes always sputtered.
More mindless words would be absurd.
The air he breathed was glutted.
His helm so poorly ruddered.
His shirts all heavily buttered.
From his many toasts self-uttered.
His mind so free and uncluttered.
His weaknesses many and unobserved.
Blinded to the Reaper’s shadow – deserved.
Soon the voiceless poet will be unheard.
Then blissful quiet on his paths wandered.
His welcome silence – forever heard.”
Drunken rabble roared with delight.
The poet withered belittled.
The traveler’s attention fizzled.
When laudanum’s sipped out of sight.
The poet escaped most grizzled.
Out of the dark into the night.
Bellowing air; cold, wet and starless.
His poisoned lips know no finesse.
His state of mind out of time – not right.
The poet’s mind wanders aimless.
The traveler tucked snugly in his bunk.
With help from many new joyous fan.
All loved the howls of this traveled Wild-man.
His tales make perfect sense “ drunk.
The favorite carried and the pompous ass ran.
Boot heals clack on cobble slick.
While stallion slumbers atop golden bed.
The poet stumbles upward with achy head.
If only to have his gilt throat-ed stick.
This shadowy path he may be found dead.
The wind that is my fortune is slowly killing me.
This hill of heritage too high for me to climb.
With forceful push from the hands of time.
Drawing me back to a frigid sea.
My misery oh-so great ” it is oh-so sublime.
Head tucked low, bottom up always slow.
Darkness wanes to purples then red.
Day is born, horrors of the night soon dead.
Hands and knees bloodied and bruised – falls of woe.
Alas the bodies of servants to guide to downy bed.
Winter’s behind, graven plans regress.
Fevered sleep past, shadows of death dawdle.
Summer awaits, the poet’s lessons dwindle.
His magnum opus went off to press.
Journey to Main Street, praise to guzzle.
Surveying high atop his magnificent mount.
The poet exclaimed “behold this welcome image”
Deceived by the bustle, not he the homage.
But a tome by a worldly traveler – no doubt.
It was “In the Shadow of Windmill Cottage”
I woke today, yippee ki-yay.
I rushed downstairs to welcome the gray.
A little rain won’t make me blue.
It’s New Year’s Eve and I’ve much to do.
Resolutions are needed, more than a few,
but first a cup of my favorite brew.
The aroma awakens my primal needs.
My pad awaits my list of good deeds.
I’ll be less lazy and help pluck the weeds.
I’ll write about something everyone reads.
I’ll be nicer to friends and all others.
I’ll treat everyone like sisters and brothers,
I’ll respect this world as fathers and mothers.
I’ll throw a big party if given my druthers.
I’ll try to eat better and not get too plump.
I’ll waste less time perched on my rump.
I’ll smile more and not be a grump.
I’ll speak more kindly and be less of a chump.
I’ll say “I love you” every single day.
And I’ll start this New Year the very best way.
You can make a pile, I’ll make a stack.
You can smile at me and I’ll smile back.
I’ll boil the water, you make the tea.
I’ll blow you a kiss and you blow one to me.
You can pop the popcorn, I’ll melt the butter.
You can hold my hand and make my heartbeats flutter,
I’ll choose the movie, you pick the day.
The next time we’ll switch and both have our way.
I’ll clear the table, you clear the waste.
We can share dessert, I’ll have a taste.
You can say “I love you” and I’ll say it too.
Then we’ll share our futures, both, me and you.
My buttocks hurt and my knuckles crack.
What drives me forward can drag me back.
My eyes are tired and my head is sore.
My hands are cramped, I can write no more.
My pages are filled with useless stuff.
And one more verse is never enough.
Pencils grow dull as does my brain.
But each day silent leaves a stain.
Though deep down I know the truth.
The haunt persists from my youth.
I’ve something to say, but what is unclear.
Answers will come but not this year.
A resolution needed this time around.
Try harder I must for I am bound.
The calendar says I’m almost there.
Glasses raised a toast we’ll share.
A new day begins with much to do.
Sunnier thoughts will eclipse the blue.
A cushion I’ll buy for my favorite chair.
Words will flow like a breath of fresh air.
Volumes will fill with the funniest of lines.
A chapter reserved for my sweet valentines.
I’ll rise from sleep as each day’s the first.
