That Day

Life’s victories are not without cost. This bitter reality rang true for every first responder who gathered below, and without hesitation ran upwards before the towers fell. 

 On that day the courageous of Flight 93, in which the will and tenacity of the passengers aboard shattered the momentary calm of that Pennsylvania field before cooling metal and fire made that same field silent save for the wind and Nature’s sounds, take control again. 

 Held blameless is Fate, an innocent bystander this time, or Mercy, although plenty was found on that shaken and crushed pile of smoldering tears, the World beheld. 

 There was terror filling the hearts of Humanity that day, as cheers from the ignorant are washed away by the tears of multitudes. 

 Can we forgive those that formulated and then produced such an end, yes, some of us can, because as some cried out it was the Will of Allah, know we that because of the freedom GOD has indeed pledged to Mankind so this terrible act is a reward of the same freedoms. 

 We as Humanity, can persevere and do, it is a Blessing from GOD that allows us freedom to act positively or in a small segment of the World’s population–negatively. 

 We do this–forgive, because we can, but, never ever believe we will forget. Selah.


Sea Dreamer

   I loved her. It was enough. 1749 seemed a difficult time for making a life for one’s self; not to mention a home, and family. The many self owned businesses manufactured gin and as a living was to be made from that.  Some people, me included preferred to earn my livelihood as had my father and his father before him. The love of the sea and its profits could make any man feel good about his work, and a modest profit besides. She was not yet with child and my heart knew that try as I might time and fortune would answer that riddle. She was most beautiful and was the answer to my hopes for someone who would share my life dreams and hopes.

   She was of a modest height coming to the bottom of my shoulder, her hair was the color of cured straw and her face held tender lips and eyes that were soft as the coming dawn. My mind drew comfort from being her husband. As such I was pleased that she kept house and was willing to quietly urge me to assist in chores that were not normally those of a man. Bear in mind, that this is between we men and are really not of a mind to shout from the rooftops those things our wives are able to encourage us to do. Things like tending the garden, and painting the house and such.

Mind you men folk, keep this to yourself.

She helped me as a fisherman, by aiding me to pull the boat from the beach and down to the water’s edge. I loved the strength I saw in her body, hair flying askew; legs and the beautiful arches of her feet as she strained and sweated along with me to float the tool of our livelihood to sea. I often enjoyed watching her mend the nets and she was more than able to do such work. She is the day to my night. I see her as a life mate for me. My purpose to provide for her was manifest. By my willingness to don a large warm sweater she knitted and row out into the sea where our fortunes awaited, was the greatest gift I felt as a man I could undertake.

Her world was my world. She was very special, almost unique. It is noted that from Eccles on Sea to Waxham she was known for her abilities in healing. I know nothing of those arts, but I am inclined to say that since they do well; they can not be bad. My love for her clouded my reason at times and in this manner I was content. She was demanding only to this extent that we have one day of the week and the odd holiday for our time spent just for the two of us. I could not see the harm as this gave me time to enjoy the forest which we both loved or the beach which we loved with equal measure. We would oft times walk, or picnic and finding a secluded area we loved with a hunger as though our lives were too short. She is beauty personified by the radiance of the sun; she is the pale underside of the leaves which contrast themselves against the gray skies of the incoming North Sea storm. She is the warmth and softness of the gentle spring sun. Her lips hold the moisture of the summer rains and her skin smells like flowers and her touch as kind as the innocent ewe seeking milk from its mother.

    I see her as my soul mate. I prayed that one day we would need not work so hard but live as the gentle folk in Surrey. My day at sea was to row out several miles and not return until my barrel was filled with salted fish. I left before sunup and sometimes returned after sundown. Always, she was there with lantern as I departed I could see her as I rowed east or the same as I rowed back upon returning toward the west. I could only refer to her position but she held true and never wavered. Upon one evenings return she wore a strangely colored smock, I deemed it not prudent to ask about it but waited until she wanted to tell me. She was fearful of my reaction but when she explained and seeing the mirth in my eyes I asked her to hug me and she knew shortly that the color caused another sensation within me. She smiled hugged me tighter and we fell into the consummate joy as our bodies answered each others beckons. She described it as an accident while she canned berries, wasting some upon her smock she tried in vain to wash it out. It would not so she decided to use the cloth to wash the kettle. The warm soft color like that of the rose would not come out but resulted is this new color seen only on the great paintings of the castles. We have not a name for it, I imagined berry color. She wears it for me when we retire and it is with great amusement that I enjoy it.

On the day that it occurred I was looking inward and not outward until the force of the gale hit. My nose was focused and remembering smelling my love and not my surroundings. The wind struck my boat with a mighty heave and the waves came up suddenly. I was forced to retrieve my nets and turn towards the west and home. The waves came up higher and the water washed over the gunwale. I paused often to bail out the water and knowing the wind was pushing west it gave me some comfort in rowing. I could not see my love with the lantern and hoping to do so I turned to look for her. I was not able to see the shore but I knew I was going toward them. It was just a matter of time when. My hands were bitter numb from the cold and my mind was seeing images of days of love and my darling’s fathomless eyes. How I longed to be in her arms this moment. How I wished to deeply to feel her fingers in my mouth. I wanted to touch her very spirit with my tongue. While I bailed a wave larger than most tore away one of the boats oars. I screamed in frustration. I could but helplessly sit and bail hoping that the wind would push me in towards shore. Such was not to be as a large wave crashed over the boat and spilled me and all my trade works over and into the sea.

