<Tom Watson's World>

Forum in memory of our dear friend, Tom. He will be sorely missed.

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Tom Watson
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<Tom Watson's World>

Post by Tom Watson » Wed Nov 19, 2003 9:29 pm

Archive for~ Tom Watson


A collection of the works of Tom Watson, Family and Friends.

(With special thanks to Negatvone for his invaluable assistance)

General Poetry
Serpent
Aging
Sleeping Sickness
Light
Law And Rule
Heros
Mars- His Other Creation?
Delete - The Poem
A Sun Day
Flights Of Fancy (By Miyu and Tom Watson)
Whisper To Me
To The Aged
A Time of Plenty
Emotion Of The Senses
Quiet Time
All You'll Ever Be
Trees

General Mature Poetry
Farmer's Tale
Summer's Wind
Who Are We?
Death
Futility
The Spawn Of Time
Flight of The Albatross
Fear
Fog of the Damned
I Have Work To Do
Terror

[anchor] #s">Spiritual Poetry
Do You Have The Time
Was It You?
I Thought To Stop
Apple Seeds
On The Bank
Path To Darkness
Yesterday
Promise Keeper
You Breathed On Me
Kiss
Faith
I Never Said...
A GIFT OF LOVE
The Path
Loneliness
THE STONE WAS MOVED
Testimony to a Friend
UPON UNCHARTED WATERS
Phases
Answer
A NONET FOR GOD
Mother! Oh Mother
Angel Wings
Understanding You
His Loving Purpose
Faith

Romance & Love Poetry
Emotion
The Tear
Lost and Found
I Thought of Her Today
You Have Mail
Distant Chance
Dessert
His Doll and Our Lament
Love Chat (Collaboration)
Connection
Forgive Me, Please
Two Years
Move On?
Please?!
Whispers
Happy Birthday Kid
My Living Dream
The Return Home
Curtians Of The Window, Pain

Dark Poetry
Tell Me The Truth
View From The Coffin
The Nobel One
My Pain
Quiet
Will It End
Law and Rule
Day - Tripping Highway 5
Gutter Crawling
Is There?
Whispers
When Peace Is Done
Anger

Haiku - Tanka - Renga - Senryu, etc.
Last Drop
4U
Please
Awakening
Rivulets
Storm Of All Storms
The Season Of Tom And Moonflower

Tribute Poetry
The Writings Of Sarah Jane Watson
The Final Word (S.J.W.)
A Tribute To Faith/The Value Of Questioning
HERO 1 - Sailor
HERO 2- Maria
HERO 3- Officer Mallory
HERO 4- Soldiers
Timothy and the Shepard-Type Dog
IN THE SHADOW OF THE RAYVEN

Challenge Entries
First Dance
My Ticket To A Mid-Summer Night's Dream
An April, Long Ago
Ch..Ch-Ch-Chalenge:Myopic Stalker

Stories and Prose[/goto]
Another Day
Sight and It's Attached Influences
The Crossing
GOT A LIGHT?
Parable of the Swimmer and the Desert Man

Page 2 Table Of Contents
Last edited by Tom Watson on Fri Apr 15, 2005 10:36 pm, edited 17 times in total.

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Tom Watson
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Tippie and Me (retitled and added to)

Post by Tom Watson » Thu Dec 25, 2003 4:52 pm

Tippie and Me (retitled and added to)

Hey Tippie, come here.
That's a girl. I'd like you near
so I can reach and scratch an ear
while wiping away a stray tear.

You're a dog, so you won't understand
probably; but then, as the best friend of man
I can see, as I pet you, gentle as I can,
you are sensing my emotions getting out hand.

You know this is our first Christmas for two?
That's right. Just me and you.
Actually, your first Christmas with us, wasn't much ado.
With "momma" sick there was no tree, decorations were few.

Well, she is gone now, and so still is the tree.
But packages we had for both you and me
from family on the other side of the country.
I missed the sparkle in her eyes when getting the jewelry.

Because the joy of the giving is seeing the receiver's eyes;
The glee within when getting a special surprise.
A little girl's happiness with her chatty bears can't be disguised,
or the boy's knowing he'll beat the new video game if he tries.

Well, anyway those are places in time and space far away,
And I've rambled on, letting my mind stray
too long, for I see you know its that time of day;
So let me get my jacket, your leash, and we'll go play.

Where would you like to go?
Sorry, we are in the bay area, no snow.
Oh, that was your distant cousin of long ago
When things seemed to move so nicely slow.

When we lived in our first snow cave home,
Where he could turn around at the door he exited from,
run to the roof and back; marking where he had gone.
He was our glue, and momma was never left alone.

So, my girl, how about a walk to that parking lot.
The one where you loved to run free; wait, that's not
You, silly me. That was your namesake, the girl we got
As a puppy from the shelter, she touched us deep in our hearts.

We would take her to the old parade grounds;
The parking lot now, and let her run around
On leash, pulling me along, trying not to fall down.
She rests with momma now, where she wanted her found.

You know girl, why not just walk where
Our six feet take us, and I know we'll soon be there;
At that special place which we will always share,
In reminences of love and fun, with them, in the air.
Last edited by Tom Watson on Sun Dec 28, 2003 10:04 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Tom Watson
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 31, 2004 5:56 am

General

Serpent

For most things you will find differing opinions, even the journey
to above the Isles of Marin.


Serpent 1

Fleeing from humanity's
Reach, the snake
Of black and gold
Winds itself briskly
Through forest and stone,
Above smoke and cloud
Into golden sunrise
And fresh mountain air.
Riding on gold striped back
With belly secure
Upon its path,
Searchers for Eden lost
Climb in their quest.


Serpent 2

The great serpent
of black-top hide,
From out of humanity's
Haven, crawls
In deadly silence,
Coiling about the
Wooded earth
Yellow striped back,
Flattened by searchers
For Eden's glen,
And deep belly, grinding
Its rippling muscles
Into rock and clay.
Wind tumbled stones
lay, discarded by
Rain softened soil,
On its fog shrouded back,
Like rotten apples waiting
To send Eden searchers
Tumbling from life to hell.
*************************
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________________________________________________________

Aging

Something short for a change of pace :wink:

If you’re feeling very distraught or sad
Because suddenly you noticed you are not a young lad;
If you should happen to see that you’re agin’
And that you are no longer a young maiden,
Then take this to mind as the years pass along,
Old age is only a sign
That you didn’t die young.


Dr. Watson
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Sleeping Sickness

A soft warm breeze
Blowing through the trees;
The hushed hum of bees;
Encourage a disease.

The lazy buzz of a fly;
Floating clouds across the sky;
Nature's splendor before my eye...
I feel that I will die.

The sweetness of an angel's song;
Stars in heaven eternally hung;
Pureness of air from a heavenly lung...
I know I'm not wrong.

There is a peaceful sleep
When all is hushed;
When ashes return to ashes
And dust settles on dust...


Dr. Watson
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Light

It hangs there
in the air
touch it? wouldn't dare
the room it lights is bare
left on, but no one cared.
no shade, just left bare
with a tired glare
and no shadow anywhere.
a walker-by may stare
thinking its not fair
if seen; that its not shared

Hanging from the ceiling
of my heart, a light of feeling
burns intensely hot
trying to make visible that which is not
residing in that room
only empty floors and four walls loom
where once the light iluminated a face
making my pulse beat with an unusual pace.

Where is the cord
to pull; i can't afford
to have this empty light slice me as a sword
pushing apart tendrils of words
and prayers that are always heard
by the heart of our Lord.
echoing where emptiness unfurled
its banner, proclaiming "Lonliness: do not disturb".
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Law And Rule

Okay, here I come once more
Trying to bring peace to my war
Trying to make it understood
That all of this self-pity is just no good.

We had a long day,
The five in the play,
My eyes still burn from all of the words..
From all of the words, and words not heard.

The Duchess has already shown nobility
In gracious acceptance, with the ability
To contain the eyes that also burn,
Waiting for the wheel to make another turn.

The best defense is a good offense,
Which draws an offensive defense.
Playing that devil's eternal game.
Coached by the devil who is really the blame.

Angry words do not come from the mind
Though there some you may find.
Anger grows its words from the seeds of emotion
Freshly sown to cause great commotion.

His Barbie is still His, under attack
By satan's occasional knives in the back
Apologies offered hang in the air
Begging for forgiveness not to leave it there.

Only God can judge breakers of His law
And such breakage is all of our fault, our flaw
And only His rule should finally come through,
Do unto others as you would have them do to you.
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________________________________________________________

HEROS

Winner of the Community Favorite Award: March 21, 2004
Image


In a house down the street a father lifts his baby daughter,
while his young son stands on his feet.
The phone had rung a few hours before
He was on duty, and has to join the fleet.

Across town a fire alarm sounds fire in a retirement home.
Mom jumps into her clothes at ready for her duty to answer;
To respond to calls for the volunteer team, woken from
Sleep, leaving baby with friend, she heads to one more fire.