I’ll sip my coffee then quench my thirst.
Reflecting upon the time long past,
how the future sneaks up too fast.
And if nothing to leave advice I can give.
“Live out your dreams and a dream you shall live.”
‘Twas the day after Christmas and all through our town,
the snow had all melted leaving grass colored brown.
New sleds with bows all waited out back.
New hats and gloves all piled in a stack.
The weather was warm but the sky a dark gray.
Bikes too must wait for a sunnier day.
Then rain fell heavy just after lunch.
The wind started blowing, mom had a hunch.
She gathered the candles and charged her phone.
She called up her parents who were home all alone.
We then jumped in the car, our mission was clear.
We’d drive to their house to bring Christmas cheer.
The wind grew stronger, ripping branches from trees.
We saw a strange man in a puddle on skis.
We got to their house, the decorations still lit.
We all rushed in but there’s no time to sit.
Gram packed a few things and was ready to go.
Gramps starred out the window wishing for snow.
We squeezed in the car for our long journey home.
Then gramps yelled “Stop! I’ve forgotten my comb.”
Gram said “Keep going, you can use mine.”
Gramps, with a smile, said “That’ll be fine.”
Then sis started crying, a bathroom was needed.
“Hurry up mom” she anxiously pleaded.
Mom said to wait; there’d soon be a chance.
“If not” she joked “you can soon try new pants.”
Sis got the message and quietly she pouted.
“I have to go too,” Gramps then loudly shouted.
Mom kept on going, our street was now near.
But the driving was slow, the weather severe.
Our house then appeared but the driveway was gone.
So mom stomped on the gas and drove up the lawn.
We jumped from the car and ran to the door.
Dad was there waiting, looking unsure.
We took off our coats and hung them to dry.
Then lightning went boom and lit up the sky.
The lights went out but our fireplace was warm.
We all huddled closely to ride out the storm.
We woke the next morning all stacked around our tree.
Our presence was felt and the day was rain free.
The night was black and eerily still,
sensations naught but for the chill.
The fog then quickly settles in.
It is death but for the din.
With nowhere left to run or go.
A silence welcomes from far below.
Or follow the sounds of mournful screams,
awakened to a life of no one’s dreams.
Nightmares seep with a shuttered mind.
Yet sweetly we rest when freedom we find.
Tomorrows beat within our hearts.
Open eyes see bright, new starts.
But it is sleep where we all do dwell,
our futures told of heaven and hell.
We’ll meet the many never to know.
Then in a blink it’s the end of our show.
When we wake a dimension’s gone.
Feeling flat upward we’re drawn.
We rise to heights imagined by one.
The world awaits, our day begun
Tread the paths, both waning and worn.
Use your sharpness when you’re torn.
And sleep will guide us to our core.
But time awake always one third more.
Fancy wrap can’t hide from my eyes,
A gift that’s familiar in shape and size.
It’s the present that I adore.
They’re the toy that’s never a bore.
They’re a box of possibilities,
a forest full of Christmas trees.
Blanket of snow and garlands bright,
with flicker of lights in the night.
They’re singing birdies just for me,
or sailing ship on a stormy sea.
They’re autumn play and a summer breeze,
the colors of spring and buzzing bees.
With this one gift I’ll need no-more.
It’s a box of sixty-four!
There are colors for sad, colors for glad.
They’re all perfect, none are bad.
What endless choices to be found.
But what is the color of sound?
What is the color of a kiss?
I’ll someday find those colors amiss.
They’re jewels in a treasure chest.
Something shared with a special guest.
We draw and print or color books,
while snuggled in our secret nooks.
I’m glad they float, though labels’ lost.
Nothing left to peel and be tossed.
Then guides are gone for shades unknown.
But I’ll know them all, when I’m grown.
My cat swats greens under my bed.
My dog’s favorite to eat is red.
We all roll fast and giggle for more.
When they’re like bearings on the floor.
We build rainbows to the sky.
Stacked like logs to make towers high.
We lose the ones we like the best.
Then have extras of all the rest.
They’re a gift that’s always welcome.
They’re used up quick or saved by some.
Look what Harold did with just one.
My sixty-four are much more fun.
Stored neat in a box with lid that flips,
and hole on back to sharpen tips.
Enough to share with all my friends,
we’ll draw a line that never ends.