    I have never felt such anger as I strove to swim away from the wreck only to find my legs entangled in the net. I felt myself being pulled down down towards where the sea was calmer and she seemed to wait with the lantern. I smiled and she smiled in return and I loved the brightness that enveloped us both. I kissed you and you kissed me in return. I love you so much.

    She waited until dawn and with lantern in her numb hands she returned wearily to their cottage. She knew he would return and prepared food for them both. She would constantly check every day until he returned. I came to you every day and I stretched my arm out towards you but I guess you could not see it. I was angry because I realized the stupid net held my arm pinned to my side. You would be proud of me. I held those stupid crabs off for two months before they consumed my flesh. Had it not been for a nosy squid that took a plug of my flesh, then after that it was every body help yourselves. I should have caught more of those and cooked them.  I can not see you now, I have but hollow eye sockets; but I know in my heart that you still wait. I love you so much and I will be faithful in paradise until you come join me. 

Oh yes, the color of your smock is pink.  Continue reading

The Apron

The Apron

I remember it was a badge of honor a sacred raiment that marked the wearer as head of the females in our family.

It would not fit me anyway. I was but six years old, Momma was so pretty as she bustled from meal course-meats, to various vegetables, to drinks, umm–her tea was the most.

Bread, sometimes yeast rolls or cornbread filled the house with smells and promise of flavors.

Sundays were so special.

I was so proud to help her. My apron was a pretty dish towel either pinned to my blouse or wrapped around my jumper. Mattered not, I was like mommy.

How I loved her, I would dress in her old clothes and wear her shoes about the house as my dolls could attest.

So, loose and clunky clunk CLUNK.

I’m in charge-like it or go back to my room. Ha. They never argued.

Momma often smiled, then kindly told me to put her shoes back or I might
run them over. Pouting, I would do as
she said and bounce into the kitchen
where a cookie and milk might be discovered on the table.

She would hug me and kiss my cheek
saying I was a blessing from GOD.
I believed it was the other way round.

How beautiful and loving those Sundays and quiet days were when we shared in our lives.

Only as I got older and could fit in Momma’s shoes did she seem smaller, even to the shoes that seemed to swallow her feet or the
clothes that became loose.

I could sense that a cloud was forming over our family, and what was to become of us?

Momma spoke of JESUS making a way, not necessarily to escape. His example was to subject himself and
live under the laws of man and endure. Thus He learned of mans weaknesses, desires, folly and interceded and bore mans sin.

He carried the pains of man upon His back, endured the agony of wood upon His bleeding flesh and sacrificed Himself to prevent another condemnation of mankind.

He could have wiped away illness, and even death. Would we all be happy? I would tender a gentle no.

Our planet-GODS footstool could not sustain us all. We would not grow mentally if the same people were in charge all the time. Take Washington as an example.

New ideas not placated old ones shape what is new in our world today.
The gadgets may be new, even revolutionary, so was the iron horse, or telegraph. Momma knew and her Scripture proclaimed there is nothing new under the sun. True, if you base the reason of capitalism or desire to make life easier.

She was a gem and her wisdom is enduring, so why is it that she said on fighting, let the Lords will be done.

Lord, I asked to be put in her place,
I asked to carry her burden as she
endured the fear, pain and uncertainty that leaving her loved ones might cause without her leadership.

I was denied-but not for ill, but to learn by her example. Through her faith that translated and became my own and understanding that our lives here impact not just a family sphere, but extends to community.

I feel her life as that of a cancer victim-are not forgotten, but as warriors fight and eventually fall, so might any of us under the same circumstances.

Life owes, nor guarantees any thing.

Life offers an opportunity, and what we do with it, how we share it, determines our course, but also the course of those we leave behind.

I know GOD will be waiting at the crossroad of today and eternity.

The apron fits me perfectly and on Sunday you can find the best food and tea anywhere at Mom’s table-now mine.



Courtesy of Amy Winehouse Productions



You found your way back among us,
had you ever left?

I remembered you in the way life
choose to grace you with beauty
and voice to sing, your voice
could do many things.

Hair dark as the night sky,
sun-kissed, it radiates a
silver-gold blue hue as it
reflects true beauty.

Piled upon your head or
falling askew, it was your
persona that radiated true.

My eyes swallowed your painted
treasures that I would never
fully see, as I measured the
path of switchbacks you seemed
only to see.

I longed to share a cigarette
with you as the smoke curled from
your lips, I would place my face
close to yours and lips would
caress lips.

The tendril of blue-white smoke
would enter into your body, my
face pressed close to your soft
lips as you waited for me to draw
it from your mouth.