On the other side of the country, a gun has been fired;
An officer, mother of three, drives where duty says to respond
Lights flashing, sirens blaring, a quiet prayer repeatedly said
She speeds through city lights to where her future is to be found

Across the sea, on a desert stretch of land, a soldier waits,
A teen of eighteen, he volunteered, for it was his duty, he saw,
To protect country, mother and sister, who in a shelter fearfully sit;
While incoming rounds pound the ground where fear is raw.

Heroes don’t wear spandex tights
Fly through the air at the speed of light.
Heroes don’t brandish claws from their hands;
Don’t climb buildings, catch bad guys in web rubber bands.
Heroes work to give their family a life;
To earn enough for them to survive.
Heroes dedicate their time to make us safe
Offer their lives when others misbehave.
Heroes run into buildings, towers about to fall;
Hoping to save at least one, willing to give their all.

A mother, a daughter, a young son, dressed in black
Stand straight and proud as the bugle plays
A young widow now, holds folded flag with tears of pride
Bending to whisper to her son “Your dad was a hero when he died”

The scorched fire coat hangs in the open locker door
Placed on the fire truck as the honor guard gathers.
Mother and grandchild watch the hundreds come forward
To honor a daughter, mother, a hero who felt others mattered.

The bagpipes mournful sounds echoed about the trees
With the slow, dum-ta-dum of drums shaking the leaves,
Officer Sharon Mallory, a hero, badge number 2133,
Who pledged to serve and protect; laid to rest with her beliefs.

On the flight line, a lone C-10 rests, doors opened wide,
Where the honor guard waits, at attention , for what is within;
Flag draped, ten coffins held high, exit from their final ride;
Returning home as heroes, to family, friends, proud Americans.

Heroes hug their babies; cherish their children where they stand;
Heroes provide their time freely, where there’s a need in the land;
Heroes stand against evil, to serve and protect us with their lives;
Heroes rise to the call of country needs, not certain they will survive;
Heroes rush in to answer terror with bravery and life;
Heroes are someone’s, son, daughter, father, mother, or wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is to honor, with gratitude, all of our heroes: firefighters, soldiers,
sailors, police and also parents who love their children and children who
honor their parents for the efforts they make and the love they give.


************************************************
Admin note:
Nominated for a Tribute Award 3/18/2004
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<a name="#g007">Mars-His Other Creation?</a>

From afar we see through telescopic eye,
Mars, our red orbed neighbor in the sky;
Red rock, winds and sandy rubble;
Nothing revealed even in the scopes of Hubble.

Now we journey with pet Rover,
In hopes our fascination will be over;
In hopes when we touch your mysterious features,
Our nightmares may no longer include Martian Creatures.

But what of the eons long ago passed;
While Earth was coming from creations gas?
Were you so alone and appearing desolate
Or were you immaculately, verdantly wet?

Evidence, proof one way or the other
Must be seen, touched, examined, discovered;
So Rover is there, to sniff, and dig and carefully view
Those red rocks, and sands; look below for what's new.

Closer eyes have seen channels and tubular designs,
Suspiciously not of a resemblance of any natural find;
Evidence not felt but pictured and examined expertly;
Having been obtained with great difficulty.

So now are we finally going to reach
And touch a reddened and dead beach,
And possibly get to finally caress that face,
And suddenly awaken to God's other created race?


Tom
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<a name="#g008">Delete- The Poem</a>

(within this word, lay all the pain, disappointment, lonliness and loss of expression
erased....poetry lives in the picture drawn not in detail but in a form to pull
imagination out and give it life....be it a thousand word epic or a single word
of significance to the reader, for it is not what you see, but what you feel in
response.)


"Delete"

this presents the loss of a heart's cries,
validation of stated lies
hiding emotions, too long hidden
shaming the voicing of ideas forbidden.

protecting innocence attacked
removing cruel words without tact
glorifying unrestricted censors
mollifying the social registers.

"Delete"
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<a name="#g009">A Sun Day</a>

The sun crawls from dawns early mists
Gently soothing an evening’s misplaced fears
And early heat turns the air in ethereal twists

The poppy, releases from its night fear fist
In relief, to let loose joyful dew tears
Welcoming an early moth’s thirst

Wisps of fog hide Sun and Moon, in their brief tryst
As, unembarrassed, the Sun strikes a fawn and doe deer
In a moment of safe feeding, aware of the still dark forest.

In this twilight of a young mornings bliss
Any footstep is easily heard, far or near
So the slow breath release brings a certain miss

The blast slams into the dawn like a fist;
Echoes after the Moon and night without care;
Yet the Sun continues its journey, unimpressed.

Moving on, above the mountain and its steaming snow crest
Preparing the world with its heating air,
For the evening to take it away in a chilly nights rest
After the Sun bids the Moon adieu, with a gently blown kiss.


Tom
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<a name="#g010">Fights of Fancy By Miyu and Tom</a>

<pre>I think the Sun brings tears in its glare,
and the tree shade shows no tears
here.
The trees are lean, mean, and green.
Sheltering the squirrels from the Caribbean.
Yet, in their mean greenness,
they nurture families of birds nesting,
And young ones learning to fly;
Spreading their wings towards the sky,
seeking the joy and exhilarating thrill;
riding thermals like rising and falling hills.
Like Planes taking flight
Over the hills and into the height.
Planes of beauty and colorful plumes,
moving among clouds in nature's rooms.
And changing hues from blue to gray;
An ending of spring in our former May,
to merge into bright summer mornings,
the best time for their voices to sing
Sweet songs of the Southern Hymn
And the shiny metal on birds cage's rim;
an empty prison to freedom's song of joy,
while playing the tree as a toy.
And cages now are empty and birds are free,
Dancing along with the wind and trees.
soon, too soon, the Sun leaves the sky,
and the sweet song becomes a quiet sigh.
Then the sigh became a whisper of joy.
The sun began to set like the rapping of a coil
and the Moon rises, not knowing what it missed
as the tree shelters those former sun kissed
Fireflies dance across the moonlight
And lit up the sky even in night
sparks of light flit about to celebrate
sister Moon's arrival for their ancient date
Rejoining together in perfect harmony
And expressing their happiness in this creativity

this was an exercise in freeing writer's block</pre>
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<a name="#g011">Whisper To Me</a>

Whisper to me..
Call me to your distant shore;
Speak softly of where I need to be
Pull my soul to where it was once before……


On the side of the road I watch
Your messenger slowly retreat
From its nightly incursion to this spot
Where your power stretches to reach.

I hear your call and drive away to follow
Out of town, passing mist covered lake;
Where morning mist hovers in the valley hollow,
And peace is given for mated swans to partake

Whisper to me
With your salted scent
Invade my mind, gently
Wrap me with your beauty’s hint……


Passing more picnic grounds where
Only a deer and fawn graze peacefully
Their own picnic on dewy grass, unaware
Of the power and beauty that awaits me.

While the messenger fog backs away still
I wind around hills and valleys, velvet brown
Tendrils of grey beckoning with secrets to tell
Till on my final climb I view the surrendered ground...

Whisper to me now
In your softly muted roar
Of power and beauty endowed
And crashing crescendo of your shore....


Might blue and green white foam flecks
Stretch mightily to the fading grey sky
Then fall forward upon the long sandy neck
Caressing it gently, molding it as time goes by.

To see such power and gentleness in turn
I marvel as the whispering surrounds my soul,
Entwining me in magic, making my heart forever to yearn
For sights, sounds and wind blown spray, on this sandy knoll.

<center>~~~</center>

As promised,
Tom

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<a name="#g012">To The Aged</a>

Before an eternity passes
and a lonely heart greys
and hardens, then crumbles to ashes -
Before the sun burns out
and night is found between dark days
and anger is the deadened echo of a shout,
Look into your dimmed mind for
the sound of young laughter, lost
in the creaking of times' swinging door -
Then look ahead to spring new-born,
that follows winter's frost,
and the new bud of life it brings.
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<a name=g013">A Time Of Plenty</a>

(circa Jan 1963, I had dreams even then :wink: )


In a time of plenty,
When I will be twenty,
I dream of a friend,
a faith and an end
to a false front
of wisdom and lack of want.

The friend is my support,
my guide, my cohort
in Wild, adventurous affairs.

The faith is a courage,
A fearlessness of my death age,
A strength I turn to in need.

My wisdom is real; a seed
of knowledge unending
that helps my understanding
of my wants, my desires,
my fear of criticisms' hot fires.


Still not having reached "twenty",
Dr. Watson :cry:
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<a name="g014">Emotion of The Senses </a>

Sound, movement and light...
Heat mingled with a twi-night
Of agonizing pain, and delicate
Fingers of ecstacy. The cud
Of cold hearts between green teeth
Of jealousy, grinding out
Screams of glee and joy,..then drowned
In wet tears, falling with
Rhythmic
Sound....

