The day was promising, searching for a friend,
he needed some time with none to spend,
his absence was noted for quite some time,
his presence unseen, was it a sign?
He was shy and elusive, but kind,
a transient mover, hard to find.
Many had tried without success,
if they did, it ended a mess.
He used to be the talk of the town,
and now no where to be found.
You could ask him to share his abilities,
people still talk of his fine qualities.
He looked for him in church, in each and every pew,

If,
you’re always sorry
When,
you think back
And,
you only worry
When,
you think ahead
Then,
you will only find
Your,
peace of mind
After,
you are dead
WIZDUMBs by JA 414

When In Loneliness Think of Me

In the loneliness
solitude of time,
just think of me,
a friend of thine

Upon my shoulders,
lay your head and weep,
if you wish to instead
and
when your tears flow dry,
you will then know
how loneliness too does fly
and
A smile shall come upon your face
as when a lonesome stranger,
like me the face you try to trace
in the mirrors of time
and
the shadows of life
whenever you are ever in strife,
think about me and my lonely life.

The room was empty.
The town
had quieted down.
As always
I was not sleeping
with my eyes closed
in the middle of the bed
much further
from the edge
than I ever wanted
I was rolling, tossing, turning...
stood up, lit a cigarette,
and looked
at your portrait again.
You've left,
gone, disappeared,
only the empty frame
was hanging open
and doors ajar.

I delve in thought this time of year
into childhood days so long ago.
Anticipation, will it never come?
Have I been good enough for Santa?

In my mind bright Christmas lights still glow
on a tree burdened by ornaments
( the tree obtained during a hunting trip)
silver tinsel hanging twinkly.

Presents piled wrapped gaudily,
some even labeled for me

Clear cold skies of cobalt blue
with bare trees shivering.
The only colors red of birds and berries
offset by evergreens.

After midnight (way beyond)
I listen
To the strong Ferntree song
It whistles (as snoring does)
Who Will Play?
(No one awake)
Trees are here
With me they chime
But all I want
Is you
(But I wait, awake)
Sleep dear
Sleep deep
Awake tomorrow and I'll
Be near

The Nutty Song
(To the tune of Stephen Foster’s Camptown Races)

Here we go gathering nuts today (chorus) hazel, hazel
We pick them up and we store them away (chorus) brown hazel nut
Then back to gathering nuts all day (chorus) hazel, hazel
Just gleaning in the ancient way (chorus) brown hazel nut

We take the nuts from here
And take the nuts from there
We crack them open, throw the shells away
Just eat them everywhere

Now t'is the season
For political lesion
Moral depletion

Always like kids we love to live
they are a golden streak in our lives
when wives are busy doing elsewhere
kids alone come to our rescue
they love uncles and aunts
mischievous ones like me and you

Soft flowers in a garden lawn
we all adore
we love to sing a song
they are our emeralds for life
till kids become a bit older
they bid us good bye
a tear comes in our eye

True at 18 all kids go away
now have different arenas
in which to engage and play
different livelier partners any way

Up north where the wild wolves dwell
he sat before the lit up screen
typing words that would impel
one to think beyond what's seen.

Whenever his writes were read
best you had your wits turned on
just to kin the things he said
when his imagery was drawn.

Unlike simple scribes like me
his writes had depth beyond the words
in a rare type of poetry
which sang as clearly as mute birds.