Imagine the manners and willingness to fight for a cause of Julia Sugarbaker, the candor and "in control" personality of Dorothy Zbornak, and the ability to get into the thick of things of Murphy Brown, and you will have a fair idea of my "Southern Charm." I do not "do" accents, nor helplessness. I write and have done so almost since I can remember. It is what I love to do. Though I spent over 35 years in the classroom as a teacher of young people, I still have a sense of humor. You can't scare me, I teach middle school in the city.
Green, globes, green, penguins, green, nature, waterfalls, my grandsons and granddaughter, green, sand clowns, and anything green. (I never thought I would find someone else who loves green as much as I do again, but I have.)
I like Bob Dylan, Neal Young, Bob Marley, Bob Segar, Enya, and old rock. I listen to new rock sometimes when I have time.
I read everything and enjoy most of it. I like to read thrillers and mysteries for fun. I enjoy writing! Maybe that particular person who is graduating in May from Furman U. And, my new house that I just purchased.
I held you in my heart.
Your eyes, your voice, your name I didn't even know,
But I knew you even then.
As you grew your own self to be who you are,
I held you in my love--
Guided your steps, sang your favorite songs,
Gave you popsicles for "broken lips;"
Watched you pull and kick against eveything.
Let you go, then held you dear,
Soothed your feelings, helped slay your dragons.
Sat up waiting for your key in the door.
Your music rushing into every shadow,
Telling the darkness, "be gone!
Only happiness can live in my house."
Now as I know you are far away;
I wait for your time to come around,
Your foot on the stair, key in the door,
Loud laughter, large appetite
Consuming vast quanities of food, air, and all my space:
Just as I knew you'd be.
From the places deep in my heart,
You spill out, never contained,
Never anyone but yourself.
Always who you were,
Even before I knew you.
I held you in my heart then,
And always will keep you there,
My son.
We'll meet again.
Where the sun shines--gentle and warm,
We'll cross paths again.
Where the trees grow old--tall and true,
We'll be face to face again.
I can see your smile--open and free.
We'll touch hands once more,
And we will know the truth.
Through the ages, time discounted--
Generations, past and future,
Discarded and meshed lives,
We'll meet by chance and touch hands as strangers,
And know we have met before.
From now until time is no more--
We will always know each other,
My child.
The kind you can hear on tv.
The sort that you can listen to-
On radio or even CD.
But the best rock ever sung,
The best you will ever hear,
Is the tune a loving mother sings
To soothe her tiny one's tears.
A lullaby gently crooned
Accompanied by an old chair's creak,
A warm, sweet little one's head,
Pressed to a mother's cheek.
Beautiful rock music.
Days of sliding down spirals of crystal frost,
Punching holes in tissue-paper, blue skies
With pointed stars of gold and silver foil.
Days of ragged, crooked butterflies
Sporting dots of construction paper confetti,
Torn and tossed in profusion never seen by nature.
Days filled with mittens and kittens and chalkdust sneezes,
Squeaky shoes and warm, soft mufflers, whisper in confusion.
Castles growing from secluded mountain tops
Roll fog then wisp curls around tall, thin turrets.
Girls with long, golden hair are rescued from dragons,
Then whisked away to palaces full of happy thoughts and endings.
Those days still wait to be unraveled,
They gently call me back to the beginning
HIGHLIGHT AND GO TO THIS PAGE.
http://www.oocities.org/cyncity88/great_outdoors2.html
Click on this box.
http://www.oocities.org/cyncity88/great_outdoors3.html
With your button-brown eyes all aglow
Marveling at yourself and looking more than sweet,
The mischief already beginning to show.
Curly-topped fellow with smiles all around,
You dip and start across the room again.
You, so proud of yourself and think you can clown.
You fall, get up without whimper or sound,
And start all over again.
The labels you stuck on me hurt my skin.
I've tried to twist and turn, but the twine you used is strong.
The messages on the labels seem to be all wrong.
These blinders you put on to make my vision straight,
Only allow me to see a future that can't wait.
Oh, Love, don't you know?
It is yourself you hurt most of all?
My life will soon break out of this box,
Then expand and grow,
While your life will narrow,
And finally close.
It's narrow in this box you stuffed me in,
But I can easily break out again.
Your labels can be torn and moved.
That poison tattoo on your heart will never come loose.