Dr. Watson
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<a name="g0015">Quiet Time</a>

In a time of quiet
When the peace is done
And all enemies are met
And all friends are none
We sleep the sleep of dreamers
We dream the dreams of screamers
We scream the screams of liars
We lie the lies of criers.
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<a name="#g016">All You'll Ever Be</a>

Where would you be,
But for me?
Would time become for you
As the surf of a limpid sea?
You never understood life's meaning
Anyway. Though it leaves even my mind
Spinning.
But that is neither here nor there,
For you only need to know one thing
Behind your glassy eyed stare.
Me is all you'll ever be
As long as that mirror is hanging here.
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<a name="#g017">Trees

Winds push between branches of turbulence,
Bringing within each the challenge
To move without resistance; to vacillate
And sway; to endure the injustice;
To withstand the painful break that, perchance,
Might cause torn leaves to whistle in lamentation.

A scene repeated through centuries of lamentations,
Where the nature of the wind brought turbulence,
Raising the constant life challenge
Between sprig and tree; the ability to vacillate
From standing between gusts, to fighting their injustice;
To bending forever to the constant force, perchance.

From tiny roots clinging to pebble and sand, perchance
With enough strength to avoid the lamentation
Of broken branch, shattered dreams from turbulence,
Surviving long enough in nature’s forceful challenges,
To learn the give and take power of vacillating
From giving in, to standing upright to the storm of injustice.

Stripped even of clothing of green in nature’s injustice,
It stands, even with more strength, perchance,
Because no weakness clings to mighty arms with cries of lamentation,
And all of the power of mighty root against swirling turbulence
Is available to withstand the furious challenges
Offered by a wind, forever lost in a purpose of storm and breeze; vacillating.

Thus are trees upon the earth, of a nature to be vacillating,
Yet of a strength within to stand against any storm’s injustice;
Year upon year, stretching from willowy sprig, to, perchance,
To one day dress in eternal greenery of singers of lamentations
Stretching, beyond the pebbles and stones lithely swaying to turbulences,
To grow closer to the feeding Sun, beyond all challenges.

Ever green, ever brown, ever grayed by life’s challenges;
Whistling leaves, red and yellow, green and torn dry; vacillating
Between the bending, to urges in time to freeze…bent to life’s injustice…
Over the years, leaving to the earth, returning then, perchance
To dance to the music of the rustling wind, again singing lamentations
In their fight to survive their mother’s strengthening turbulences…

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User avatar
Tom Watson
Forever Silent Friend
Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Novato, CA USA
Contact:

Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 31, 2004 11:20 am

<center>General Mature Poetry</center>

<a name="#pg001">Farmer’s Tale</a>

This Poem was selected as a Community Favorite on Jan 13, 2004


In traveling down these country roads, I could write a book.
Rolling over these sway back hills, I could tell of a town
Where the seasons are painted in a field of pumpkins
Where progress is not known, at least not by hands on a watch
Progress is measured by field hours, the amount of picked potatoes.
And news comes from backyard fences, and gossip they sling.

I could write of a farmer in debt, plowing with arm in a sling,
Mothers up at dawn, before preparing meals, praying from the Book
Tell tales of teen girls, working, serving hash of meat and potatoes;
While dreaming their dreams of life and love outside the small town.
And mention young boys, putting up scarecrows for their eternal watch,
And Silly contests, to lighten the hearts, of who has the largest pumpkin.

While the children run in groups, searching for the Great Pumpkin,
Young men, strapping and strong, measuring how far they sling
Tree trunks, cleared from needed land, under government watch;
Private land, yet owned by government stipend in the debtors book.
Tales of poverty, families forced away from the growing ghost town
By seasons of drought and holidays celebrated by bread and potatoes.

Stories of misery, pain; of hope no larger than the eye of a potato;
Stories of family, love; faith and courage; carved in holiday pumpkins;
Stories of Nativity scenes and colored lights across a small country town;
Stories of worshipers, in a church where a ceiling cross was slung;
Stories of broken hearts; backs and lives, but always the held Book.
Stories of worn ruts; dust and diseased soil that can only be watched

A story, to be sure, of day to day things you may watch
On the news or read about while pealing your breakfast potato.
Seeing a dusty family, in a dusty pickup, when returning a library book.
You may have seen headlines, when picking up a Halloween pumpkin;
Maybe on the internet, a news item about a new found ghost town;
Or a sad report of murder / suicide in a barn by hanging from a noose sling.

Oh I could painfully write this story and you could live it in a book,
As I lived it amid pumpkins and potatoes, and sat in dust storms to watch
My parents slowly die, and then move into the newly found ghost town.
My head bent down, pulled by the dust cloth of a guilt bearing sling;
For I walked away as my father continued plowing up rock potatoes
And mother, ever tired eyes, with loving heart, made her pies of pumpkin.

You will see in my book, destiny return me to again watch,
As beyond the barn holding guilt fresh in molded potato bags slung
On rafters, tumbling weeds and dry pumpkin seeds blow through town.

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<a name="#pg002">Summer's Wind</a>

A summer's wind flows in and
Through a twilight's haze, which
Grew from the fertile green noon
Of a fresh spring shower,
Still-born out of the frosty nip of air
In the frigid winter morning's
Bare remains of Fall's late hours of rust
Colors, felled from a late summer wind's
gusts.
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<a name="#pg003"><Tom Watson's World>Who are We?</a>

Where has time gone
since the spots on the fawn
faded into a blood-stained brown
hide fallen in an early hunter's dawn?

What has our life become
since the rattle, between forefinger and thumb,
was replaced by steel triggers, dumb
to the anguished wails and tears to come?

Who are we now
since the furrows from the farmer's plow
have blown to dust and the boned cow
took her last steps with head bowed?

Where can we go
since the nobel path we took, so long ago,
has cracked and fallen into volcanic holes
or disappeared into a dying climate's snow?
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<a name="#pg004">Death

Death is silence, blackness;
An abyss, a hole filled with emptiness.
There is no sound, there is no movement.
There is only the void; a deep, black
Crater of nothing.

You enter it in pain and you ask for
Mercy, but the pain continues and
The oppressive darkness crushes and
Smothers your immortal soul!

You enter it in comfort and you're content.
For the blackness is like a blanket;
It warms, cushions, caresses your
Immortal soul.


( Well friends, there you have it - my very first attempt at poetry, circa 1961 ) <img border="0" alt="[SeeNoEvil]" title="" src="graemlins/seenoevil.gif" />

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<a name="#pg005">Futility</a>

I see a creature, very small.
Tied high on a mountain,
Afraid to fall.

Sitting very still
As if in a trance,
Thinking, “I should try
To free my hands.”

Around him different
People crowd,
Each appearing
Dressed in a grey shroud.

He hungers for love,
Not knowing its meaning.
He seeks to stand tall,
Always ending up leaning.

His dreams are real,
Proud and pure,
But his truth is hard
Cowardly and unsure.

And still the creature
Sits, not making a sound,
Wiggling and squirming
To get his hands and
Life unbound.

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<a name="#pg006">Spawn Of Time</a>

What grotesque creature
is this
That crawls through destiny’s
yellowing mists?

What is this stench
that follows
And waters eyes wherever
it goes?

It stops, groans, and
sadly sighs
As it sluggishly flicks
away the flies.

Often it turns, and looks
with despair
For a future that’s no
longer there.

In the shadowy mists
in a once brilliant mind
Memories come, then are
quickly left behind,

The way spring’s new leaves
were once
Scattered, dead, by fall’s
gusting breeze.

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<a name="#pg007">Flight of The Albatross</a>

Exit the sea’s red tide:
Without the rush
Only a sigh
In the silent hush
Of an albatross cry.

Exit the earth’s green lands;
Without the trill
Of thrush’s song,
When all is still
And the night is long.

In the stillness of battle lost
On the sand a wingless dove
In a puddle of dried blood
Twitching from now lost love;
Then stilled, soiled in mud.

Enter the blue-green tide;
From a pink horizon
Clinging to starless evening sky.
Soaring to a new red dawn,
A silent albatross flies.

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<a name="#pg008">Fear</a>

Fear is a disease. A plague,
Worse than a plague, for it can rob
You of your senses and send you
Running, or leave you huddled
In a corner, weeping.

It is a disease that can strike
In the day, during the night,
The sick, the healthy.
No one can escape it.
Everyone feels it, sometime in their life.

It’s felt mostly during the night
When there is no moon, and
The cold light of the stars presses upon you.
You’d be walking down the street
And hear a sound behind you.
You turn your head to see ---
Nothing. The streets are dead,
The sidewalks vacant.
You continue your walk,
But at a quicker pace.

You’re in its grip now, for
You’re hearing things
Where there is no sound,
You’re seeing things
Where there is no movement,
And your heart is racing
With the force of your
Fear!
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<a name="#pg009">Fog of the Damned</a>

It rolled upon them and pricked
their necks with fright.
Swirling, pulsing, covering them in
a black, darker that night.

With hearts pounding, they approached
a distant, mournful, tolling bell,
beckoning those wandering lost souls
into the deepening bowels of Hell.
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<a name="#pg010">I Have Work To Do</a>

Why don't you leave me alone?
Can't you see I have work to do?
I have to finish this poem.
It's going to be light and new.