Though mostly used sparingly,
tucked safe in a drawer, just for me.
They somehow seem to go away –
just in time for Christmas day.
In the land of the dragon when nights get long.
The air is cold and the wind is strong.
In caves they’ll gather all cozy and warm.
But first, they’ll prepare before the big storm.
The holiday’s near and another year’s treat.
Moms and dads busy to make all things neat.
The children make dangles to dress up their tree.
Then off to slumber for a week, two or three.
Their parents when done with winter chores,
warm their homes and open their doors.
The children then wake to a new winter’s white.
And gaze at trinkets secretly left in the night.
There are mittens and hats for the littlest of tikes.
There are goodies galore that everyone likes.
The grown-ups all share a warm hearted kiss.
Then hugs all around that’s never to miss.
The teens await the greatest gift of all.
They’ll soon learn to fly or tumble and fall.
But the new snow’s now deep and oh so soft.
It’s perfect for landing when not high aloft.
When the sun gets low and the chill sets in.
Homeward they head for the feast begin.
They’ll all sing and dance and sip warm sno-nog.
The night then ends with the last burning log.
Eyelids grow heavy, eyes soon to close.
Socks pulled snugly over big chilly toes.
Hibernation then starts and dreams it’ll bring,
where thoughts are warm awaiting the spring.
If to imagine a perfect life;
paths of ease and little strife,
morning smiles and a noon surprise,
sunsets reflected in each other’s eyes.
Our eve’s playful, toying future schemes.
Nights shared cuddling, kissing and living our dreams.
The sun then will rise for me and you.
Each day a new start of our lives anew.
Life fades to fallen hues.
Winter’s white with deepest blues.
Spring’s upon a pastel moon.
And summer shines none too soon.
My little kitty talks to me.
She changes the channel on my TV.
And shows me things I don’t see.
But I never argue, I just agree.
Her day begins before sunrise.
I see her starring in my eyes.
Her only word is no surprise.
Up! Up! Up! She loudly cries.
To the kitchen we’ll both head.
She’s always happiest when she’s fed.
I’ll fill her bowl then back to bed.
Her heartfelt “Thanks” is always said.
My alarm goes off at seven or eight.
My kitty tells me if I’m early or late.
Either way we’re feeling great.
High-fives and head bumps we celebrate.
Then off to school but she’s alone.
She says goodbye with a sad little moan.
Someday she’ll learn to use a phone.
But for now that skill’s unknown.
I’m welcomed home, I see she’s played.
I clean up all the mess she’s made.
She’s fed again and smiles we trade.
We’ll say goodnight then off we fade.
Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s big and tall.
It’s a place that kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.
We spend sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.
Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence to keep the city out and us in.
We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds in the sky,
Some tweet, sing sweet, bark, run and fly.
There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.
Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars get lost, then are found again.
A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the days fun is done, we all say goodnight.
To our good old friend, under the street light.
Soon it’s fall, but first back to school,
days getting shorter, nights get cool.
Then the winter and with it snow,
wrapping the world in its glow.
We’ll build forts, make balls to throw.
So many things to do in the snow,
sledding and skiing, rolling in white.
Hoping for more snow every night.
Morning’s good news, stay home from class.
Fun things to do with time to pass,
make a snowman with rocks for eyes,
that see’s all in cold winter skies.
We’ll stay in and play or just talk.
Then shovel a long path to walk,
to the street though nowhere to go.
Everything’s closed because of the snow.
Crusty piles; high, dirty and gray,
wetter and smaller each new day.
Snowman’s withered, springs on the way,
time to make up for our snow day.
Waking one morning, snow’s no more,
instead there’s flowers by my door.
Springs arrived and welcome by all,
summers next and followed by fall
Like the seasons our life goes round.
Searching for answers already found.
Around and around we all go,
waiting for summer then for snow.
Our day of thanks is past.
And Christmas is coming fast.
Now all the roads are jammed.
And mailboxes are getting spammed.
Traveling from all around,
our friends and family abound.
The mistletoe will hang in wait,
ready for the kissers’ fate.
With ornaments galore arranged,
precious gifts will be exchanged,
The food and fun will joyfully flow.
But then it’s back to shoveling snow.
It won’t take long, just a few seconds more;
warmth then felt closing the door.
