My Mother Raised a Lover

My mother raised a lover
Who my daddy taught how to fight;
You must have compassion for one another,
But, stand up for what is right.

Always confront the bullies,
No matter be their size,
Block their paths to friends and neighbors,
And look them straight into the eyes.

You should love indiscriminately,
Even love the bully, if you can;
To show your love definitively,
Help them to be a better man.

Even when they yield great power,
Don’t be overcome by their hate;
Trust your instincts as a lover,
Better today than a bit too late.

A bully is a bully,
No matter how popular they become;
But, for a lover to become a lover,
You must have love for everyone.



When our soldiers come home after fighting in a foreign war,
Sometimes they are no longer, the young people they were before;
The traumas they experienced can naturally lead to stress,
But to call it a disorder just adds more confusion to the mess.
They need our understanding to help give their lives some new meaning,
So to all of our soldiers coming home we must give Permission To Start Dreaming

Post-Traumatic Stress should not be stigmatized;
These men and women are heroes in all of our grateful eyes;
We shouldn’t label them disordered with a diagnosis sounding somewhat demeaning,
Instead they should get from us, Permission To Start Dreaming.

We should welcome returning soldiers with smiles and opened arms,
Provide patience and understanding without overreacting with alarm;
Be there when they need us; provide a shoulder for their leaning,
Let them stand at ease and grant them Permission To Start Dreaming.

You have
Make them big and make them proud
You have
Shout your hopes and shout them loud
With every dream that you dream, let us help you reach your goal,
If we all dream together we all achieve a healthy soul.

That Damn, Windy November Day

Gertie galloped for one last round,
Before breaking up and crashing into the Sound;
I was left stranded on the Tacoma side,
While somewhere in Gig Harbor, my lover had cried.

Our worlds were connected on the 1st of July,
By that bridge which would swagger and sway;
I met her at the Dance Hall down in the Harbor;
Drove across to see her almost every day.

The winds of that Autumn were awful severe;
The bridge would close down for a while;
I would wait in my truck until Gertie grew calmer,
But she certainly was cramping my style.

On November 7th she did more than just shake,
As she twisted like a fragile tree limb;
The galloping was too much as she started to break,
I was tempted to jump in and swim.

Phone calls were not enough to keep us together,
The ferries were too far away;
The narrows remained bridgeless due to the weather,
Until after her wedding day.

Galloping Gertie is to blame for my sorrows,
And the reason I am still a bachelor today;
I saw my future crumble into the Narrows,
On that damn, windy November day.

Count on Me as Your Friend

When I was down and out with the flu,
You brought me chicken soup;
When I was left off of the distribution list,
You kept me in the loop;
When I was drowning in a sea of despair,
You threw me a safety rope;
After I had already pulled out all of my hair,
You gave me reasons, still to hope;

When everyone else had unfriended me,
You still “liked” and “shared” my posts;
If it wasn’t for your acknowledgements,
I might have thought I was a ghost.
Even though you finished the marathon out in front,
You waited for me bringing up the end;
After I had been totally left abandoned,
I could still count on you as a friend.

If ever you are down and out,
I will bring you chicken soup;
If you ever get disconnected,
I will keep you in the loop;
If you ever need to stop and rest,
I will wait for you in the end;
If ever you feel abandoned,
You can still count on me as your friend.

St. Leonard’s Pond

We took the little hike through the woods
To reach St. Leonard’s pond;
She said she wanted to swim in it,
Without any of our clothes on.

The only naked girls I ever knew
Were in a forbidden magazine,
My parts which made me different from them,
Had never, by a girl, been seen.

But there was just no stopping her,
As she quickly got undressed;
When I eventually achieved the same,
She could easily see I was impressed.

She smiled at her effect on me,
Then ran towards the water;
I waddled due to my infliction,
Until I finally caught her.

We swam and floated next to each other;
Our bodies, sometimes touching;
The sparks ignited inside of me,
I could compare to nothing.

We did much more than swim that day,
As the sun crossed the summer sky;
I never found again in life,
Something to make me feel as high.

St. Leonard’s is now a Nursing Home,
I don’t know if the pond remains;
But, a skinny-dip in any other lake,
I’m sure, would still make me feel the same.

The Continuum of Time

I had a dream late last night,
But I’m not sure that it was mine;
In it, I was a different person,
Living in another time.

Everyone was talking in a foreign tongue,
One, before, I had never heard;
I also talked in that same language,
As if I understood every word.

I was being led up to a Guillotine,
For some deed that I had done;
I caught the eye of a young man in the crowd,
I somehow knew to be my son.

I wouldn’t confess that I was guilty,
Of the crime I was being sentenced for;
Instead I rose to my feet and shouted,
“You can kill me, but there are still so many more.”

A commotion started in the crowd,
Where last I had seen my son,
Men with swords appeared on the platform,
Instructing me to run.

My hands and feet were shackled,
I could only manage tiny steps;
A horse appeared before
And on its back I lept.

The horse galloped me to safety,
Stopping at a clearing in the wood;
It was the camp of my fellow rebels,
Where taking command, my son now stood.

My shackles were removed,
By a blacksmith with his tools,
While we celebrated my daring escape
From the tyrant and his fools.

The cavaliers who had rescued me,
Gradually all returned,
Reporting that the platform and its Guillotine
Had, to the ground, been burned.

I drank whatever they were drinking,
In no time I was inebriated,
I woke up in the present time,
Being myself again, I hated.

I’m not sure whose dream that was,
And why last night it was mine;
Maybe dreams get dreamt again
Over the continuum of time.

War, No More

I would fight in the war to end all other wars,
If there was a guarantee never to be any more;
But, man has a need to feed his insatiable greed;
That is what all this warring has been for.

In every war we have been in,
We sacrifice our children,
While the mongers hide safely behind governments back home;
If the people who fought ‘em
Were the same morons who start ‘em
You and I could live peacefully left on our own.

It is not too late,
To put an end to all this hate,
If the propaganda and rhetoric went unheeded;
We just might find,
That to save humankind,
Love and understanding is all we ever needed.

We can put an end,
To all this fighting my friend,
If each other we simply treated with respect;
There would be no more,
Need or use for a war,
If tyranny’s rule we all would reject.