So what if she is on her death bed?
Everyone's got to die sometime.
Now you'd better leave before I get mad!
I'm having trouble getting this to rhyme.

What do you mean I don't love her?
I've loved her all the years through.
Everyone should love his own mother.
Now go away! I've still got work to do.

This was one of my first poems during a time when "mother"
was not a term I was used to.


Dr. Watson
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<a name="#pg011">Terror</a>

He is sitting in a chair;
Television on, pen in hand,
shoes off, book in lap;
That's the setting for terror.

In the distance there's a rumble,
a tremble, a shake,
a tremor, a quake;
That's the beginning of terror.

It came fast and left as quick;
Roofs cracked, floors buckled,
windows broke, the rumble chuckled;
That's the body of terror.

He's sitting in a chair;
Television jumping, pen on the floor,
shoes off, heart's stopped pumping;
That's the ending of terror.

Dr. Watson
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User avatar
Tom Watson
Forever Silent Friend
Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Novato, CA USA
Contact:

Post by Tom Watson » Mon Aug 08, 2005 6:44 pm

<center>Spiritual</center>

<a name="#s001">Do You Have The Time</a>

Excuse me, but do you have the time
to hear my words? You see I'm
really in need right now for
a friendly ear in a moment quiet, or
I may just drop from everyone's sight
into a place darker than night.

Can you give me some time, now,
to speak of loneliness, loss, and how
desperate I am for your loving ear
and your promise made through your tears
and from the blood of the Lamb and You,
to forgive the sins I have done and will do?

Oh Lord, do you have the time, a moment
for me to speak of wasted time spent
away from your forgiving light?
Please take away my pain, lift me with your might
from this place I have for oh so long been.
I accept you as my savior, redeemer, my friend.

Dear Lord, I pray, do you have time again
to touch us once more and remove our sins?

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<a name="#s002">Was It You?</a>

A boy was on his bike
Riding home in the beginnings of night.
The boy was small for eight,
As was the bike, making a matching sight.
(Was it You?)

The trip crossed dirt fields, railroad tracks,
Passed houses as dark in front as in back.
Few porches had dim lights showing closed doors
And his uneasiness began to grow even more.
(Was it You?)

With only imagination to busy his young life
Nervousness pushed the pedals like a driving knife,
Up the hill and down, left and right,
Staying on the side with the most light.
(Was it You?)

And then -- it was there
After stopping for some air,
A light, as white and round as it could be,
It is true, for the boy was me.
(Was it You?)

I stared, confused, looking all around
For a flashlight giving a light impossibly round.
No beams and no blinding bulbs caught my eye
No rays shot down from the starlit sky.
(Was it You?)

When I moved, the brilliance followed
As if I and my bike were connected and hollowed
From the brightness of its white light.
And then, it was gone – leaving a normal night.
(Was it You?)

Through the years I told no one.
I kept it to myself and thought of it when alone.
Always I thought, based on all I could know,
My experience was caused by a UFO.
(Was it You?)

But, now, as I reflect upon my life
And the mercy you gave to my passing wife,
I realize how truly blessed I have been
Many times over, and over again.
(Was it You?)

I survived foster homes and missing parents,
Near alcoholism, and a general lack of good sense.
The light of your smile had guided my journey
As a light once followed a boy, a boy who was me.

IT WAS YOU!
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<a name="#s003">I Thought To Stop</a>

Winner of the Community Favorite Award: March 3, 2004
Image


Thought I would share this with those who may have missed it elsewhere. :wink:

I was driving by
And, hearing you were here,
And, when the Light caught my eye,
I thought to stop to bend your ear.

I was worried,
As I walked through the door,
For I heard that you had died
And I saw that blood on the floor.

The rumors are true,
Then, the damage to feet and hands,
And where the spear went through,
And the blood from the thorned headband.

Those cruel men
Dragging you down the street,
Waiting to grab your clothes even
After nailing your hands and feet.

Those blinded men,
Full of fear and fury, spitting
And cursing and flaunting their sin
Until you sagged down, life quitting.

Yet, just before then,
Before your mortal life was through,
They heard “Father, forgive them,
For they know not what they do!”

It was on that day
A lamb was sacrificed,
And its blood washed away
Our sins, as, in anguish, He died.

Yet, I remove my shoes,
And still seek to bring my heart
And give the honor due
For the miracle was only at the start.

The word and the fact
Is that after three days entombed,
The burial stone was rolled back
And you had risen, life resumed.

For that reason,
I kneel in your sanctified house
Because, from death you had risen
Fulfilling a given promise.

It is You I kneel before
Acknowledging my sins, as I seek
Forgiveness, and in sincerity offer
You my heart, knowing what I need to speak.

“Forgive me Lord
As I turn away from my sins.
And accept You as my Savior
And my Lord, Jesus, the Son, Father and Holy Spirit.
Amen."



***************************************
Admin note:
Nominated for Community Favorite on 2/18/2004

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<a name="#s004">Apple Seeds.</a>

When we bit from the fruit
We plucked wisdom from the vine,
And the passion attached to it.
Too soon for God’s designs.

All misery and joy and countless pains
All passion, compassion, emphatic tears
All jealousy, hate, pride so vain
Shadow our souls for our remaining years.

His love gave us His glorious gift of laws
To show us how to lose this shadow on our soul
To use empathy and compassion before our flaws
To lead our brothers and sisters to God’s planned goal.

So, before we hate, we love and listen.
Before we give pain we take away sorrow.
Before we hold with vain pride we give what is missing.
Before we hold others in dark pasts, we offer bright tomorrows.

With compassion we wipe the falling tears.
With Empathy absorb their sadness in life.
With compassion we resolve others unresolved fears.
With empathy take away the causes of so much strife.

We don’t wait to be asked when need is there.
We don’t wait for the blood to run to the ground.
We don’t wait for the shaking caused by fear.
We don’t wait for the lost to be unfound.

We reach out from our greed and share.
We reach out from our blindness and tend the wounds.
We reach out from our darkness and bring the Light near.
We reach out from loneliness, and gather the lost to God’s bond.

Though the plan as it was originally made,
Is different now, and the path is very dim,
The Lamb’s blood has flowed where the fruit lay,
In compassion, offering the chance to be with Him.

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<a name="#s005">On The Bank(Song)</a>

Here is the long awaited :?: musical version of "On the Bank", without the music :darn:
I hope it matches that certain rhythm in your heart so that His music may flow,
as His river continues its flow, within you.
_______________________________________________

<pre> ON THE BANK
Lord, I am on the bank
of Your river listening
to its flow And reveling
in the glow of your love,
praying for the faith to know

(Chorus)
From the bank
It only takes a step
only takes a short stride
It only needs me to accept
only needs me to lose my pride

You stand by the boat
on the river’s top,
You reach to me with love
eternal
Beckoning me to come
and not stop
For my faith will hold me
above all

(Chorus)
From the bank
It only takes a step
only takes a short stride
It only needs me to accept
only needs me to lose my pride

The water flows
From heaven’s gates
Lit in the glory of
What awaits, in
The outstretched hand
Waiting to hold me
In a place where,
Alone, I cannot stand.

(Chorus-two times)
Only one step
Only one stride
Only accept
Only lose pride

Now away from
The shore of doubt
And At your side
I have taken that
One step
I have made that
One stride
To be standing, then kneeling
In your most holy light

(Chorus)
From the bank
I took one step
Took one stride
With love accepted
Surrendering my pride.
I took one step
Took one stride
With love accepted
Surrendering my pride.
With love accepted
Surrendering my pride.
</pre>

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<a name="#s006">The Path To Darkness</a>

A large part of the world thinks the way to heaven (nirvana) is by removing
"self", not knowing that all must go through the acceptance of Jesus as their
saviour and only guide.


Two steps
Four steps,
Six steps, a smile.
The clouded eyes
See the world
And see nothing
All the while.

Take the path to enlightenment
Cautiously. Walk slowly along
and do not watch it.
See it as you "see" the
air you breathe.
The path is natural, but
To seek it is not when
Thinking of seeking.
Eyes clouded by the
Pain of life,
by emotions of life,
can only see a
world created therein.

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<a name="#s007">Yesterday</a>

Yesterday I swore a lot.
and drank enough booze
to fill my graveyard plot.
Playing a game I was destined to lose.

Yesterday I didn't care
about what it cost
for the safety line there;
Paid by the death on that cross.

Yesterday I lost my life
And everything that made it right.
They took away my dead wife;
And brought with them a glow from the Light.

Last night, I again lost my life,
but was reborn at a small price.
I gave up my sins that caused such strife
and grabbed the safety line that is our Lord Jesus Christ.

Yesterday is gone; lines in a book.
It cannot be changed or erased,
but is without the sins, which my Lord took
before yesterday ended, when in his blood, I was blessed.


Tom
With gratitude and praise to Him above, Father of all love.

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<a name="#s008">Promise Keeper</a>

<pre>I made a promise today
As I knelt down to pray.
I told my Lord, with all love in my heart,
That changes are being made, today I start.