Your goodbyes will be more tolerable.
Hello’s then much more enjoyable.
So never one kiss, always have two.
That’s one for me and one for you.
Memories then linger and smiles persist.
That’s two for two, who could resist?
Sitting in the rain, I see the world pass by.
I try to think sunny thoughts beneath a cloudy sky.
I hear drops on the glass, watching the grass glisten.
Nature’s calling from all around if to truly listen.
The birds are still singing high up in the tree.
The fish, I’m sure, are splashing in the open sea.
The bugs are always bugging, whatever it is they do.
And pets forever snuggle, loving me and you.
It makes stop to ponder and reflect upon our race.
As one of many humans I know I’d miss this place.
Yet we try to sculpt our views in ways that we choose.
The picture may be pretty but our nature we lose.
The sun will shine again and wash away this gray.
And unless we’ve a catastrophe we’ll see another day.
As is life, our time is short, as is every other breed.
But the future of our world’s less dependent on their seed.
“We reap what we sow” is a phrase we should heed.
Like a garden unattended will surely fill with weed.
The food we grow will dwindle, eventually to cease.
We’ll never feel rain again, but the earth will be at peace.
I know this sounds depressing but that’s not my goal.
I’m truly optimistic but time does take its toll.
Change is all around, like weather, not always fair.
But like a rainy day, the droplets we all share.
If I could turn my words into the finest wine
We’d sail on those balmy seas until the end of time
If I could print money on all the paper that I use
Our sky would rain confetti any time you choose
If my wishes granted for all that I desire
We’d spent our moonlit evenings cuddled by a fire
If my fantasies could ever be reality
All I’d ever need is for you to be with me.
I woke today, the outside’s gray,
my room’s cold and this story’s old.
Hunger persists from the night,
yet in this journal I must daily write.
A poet am I until I die,
often to cry, to always ask why.
With bloodshot eyes and inky hands,
words conjured from dreamy lands.
Time, you see, wears heavy on me.
In verse I live, it’s all I’ve to give.
The past is scribed, legends to follow.
The future fore, the now I borrow.
This present I speak, not for the weak.
But persist I must and forgo disgust.
Yesterday’s full of virtue and sins,
tomorrows unknown but today begins.
A capsule of one of a life soon done,
this journal I will, my time’s now still.
And if my time’s now relevant,
this treasure to you I gladly present.
Gaslights flicker, but one in three
These harsh fall winds batter thee
Soon the rains will pour and pelt
Yet with heavy heart nothing’s felt
Broken brick teeters beneath shoe-less feet
The stench of death fills the street
An island paradise – mine no more
Alas in this city to find a door
Thirty years lost at sea
‘Till found rescued, returned free
In search of a life I wish to find
Of futures not had and left behind
Now homeward bound to do what’s right
And share my tale of a dreadful night
With freezing sleet and gale, our sails torn
Splintered masts await the morn
Screams of mates haunting still
Silence came with the sunsets’ chill
I awoke to a native angel, urged to make a wife
Years of guilty pleasure pass of fertile island life
In a search never-ending of a foggy memory
Back to a decrepit city, forever lost to me
A vision of a woman I had no time to know
And a father-less child I never saw grow
Now I must roam this morbid place
In the shadows I hide this unknown face
With grizzled hide and toothless grin
Tis I this rotted hull of unforgivable sin
First I betrayed a young bride with family
I’ve betrayed my many brothers to a stormy sea
Betrayed my island flowers with my bastard seed
And their many blooms not knowing of their creed
In tangled webs of filthy alleys, doors locked tight
Shuttering out the dangers awakened in the night
Seeking boarded diamond pane, broken lintel I recall
My tiny door beckons just down the hall
Now steps ahead my future lies, one without a past
Decisions’ pondered long, yet always chosen fast
With a knock a ghost returns to those long at rest
Me thinks a splintered briny deck for all will be best
I woke today – weatherman lied.
I rolled over and I sighed.
Couldn’t sleep, eyes open wide.
It’s too cold to go outside.
There’ll be no swing set or slide.
There’ll be no walk or bike ride.
There’ll be no kites to be flied.
It’s too cold to go outside.
Today we have to play inside.
We’ll think of things never tried.
Stocking feet on floors we’ll glide.