Slowly, you would yield the smoke
as eyes slowly close, we shared
what lovers do so often pressing
nose to nose.

I know it is not a perfect thing,
I refuse to be offended, offense
is a relative thing by those who
refuse to mend broken fences.

When you left it was the pain
that losing could suddenly bring,
were we lovers or even friends
your phone would nightly ring.

Torn away, I imagined your
beautiful innocence as like
a child dazzled by the white
light you continued towards it
with glee, no more hurts, pain,
uncertainty or strife this world
no more will see you sing.

How joyous might be the reunion
as a new voices aids the angels,
so pure now of thought you
understand all, even to why
I was musing.

The pundits claim after the fact
they knew that you were losing,
or was the pain too much for your
fragile body that even Earth knew
it was your own choosing.

I see you again and my heart lifts
as again the world needs cleansing,
will we ever hear a voice like yours
again that can burn with beauty as a
fire than can be singeing.

Night Beauty

Night Beauty

Latimer Reef Lighthouse offered its
beacon of hope to any wayward boat
as a gesture to warn away.

Perhaps as an accusatory finger
to admonish the embarrassed
pleasure boater – what were you
out there doing, dinner is waiting,
hurry along.


Imagined you were still by my side,
remembering our warm embrace, the
smell of ocean, beach grasses, and
sand. I shifted, hoping that upon
next I turned you would be there.

The darkness was softened by the
glow of billions of stars
immeasurable, their suns and the
great expanse of galaxies linked
by what appears as powdered sugar
or cotton candy in the heavens.

Stringing the bursts of light together
creating a vast backdrop of beauty
fraught with hidden dangers. Black
sky as background, the inky
blackness of ocean serve to muster
the beauty of your face in my mind
as plain as the waves being clearly
exposed by the finger of light each
time Latimer turned to beam in my

I shift again, I remembered as I put
my face in your hair, always you
wanted excuse its fragrance as not
having been washed recently.

To me the smell is like the most
desirable fruit, the cloths hung upon
the line and then falling face first
into them, with squeals of delight
like happy children.

I saw the caps of the breaking waves
as the beacon of light turned to me
again and pointed, you you.

In my mind…

I helped you lay back upon our old
blanket, drawing close to your face
I saw the stars reflecting deeply in
your eyes. Depths I had never
imagined were projected; now held
in my arms grasp.

Latimer gave you a glimpse of my
smile, you smiled in return. We
were one during that time. I think
the waves sang and the old
lighthouse peeked from time to time
as the stars in your eyes and in the
universes above winked approval.

I wanted you in my life, your soft
passion contrasting with mine.
Your tender love enveloped and
gently overcame my desire for
fierce burning hasty passion.

You taught me patience as I
became your answer of desire
to the complex issues involving the
intricacy of romance in today’s
bustling society.

I felt we both were compliments to
each other as needs were exposed
and life seemed to mount as bricks
on hod that must be carried up the
ladder at a construction site. The
work is grueling, but necessary
to get the job completed.

Our love is like the scene before
the first brick is set, the bricklayer
ensures the foundation is right, uses
string line and plumb bob to obtain
a level and using mud sets it to
begin laying his first course of

Layer after layer this thing of beauty
comes, stack upon row must brick
after brick run.

Last I saw as you sat beside me
was your hair dancing to the run
of the wind as the sea was music
and old Latimer directed its
spotlight upon you as you were the
star each time it passed.

Street Touches

Running through the middle of the street, seems safer,

no shadows, less fear, the sense of pain no less i fear.

Running from the lie, peace not found; death does

not care if you stand up or lie down.

Running from the hurt, agony and dread, bullets

in the chest makes constant my blood that is shed,

as the body’s actions wind down, I whimper; No more

running for me, as i sink to the ground.

Street is wet from a newly fallen rain; the sweet taste

of the street is like nectar to my brain. Running down

the seconds like a childs wind up toy; my life ebbs from

my chest as water down the drain. Death is a friend so

close, and now there is simply no fear; for the end of my

life as it draws steadily near.

Running from the pain gave me no sweet relief;

anger, then hope, sorrow, finally; just total release.

So i fled for my life which was already taken. Running

was wise; for her it is why i died, so her kisses not tasted;

perhaps in another life might be mine.



I turned to the bar and you were there,
waiting patiently for your order to be
filled. I gathered my senses my heart
was light as a feather seeing you gave
me a thrill.

I wondered have you returned to walk
your path as it was destined for you.

Would it be crass, froward or rude if
I walked up and spoke to you two.

Would I upset your plans or the image
you wanted to set, if minutes I stole
were a few; might those who love,
protect, and provide for you understand
the depth of this view.

Why was I not there to please you that
night and show you the respect you were
due, perhaps to share numbers and explore
natures endless wonders, we might not be
judged harshly – say true.

You are here now at least your image is
here, beautiful, serene with poise.

walking with grace and dignity of place
your reality was fully enjoyed.

I wonder now where did you go, are our
futures slated to pass, or did fate
steal you away selfishly, once more,
and into anothers grasp.