No more harshness
No more cruel words
No more hatefulness.
My soul is now my Lord’s.

I made a promise today
As the Spirit entered me.
I will honor and respect my wife
As she is, through God, of my life.

No more commands, demands.
No more shaming and absent nights.
No more violence, closed or open handed.
My soul is saved within His Light.

I made a promise today,
As Jesus became my Savior in all ways,
The good I do, in all type and manner,
Will be, for all of my days, to His honor.

Forever saved with the Blood of the Lamb
Forever working for my home in heaven
Forever giving praise for the place I am.
I rest in the Father and Son’s Holy Light. Amen</pre>

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<a name="#s009">You Breathed on Me</a>

<pre>I took a walk today.
And You breathed on me….

The path was rock strewn along the way.
I stepped around and over them true to my course
True to the path You set my way..

The path was golden lit; and I knew its source.
Along the sides, a garden green and fresh
As any known followed; a gift from its source.
You breathed on me….

The Sun rose warm and pleasant to the flesh
And I knew you touched me through my tears
And your song made chills crawl along my flesh.

Along the path I dropped my fears, my years,
My sinful ways; with no power over my life story,
All have fallen, left outside eternity’s years.

You breathed on me..
Full of power without force
You breathed on me..
While I praised you along the way.
You breathed on me..
Whispering forgiveness in my ears...
You breathed on me..
Giving me need and reason to pray.


At the path’s end, facing Your glory,
I fell to my knees, tears flowing free.
Finally set to forever give You all glory.

For today,
You breathed on me.
</pre>


Tom

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<a name="#s010">Kiss</a>

<pre>Winner: Spiritual Forum Award: June 5, 2005
Image



A Kiss to the seed,
A thorn bush made

A Kiss to the iron,
A piercing spear displayed

A Kiss to the hammer,
A cross built and laid

A Kiss to the kiln,
A trio of spikes to create

A Kiss to the cheek,
A Son of man betrayed……
=========

The Kiss placed the crown
Of thorns upon His head

The Kiss drove the spear
To pierce the side where the Lamb bled

The Kiss gave the burden
Of our sins to be carried

The Kiss showed the sinful heart,
For which our forgiveness He prayed
=====

The Kiss signaled resurrection;
New hope for the spiritually dead

The Kiss set a path to our Lord
Which through betrayal was laid.


Dr. Watson</pre>

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<a name="#s011">Faith</a>

What is this faith you bring?
Is it found in the songs you sing?
Is it found in the worship you offer?
Is it found in the love you treasure?

Where is this faith you hold
When the heart turns cold;
When life's fogs are not seen through;
When the spirit has left that brought you?

When is this faith held close?
When you know why He arose?
When you know why He died?
When you know its your tears He cried?

Faith isn't to barter for or borrow,
Isn't an umbrella to open to lifes showers;
Isn't a reward to Him for lifes thrills;
Isn't discarded when sorrow chills.

Faith is knowing in your heart
Faith is not questioning His part
Faith is without dependent conditions
Faith is holding Him in all situations.


Wats

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<a name="#s012">I Never Said….</a>

Down the road I travelled,
Seeking a purpose to live.
The road was well gravelled,
And I walked till I became stiff.
So I sat upon a rock
On the side of the road,
And began to have a talk
With my shadow, my Lord.
I confessed my weariness
And the lies I had told;
How I felt my life was a mess;
How my faith had turned cold.
I told Him of a love empty heart
And of dream empty nights.
I asked how another day can start
When I see no hope in sight.

The sky was mostly clear and blue
With whispy fingers of clouds
With traces of pink passing through,
And, a flock of swans passing, proud.
The breeze gently wiped my brow
Of perspiration and of pain,
Whispering through trees, saying how
to bend forward, back and straight again.
The sky echoed on the near lake,
Where floating in serenity and peace,
Prestine Mallards swam, led by the drake;
And there was sounds of honking of the proud Geese.
A multicolored butterfly landed
On my hands while closed in prayer;
Multieyes into my two then reminded
Me why that path is there.

"I never said it would be easy...
I only said it would be worth it..."
Was heard in my heart, made me see;
Made me remember what I too easily forget:
No greater is the pain I suffer;
No greater is the trial I could go through;
Than that which He readily offered;
And that gained by the blood they drew.
My burdens of life became light,
As His weight on the cross drug Him down.
My heart was lifted in His loving sight,
When in His tomb, He was not found.
I stood up refreshed by the Word
Of His rising and taking our sin and pain,
And I walked away, smiling at the voice I heard,
Knowing, I will kneel to His beauty once again.

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<a name="#s013">A GIFT OF LOVE</a>

A gift of love was given this day
Those thousands of years ago
Uncounted tears were to flow
For joy and pain as He showed the way.

The wrapping, oh, joyous it was;
In a manger He slept
A promise from God kept.
To redeem his lost children’s souls

A gift, cherished by angelic hosts;
With Noels of praise and love;
A brilliant star lit above
“Behold the Son of God!” Heaven boasts.

The wrapping removed, a container revealed;
A man, a God within;
Gentle, incapable of sin;
When baptized by John, the pact was sealed

The package unopened as design ordained;
The blind looked in His eyes;
The lame danced praise to the skies;
The word of God was taught and changed

Soon, as foretold, the package became torn;
Betrayed by a kiss;
Denied thrice as He would insist;
Placed on the cross for which He was born

In the final moments, package falling in pieces
“Forgive them Lord they know not what they do”
“It is over….I am through..”
The package was gathered, the dead man, Jesus.

Then, in three days, the true gift appears;
The son of man; God arisen
To remove through faith our sin;
He spoke a promise to take away our fears.

The gift given that long ago day is always there for us to take.
Simply admit to the sins you’ve done.
Accept Jesus and He will remove each one,
For the Lord so loved us He gave His son to die for our sake.

Have a blessed Christmas

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<a name="#s014">The Path</a>

This was written as a response to a meditation walk I took many years ago
when I was looking into the life of Siddartha, the Buddha




Two steps.
Four steps.
Six steps and a smile.
Clouded eyes see the world,
And see nothing all the while.

Take the path to enlightenment cautiously
Walk slowly, not watching it,
yet seeing it as you 'see'
The air you breathe.

The path is natural, therefore
To seek it as a thought out process
Is unnatural.
Eyes clouded by the pain of life
and by the emotions of life
Can only see a world created therein.
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<a name="#s015">Loneliness</a>

Loneliness travels with blinders on
Allowing only a one direction run
No looking to the left nor to the right
No looking to the rising Son nor the fading light.
Cherished by a world run by despair,
It fears the glance within, to the love that is there.

Loneliness cries out for its existence
Loneliness thrives upon no resistance
Loneliness is a caterpillar preferring death
Loneliness denies the butterfly's breath
Loneliness hides in the world, quick to quit,
Loneliness has no place near His awakened Spirit.

Loneliness is a bottom feeder, hiding from the day
Seeking the shadows of sorrow, fearing the Son's rays.
Not able to survive where His love is known
It nourishes upon doubt, upon places His seeds not sown.
Loneliness becomes a burden willingly borne by He,
Who offers Himself as our Savior, allowing us to be free.

Tom

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<a name="#s016"></a>THE STONE WAS MOVED</a>

And so the darkness passed
And He breathed His last;
With the Blood already drying;
Many hearts already crying.

The stone was moved!

And the dust of the temple
Fell at the feet of the disciples;
With cries of forgiveness still echoing
Throughout the creation of God, all knowing.

The stone was moved!

His body wrapped in linen;
Our spirits freshly freed of sin;
The flesh of our Lord in a rock cave;
His spirit ever ready to save.

The stone was moved!

A prophecy and a promise kept
That the stone moved, we accept;
For the Angel told Mary Magdalene, we have read.
“He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.”

He is risen!

And the stone was moved
And the Lord Almighty stood
And now, for all, the Holy spirit lives within,
And is ready, through Him, to remove our sin.

He is risen!

He had died and now is reborn
And lives to bring joy to the forlorn
Ready to free us of our worldly sin
Until that glorious day He returns again.


Tom
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<a name="#s017">Testimony to a Friend</a>

(I am posting this here in response to a PM I received, and with the thought that this
response may also answer some questions others may have but not asked. If a
moderator thinks it would be better elsewhere, I will gladly move it, :wink: )


How can one who has only just learned to swim
give lessons that will even keep a student afloat?
I can only speak from what I have found:
from my darkest moment came the brightest light my soul has felt.
What Christ did for us was to instill within our souls
a spark of His immense love; God’s love, for us.

Like a seed, it sat in me, waiting for some thought of Him
to bring it to life and allow the love He felt for me to grow within.
As I have grown to know Jesus, the warmth of His presence
within has spread through my soul, enabling faith to grow
and thus allowing Him to take my pain and replace it with hope
and knowledge of what He is giving in return.
It waits to do the same for every person on this world.