It’s too cold to go outside.
We’ll build a fort for us to hide.
We’ll play dress up – you be bride.
Explore jungles – I’ll be guide.
It’s too cold to go outside.
Time to dig a path that’s wide.
Getting dressed, boot laces tied.
Wind so stingy I almost cried.
It’s too cold to go outside.
All’s warm, coats hung to be dried.
Find crayons, colors I’ve eyed.
Draw pictures for the fridge with pride.
It’s too cold to go outside.
Icy world all is gray sky-ed.
Plants droopy, looks like they died.
Bay frozen we’ll see no tide.
It’s too cold to go outside.
Now sleep, teddies at my side.
Cold nights end, take it in stride.
Spring soon then winter we’ll chide.
When not too cold to go outside.
Ho, Ho, Ho, damn it! That’s all I gotta say
Ho, Ho, Ho, damn it! It’s almost Christmas day
Ho, Ho, Ho, damn it! Yea – Santa’s on his way
Ho, Ho, Ho, damn it! I hope he doesn’t stay
Christmas last year was our first as newlyweds
Our little home smoky with burnt gingerbreads
Rooms festively strewn and splattered with glitter
The kind of memories that’ll be around forever
His reindeer chomped topiary, displayed in my backyard
Now I have to lie and say it’s really avant-garde
Rudolph took a shining to a bright-eyed decoration
Now he’s singing high notes from electrical castration
I also saw Santa smooch my wife under mistletoe
Not a friendly peck but a kiss, deep and slow
I’m ready for him this year, cameras everywhere
I’ll edit-out tomorrow, things I shouldn’t share
My lovely mate now fast asleep, safe in our cozy room
Windows shuttered tight, door wedged with a broom
While plump little Nicki slumbers soundly in her cradle
It’s now time for me to prepare, egg-nog, cups and ladle
Plus a special surprise for Santa, it’s sure to be a hoot
I long to see his rosy cheeks when slapped with a paternity suit
Ho, Ho, Ho, damn it! I’ve one last thing to say
Ho, Ho, Ho to all and have a very merry holiday
Time for time-out it’ll end soon.
Dug in the yard with mom’s good spoon.
She’s had it since her wedding day.
Used just for holidays, not play.
I said that it was shaped just right,
to dig a trench where armies can fight.
Needs to be deep but not too wide.
Had to dig fast so they can hide.
Buried far down just like a tomb.
Guarding treasure found in your room.
Found in a box high on a chest.
It’s the booty pirates like best.
I must protect those shiny things:
chains, charms, bracelets, baubles and rings.
Hid them good, remembered the map.
But then forgot after my nap.
To help me dig I found a pet.
The best digger there is I’ll bet.
Finished our yard then went next door.
Found nothing, ran off to dig more.
Chased our cat high up in the tree.
Grandma called the police for me.
Her nurse had to help make the call.
The police came, that isn’t all.
While chasing his dog that I found,
the man fell from holes in the ground.
He said he’ll sue, just wait and see.
I said it was his dog, not me.
His face was red, limping away.
But grandma’s heart will be okay.
And I have some more good news.
While digging today, I wore no shoes.
They’re nice and clean and tucked away.
I’ll try no pants some other day.
Though mess was made with my bare feet,
I cleaned it up with hose and sheet.
Pushed all the water out the door.
Then to your room, I cleaned some more.
Too bad the hose didn’t quite reach.
I luckily then found the bleach.
You’ll smile when you turn on the light.
I know you like things clean and white,
with spots of color here and there.
You’ll surely hug your little dear.
I’m glad you’re home early today.
Don’t believe what the neighbors say.
The rescue came, Dad’s all right.
Not much pain, he’ll wake by tonight.
Go to the doctor, I’ll just wait.
I’ll be good and won’t stay up late.
I missed lunch; I’ll make us a snack.
Fix the chair dad broke with his back.
He climbed too high to find his keys,
lost his balance from wobbly knees.
I found some socks to wrap dad’s head.
Then found soldiers under my bed.
Recalled the mission to be done.
Ran downstairs to start the fun.
Found no spoons not already bent.
But then found yours and out I went.
And that’s where my story began.
Now come sit close mom, hold my hand.
I know that time-outs hurt you too.
But when it’s done I’ll still love you.