When Jesus said : “"I am the way and the truth and the life.
No one comes to the Father except through me.” John 14:5-7
He wasn't meaning that to be near Him you need a church
or a man in a robe with worldly authority;
all you have to have is acceptance that you need
Jesus in your life, and the willingness to tell Him as such:
“Lord, I know that you died on the cross for my sins
and rose again to take them away from me.
With all sincerity, I admit to my sins and give myself
to you and accept you as my Lord and Savior.”

Having said this, accepting that I could no longer fight the need
within my heart, I immediately felt a weight lift from my heart
and soul. An instinct of the Lord’s presence told me
that I was no longer alone, no matter what this world
of sin brought me. It was, as you say, like “a withered rose
that has felt moisture in a drought”, and, man, it felt good.

A church serves the purpose of feeling a part
of a family of people who have the same love,
in lesser or greater amounts, for Him, and serves as a beacon
for those who may be lost. The brightness of that beacon
depends on its dedication to the Word of God.

I feel like I could/should keep writing and writing to fully cover
what knowing the Lord has meant or can mean,
but I better stop before I overstay my welcome, if I haven’t already.

A person can sit and wait for the fruit of God’s love
to grow on its own, through time, leaving a lot of lost years, as I did,
or a person can nurture the seed with its
first stirring, through examining the Word,
and learning the meaning of what true faith is,
and the peace it brings.

Tom
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<a name="#s018">UPON UNCHARTED WATERS</a>

Upon uncharted waters you
Place us unto this world;
From birth to death, to go and do
As the current moves, or as guided by the word.

Uncharted waters carry
Us through life’s choices
Flowing with many a tributary,
Its roaring flow bringing beckoning voices.

We can choose to ride the tide,
Through turbulence and calm;
Suffering the uncertainty of the ride.
Or, we can reach for your outstretched palm.

For, while making this journey,
Whether through rapids or storm,
We need not hold close fear, or worry,
For Your word will be a calming balm,

And though uncharted waters
Is where you have placed us to be,
You have given Your Son as an offer
Of salvation and guidance, to a glorious destiny.


Tom
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<a name="#s019">Phases</a>

The Moon rises new in the star filled sky
holding a glow within, bringing it to the eye
of the searcher of the evening sky
It want's to be dark, but the glow holds the eye.

From the Moon, this Earth sits in darkness,
The Son, once having visited, is gone
From the worldly Earth no glow breaks the darkness
having been snuffed and removed in a time long gone.

The world holds no promise of a glow within
Encrusted as it is by the sins of men
It revels in pride and play, holding darkness within
The only hope laying in the Moon, a gift to men.

As does seemingly the Moon, we hold
A glow inside the depth of our being
When all is darkest, it still maintains hold
Waiting for the heart's acceptance of our reason for being.

From the newness of our dark lives, the light,
As we reach to His gift of love
Brings, as the Moon, a bright crescent of Light
And the warm brilliance grows in His love.

When we turn, as flowers to the Son
The glow within grows in phases of joyful
Light, until we stand, full in the glory of the Son
Basking in the gift, from a glow begun, ever joyful.
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<a name="#s020">Answer</a>

As flowers to the Sun,
so do the faithful reach,
Yet in storm and darkness' chill;
as petal falls, and stems dry;
still through fires of the world and suffering,
the seed of the Light lives in prayer,
to return in truth and life;
surviving a debt to the world,
through faith in a promise to be kept.


Tom
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<a name="#s021">A NONET FOR GOD</a>

A lamb died, crucified for our sins

Bleeding, leaving us forgiven;

Leaving for His throne up high;

Ending our pain, He died,

Sending us this word;

States who to serve

In our hearts:

Not man,

GOD!

Tom
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<a name="#s022">Mother! Oh Mother!</a>

Mother! Oh mother of Light!
You bore His Son
You raised the One
Who would bring us from the night!

Mother! Oh mother of Love,
You accepted the burden,
Took the blessing given,
Out of love for our God above.

Father! Oh Father of Glory and Power
You gave of Your Holiness;
Virgin Mary You blessed
With Your Son, from Your heavenly tower.

Father! Oh Father of peace and Grace,
Of You was born the Lamb of Man;
A gift, born of Your loving plan,
To die, to live, then return to His rightful place.

Mother! Oh mother of Joy and Tears
Giver of life, witness to death
Messenger of angels and words of faith;
Deliverer of a Babe who would remove our fears.

Thank you, oh mother of destiny,
For your faith, strength and loving courage;
For raising the One, who, upon coming of age,
Would die, only to return and remove all sin from me.

Tom
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<a name="#s023">Angel Wings</a>

I lay upon the snows of my years
waving arms and legs, shaking my fears
I watch the sky where birds take wing
waiting for the messenger God will bring

I rise from the snow, leaving wings open wide
feeling His power begin to grow inside
Large clouds take shape, spread and I can tell
The love and might of the announcing Gabriel.

The snows fall away in the wondrous beat
Of angelic wings, his glory stopping my moving feet
Where I stand, as tears of joy cloud my eye
As I witness the return on the One who lived to die.

especially for My Lady, Tom
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<a name="#s024">Understanding You</a>

In the beginning you created us
in Your image of spirit and light;
Only to become, suddenly, as dust,
when we acted to lose our right
to ever exist again beyond the night

It's not your fault we did You wrong,
even though You gave us free choice.
We soured the notes in Your heavenly song,
and ignored the warning of Your mighty voice,
and turned Your creation into a cacophony of noise.

How can we blame You for our pain?
When even Your chosen have turned away.
What right to point to You, while standing in the rain?
When You gave Your only son to show the way,
and left, within, Your love and the need to pray.

This world of dust and pain we made
with our selfish, susceptible hearts.
The dirt in our fingers we earn as betrayer's pay.
Yet, still, You hold us apart,
leaving a part of Your light that allows a fresh start.

I can only give You praise and glory
for the chance to return to Your heavenly throne,
and the gift given in the Christ's sacrificial story.
The final chance of forgiveness as He died alone
For hope beyond the dust, in the light that has always shone.

Tom
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<a name="#s025">His Loving Purpose</a>

<center>
So many churches
with lost purpose
to gather together His sheep
whose pain He has taken to keep

No purpose other than support
of His love and His grace, to report
to those in need
the power inside the mustard seed.

The power to replace the emotional crutch
with a faith in His holy touch
knowing He has taken, when on the cross
our pain and hurt and worldly loss

I pray for a revival of hope, of faith,
of dependency on the love in His last breath;
I pray for a new life found
in Him, and a new spirit, unbound.

I pray for recognition of His omnipotent power
to make aware the heart how bitter and sour
to His tongue is the drink of despair
For only He can bring comfort, its not found there.

So be strong in your heart
The Lord and you are never apart
Ask Him to come back to your needful soul
and He will carry your burden, make your life full.
</center>

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<a name="#s026">Faith</a>

What is this faith you bring?
Is it found in the songs you sing?
Is it found in the worship you offer?
Is it found in the love you treasure?

Where is this faith you hold
When the heart turns cold;
When life's fogs are not seen through;
When the spirit has left that brought you?

When is this faith held close?
When you know why He arose?
When you know why He died?
When you know its your tears He cried?

Faith isn't to barter for or borrow,
Isn't an umbrella to open to lifes showers;
Isn't a reward to Him for lifes thrills;
Isn't discarded when sorrow chills.

Faith is knowing in your heart
Faith is not questioning His part
Faith is without dependent conditions
Faith is holding Him in all situations.

Wats
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User avatar
Tom Watson
Forever Silent Friend
Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Novato, CA USA
Contact:

Post by Tom Watson » Mon Aug 08, 2005 6:45 pm

<center>Love and Romance</center>

<a name="#l001">Emotion</a>

Sound, movement and light...
Heat mingles with a twi-night
Of agonizing pain, and delicate
Fingers of ecstacy, as the cud
Of coldness between green teeth
of jealousy keeps grinding out
Screams of glee and joy,...then drowns
In wet tears, falling with rhythmic sound.

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<a name="#l002">The Tear</a>

What is that wetness
I see clouding the dark haze
Of your eye?
A tear?
How slowly it comes;
As a drop of dew
Forming on some slender
Sliver of grass
Before the rising sun.
So soft,
The cheek it touches
With its rosy flush of youth.
One little tear,
Yet how it moves the heart,
As the young flower
Is crushed by the clumsiness
Of growing youth.
And such a lonely trail
That remains with its passing;
Like a lonely life
Wandering, lost, on
The snowy plain,
Only to be lost further
By the passing
Winds of time.

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<a name="#l003">Lost and Found</a>

I have been absent a while
In a place where I lost my smile.
In a place where I lost my wife.
In a place where I found meaning to my life.

God took her without pain
And made my madness sane
She lived and died in peace through prayer
I died and live again in the light that was there.

Now, through my thought and words
I try to thank those who prayed the prayers heard
And praise the Lamb and the Light,
All the while knowing all is alright.


========================
Note: this was orignally a comment I had made to another comment
on a piece I offered when I first returned. I thought I would make it
a topic for for general reading. Maybe others can relate.

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<a name="#l004">I Thought of Her Today</a>

Winner: Romantic Forum Poem of the Week: April 25, 2004



I thought of her today
While looking out at the sunny sky,
In an unexpected way
While watching the fair goers stroll by.

She was sitting on a bench out in the sun
Holding our little Cocker so she wouldn’t run.
Enjoying the warmth, her type of fun,
While looking up at me, waving me to come.

I thought today of her bright smile
Her commanding presence, without any guile,
Her hard-edged and soft, caring style..
And she waved for me to come, and hold her a while.

The balcony was high, where I, with my tears, stood,
As the shade came to give her a concealing hood,
She rose, and with cocker in hand, waved,
And walked to where the light never moved.

****************************************
Admin note:
Nominated for a forum award 4/18/2004

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<a name="#l005">You Have Mail</a>

I thought it was just a mail box,
But I found it to be
A door to the past with a lock
Holding a special letter to me.

As I carried it to my home
I sensed a whiff of heaven's breeze;
Entering the house, I sat, alone,
Finding something sent to me, to please.

Slowly I pull apart the precious gift,
Sent before I lost her heart,
Slowly, holding a ghost of that heart, I lift
The flap and her pictures fall apart.

Here we go again, I start to think,
As my returned heart yearns its release,
And I slowly pick one up, and take a drink;
I see she also drinks (another same page tease)

I look at another, gently laying the first down,
Stanford? Why that is just down the road...,
But then stop short; that is just a town,
A college on a shirt; not a person close to hold.

The aroma of heaven's passions leaps
In pleasant whiffs about my aching head
Moving my mind to where lovers sleep
Then salt burned eyes remind, from the past this bled

Then the third, then the beauty, and I'm stopped.
A trace of dimple, accenting passions lips;
The hair, soft and eyes with yearning within, I dropped
All pretense, as I drank in the scent in deep slow sips.

Closing my dampened eyes , I pause in silent thought,
Recalling the happenings of since this times history.
I then lock away the little treasures mail call brought,
Into my heart, safely locked, leaving a whiff of scent, its mystery.



Dr. Watson

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<a name="#l006"></a>Distant Chance</a>

In the distance I see her approach,
Certainly not the least pleasurable
Object my eyes have lately touched;
Then attention is diverted to my table.

The footsteps, in the meantime, pause,
And looking up, the wicked light from the Sun
Proceeds to exercise its coronal laws;
Leaving me with blinded and blurred vision.

The grotesque image from the glare
Caused me to blink and to wonder
“Lord, why are you so cruel?” for I knew you were there..
And before eyes clear, heart is torn asunder.

I know all she needed was hearing those words,
At least that’s what I thought,
As in the distance I watch her leave towards
The place where nothing can be forgot.

I turn back to the tables work to
See the mess to be finished Saturday,
Still thinking of the smile, the eye of you,
Seeking you in the distance, fading away.

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<center><a name="#l007">Dessert</a>

My memories lay before me
As a dessert set on my plate of life;
There to tease me to my knees;
Presented full of my wife, I take truth's knife.

The sweetness; the deep chocolate, rich;
Thick with laughs and love; though not enough
To hold true, as it flinched to the blade's touch;
Angled to not cut rough, messing up the good stuff.

But now, for holding together, there is no way
as the time serrated dull blade of truth tears..
Tears, and sweetness lay bared in a mangled display;
Exposing a cake scarred and torn by lying years.

It might have been angel food
At one time, now dried to lemon rind.
Showing where anger stood in its bitter mood
Chunks fall from the careless blade; for me to find, resigned.

The crumbs of an existence that was never
Each caked with the sticky icing of dreams,
Lay in a cleverly mangled mess of forever;
Where truth is buried in painfully failed schemes.

I stare at the mess my dreams had become,
When death's mourning clouded the past;
The love, once thought to last,
Now, in its dissection has passed.

So here, still the dessert, so deliciously made,
Rests, untouched, in its messy intent;
As time's blade removes the glow, and life fades
From yesterday’s spent, to tomorrow’s, where nothing is meant.


Wats
</center>

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<a name="#l008">His Doll and Our Lament</a>

oh don't we all wish for that special touch?
don't we all remember the ecstacy too much?
don't we all see, before the fires of rejection,
the face, the smile, words of connection?

can't the dreams be pleasant memories?
can't the dreams show only the joy?
can't the dreams bring our hearts peace again,
giving, not what could have, but the joy that had been?

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<a name="#l009"></a>Love Chat</a>

The following is an actual transcript of what was an online chat held
between Tom Watson and
Egyptianeyes79. It was spontaneous and totally unexpected for either person. What ensued was,
barring any other word, miraculous. In the time since this was written, reality has stepped in for
Egypt and me and yet, we remain close friends.However, that does not take away from the magic
of this time together as one mind and one heart.
We hope you enjoy this rather lengthy

Love Chat

Tom: what ever can give you a smile, what ever will keep you here
a while?
Egypt: I am here as long as you'll have me, for my smile comes from
the heart of thee

Tom: well, we will sit here, a continent away, and wax poetic till the
break of day
Egypt: expressions of emotion from the very start, from which I never
want to part

Tom: fingers on keyboards, touching through wires, never to
separate never to tire
Egypt: flushing of the face, with a smile on my face, with the thought on
mind of the sweetest embrace

Tom: little circles of hugs on screens, merging X's to be secretly
seen
Egypt: for miles are merely nothing to the longing heart, like cupids
arrow and dart

Tom: flying off both to the East and the West, finding targets that are
left to do the rest.
Egypt: Fate? Taking place so SILLY it may seem, CRAZY, feels like I'm in
a dream

Tom: But for you connecting easily with MOI, what could separate
truth and moral law?
Egypt: All is fair in love and war, so what will you say when I stand at
your door?

Tom: I am but a father aged man, willing to give you what I can.

Egypt: To age is to grow, for I already love from the words you show


Tom: to age and to then love from afar, cries for years lost and to
be where you are
Egypt: you gave me your ear while taking my heart, only HE could have
thought of this from the very start.

Tom: For it is He who brings the needy and lonely together to give
comfort freely
Egypt: with you is where I am in my soul, time and patience shall fill that
bitter hole.

Tom: with you in my heart I will try to be the shovel that fills that
hole; a gift from me
Egypt: Love is patient Love is kind, every moment of the day with you on
my mind

Tom: Time is constant, time does not stop, and love will be forever
held, never to be dropped.
Egypt: The thought of time with you has me shaken, warming this once
calloused heart that you've taken.

Tom: Let not the scratching of your past give fear, I am here to ease
your hurt, not leave a tear.
Egypt: In this heart you shall now only find delight, for you’re only a step
on a flight.

Tom: And the world, on that night, will still turn, and two souls may
give their hearts loves return
Egypt: Loves return so shall it be, setting these two hearts once
imprisoned free.

Tom: And when freedom becomes reality, two souls will have joined
in the finality
Egypt: Your every word breaths new hope within me, lost in darkness
until I found thee.

Tom: And that darkness held loneliness in its void, until shattered by
your light and destroyed
Egypt: just say the words and I shall be there, in my heart only for you I
care.

Tom: The words cry out, even through the fear that words will fade
as vision becomes clear.
Egypt: What is love in a sentence with out your name, say you'll have
this heart only you can tame.

Tom: Having your heart next to mine, to thrill to your nearness
sends anticipatory chills
Egypt: Love is blind in the heart of the beholder, with the only vision of
my head on your shoulder

Tom: Yet does not time heal the blindness, and turn your young love
restless
Egypt: Closing my eyes to feel you near, every moment you become
more clear

Tom: Not enough Love can be given by a father to quell the needs of
a young daughter
Egypt: Love has no limits, something you already know, Do I not speak
with honesty from the words I show

Tom: I feel the surge and need to believe it all can be loves final
search and final call
Egypt: For there is no door enough love will not open, no gulf enough
love will not bridge, fear your precious heart I will not singe

Tom: there is no fear of your gentle hands; they could only further
God's glorious plans
Egypt: Two lost souls can find their way home, in the realms of loves
abyss they roam.

Tom: and when that door swings open to welcome loves smile, will it
be forever or just for a while
Egypt: To whom we owe everything for what we have found, now these
souls shall know no bounds

Tom: It is true He is loves Father; it is He who will bring us farther.
Egypt: with you I feel time is near, limited is what I fear

Tom: Time pushes us on our way to the decision to go or to stay
Egypt: will I stay I do not know, what if your heart asks me to go

Tom: my heart that calls does for all eternity, never to say leave me
Tom: How wonderful this feeling, building my heart to fill my chest to
almost yielding
Egypt: I will go as far as you'll take me, just to be with you can't you see

Tom: It must be a dream which common sense must awaken, and
leave me with all hope taken
Egypt: two others hold my heart sleeping safely in their beds, if I should
leave them there will be never-ending pain in their heads

Tom: Our souls have already merged in words and only love will
make a greater story heard
Egypt: leave? Never would I want to, how could I not be next to you?

Tom: What world exists that allows such hope when other hearts
hang from its rope.
Egypt: tears of joy well these blue green eyes, taking comfort in the
sharing of these ties.

Tom: Ah, my heart, my love, my soul, how can I continue this role?
Egypt: what is logic but an excuse to a fool, we found one another under
His rule.

Tom: His is the way for loves round trip from flesh to spirit love
gives us its own map
Egypt: A story that shall be sang from the heavens above, a story of
love never ending soaring as a dove

Tom: For where His words come from your heart and lips, His loves
runs as honey's drips
Egypt: A world He has created in us alone, I feel Him pleased as He sits
upon His throne

Tom: Can it be compared in any way, my finding Him and your
arrival one day.
Egypt: With honesty and faith to Him who it's due, for without Him I
would have never found you

Tom: In faith we have both sought and found what we expected not
Egypt: If just only a trip if it must be the most beautiful trip would be
worth it to me

Tom: In hurt and pain we searched, and were discovered through
our Lord's church
Egypt: Visions of encounters all through my head, what will I do to stop
the tears that shall fall while alone in bed

Tom: A blessing to be fulfilled regardless or to be cherished still
thinking of the rest
Egypt: A question I too ask to be of His will, it must be for my heart you
fill

Tom: For the Spirit and flesh, constantly at war, can surely not have
time for us to soar.
Egypt: A lost girl found waiting on your stairs; she will go to you, for you
are the only one who cares

Egypt: Two hearts saved then brought together by His love, this could
only be a blessing from Him above
Egypt: If not just for a moment shall I stay, all can be fulfilled in just a
single day
Egypt: Though I pray for a lifetime of loved to be shared, for only He
knows what these two shall have shared
Tom: I yearn for the chance to comfort the lost, to soothe the
hurting spirit at no cost

Tom: As I would pray for the lord to give a way to heal a lost heart
to allow it to live
Egypt: To share every part of me with you, this is what I wish right now I
could do
Egypt: For "you" inspire my every word of love and romance, I feel
success as I take this chance

Tom: So wonderful the dream of sharing is that it seems to come
with a caring kiss
Egypt: The very thought of just one kiss, leaving this heart with you to
miss

Tom: But differences are and shall always be the shadow of our
days
Egypt: I am there at your call from away, even if I can not stay

Tom: for the Spirit and the mind find love as visions of many kinds
Egypt: Visions to make a reality to our very sight, can all take place in
just a single night

Tom: I could hold and comfort and share your grief but for anything
else I would feel the thief
Egypt: All is yours to be had in me, a gift of my love for you always to
see

Tom: A night of revealing visions in the light, many times has
caused them to take flight
Egypt: How could you steal what I shall lovingly give away, showing as
much love as I can a day

Tom: such a gift is a dream held wished on more than twice, yet
when it comes, at what price?
Egypt: You shall pay no price for the love I will share, I will leap at the
chance of such a wonderful love that is so rare

Egypt: Our Father says to show our love in such a way, if this is true how
can there be a price to pay?
Tom: a gift so precious offered in love, how can anyone reject and
not want it now

Tom: Your questions tweak my heart to not reject, but to accept
what may hurt your self respect
Egypt: Even if just for a short time with much to despair, will you still say
yes if and when I am there?

Tom: and hurt is not part of what love gives, but is to be stayed
from the heart.
Egypt: The most respect I could give myself would be to allow myself to
feel your love, would that be wrong of me even knowing blessed from
above

Tom: If and when, you appear, how could my heart hold with you
near?
Egypt: Your heart will hold me with every word that you give, in my
heart is where this love will always live

Tom: I can no longer think logically for now; I can only wonder how
can I be so blessed, how?
Egypt: I can not answer a question I ask too, who would have thought I
would have found such a blessing in you?

Tom: I will give you what your heart needs, the love on which your
soul wants to feed
Egypt: What can I give a man who has everything in return, except to
tell you that for you my heart will burn

Tom: Blessings are Gemini twins given out and given back again
Egypt: I fear how much longer I must wait, until the day will place our
fate

Tom: I know of no man such as that, just a little old guy sitting
around, getting fat.
Tom: Dreams are young and strong and fair, visions that reality
may not find anywhere
Egypt: A reality only can we make as ours to share, then and only then
will it be fair

Tom: In the spirit, love knows no such person as a dream, only the
heart and soul and Godly schemes
Egypt: The plan of our Lord I feel this is, for what will come of this the
glory will be His

Tom: There is this game commonly called, Truth or Dare would you
seek a dream as reality or leave it there?
Egypt: I have never felt so real in all my life, I take all dares with no
regards for strife

Tom: I can not question God's will, this I concede, but is it His will or
our need?
Egypt: If not His will then why our happenings in His name, is this world
of life not His game?

Tom: You really lighten my heart and it would be hard to part
Egypt: I fear this too what shall be told, for we know what the future has to hold

Tom: We live our lives on our own merit; the Lord has no need to
share it.
Tom: He is our protector and forgiver of our sins, which in our sinful
way, usually repeat again
Egypt: How can we sin when doing what we are told? Love is to be
shared not sold

Tom: The Lord honors the love of the Spirit, giving honor only to
Him, leaving love of the flesh to forget
Egypt: Forget I can not I feel you in my soul, for loving you has made
me whole

Tom: We are appointed by Him to give love where it nurtures the
Spirit and encourages it to be shared
Egypt: Sharing my love with you is what I long for, I feel Him honoring
that should I ever come through your door

Tom: As I have found joy and love, strangers to me longer than my
heart remembers
Egypt: Has it ever felt like this, with the thought of just one kiss

Tom: As I with you, for only human am I, needing to look directly
into that lovely eye
Tom: Only when the heart is searching for mending, then that one
kiss would be heaven sending
Egypt: blushing all I can say, I await that very day

Tom: One kiss holds hundreds of dreams; all yours and mine, it
seems
Egypt: Dreams they are no longer "This is true", because now there is
me and you

Tom: This is true and when you lay your head down to sleep, stay
your tears, for your dream will hold you near.
Egypt: So in my dreams shall you be here, to see you to touch you so
clear

Tom: and I shall keep you safe in my loving care, as my hand
smoothes your rumpled hair
Egypt: In your dreams in your arms I shall be, with the love I have for
you inside of me

Tom: and together our dreams will merge to inspire a display of
sparkling loves fire
Egypt: Who would have thought this to be, the love we found only He
could see

Tom: It is a glow far beyond that which is the stars we looked at
Tom: And on that glorious day our dream would then be blessed
under His brilliant light.

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<a name="#l010">Connection</a>

Oh to have such a soulful connection;
To be someone's mirrored reflection.
To feel another's sorrow and pain;
To be her umbrella when life rains.

To know the words before written;
To answer questions not yet mentioned.
To take the hand before the spoken need;
To follow where she needs to lead.

Such a joining, in these declining years,
Of joy, hope, and even sadness' tears
Would be a merging outside of times doors,
When my dreams are absorbed in yours.




*****************************************************
Admin note:
Nominated for Poem of the Week on Nov. 30, 2003
Nominated for Poem of the Week on Dec. 7, 2003

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<a name="#l011">Forgive Me, Please</a>

Forgive me, please, my failing to respond.
It's just that you write of things I've not found.
You offer words about seeking love's desires
Crying out for the loss of passion's deepest fires.

It seems that passion has never been known,
Or felt, in the world from which I've grown.
For the needful animal passions of life
Were surgically removed by an unknown knife.

I hold only compassion's hand out to you
Feeling in the depth of my soul that which you go through.
Though never singed by the pains you now feel
I reach out to you with tears and pray that you can heal.

Compassion resides beyond passion's place
Holding understanding, not knowledge, of the pain in your face.
My comments may offer only hopeful and consoling words,
Wanting to take on the pain and the sorrow, read and heard.

Your passion is your curse but also your gift
It possesses pain greedily; yet lets joy give you a mighty lift.
Compassion seeks to absorb day by day, as best it can,
Your pain, like a sponge, to then release it into His hands.

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<a name="#l012">Two Years</a>

The winds of change continue to blow,
And as time’s wheel forever turns,
Another circle is joined in its flow,
And the old scar again begins its burn.

Two years now since her death;
The time the valley of tears was formed;
Twenty-four months since her last breath;
Over Seven hundred nights with a heart unwarmed.

Again the memories roll in from the shadows;
A ball tied to the chain of my past,
Tied to my heart in a veil of recalled sorrows;
Though compressed tighter than the year last.

Her form, out of the shadows now,
Stands proud and strong in my tears mist,
And I sigh in pained thoughts of how
I can ever know a time when she is not missed.

Tom

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<a name="#l013">Move On?</a>

Well, I guess it is time to move on
Time to get my life moving along
Time to look for having some fun
Time to find and hum a different song.

But then, time is relative they say;
Meant as a gauge setting activity
Meant as a means to arrange a day
Meant to arrange each barbed memory.

Still the seconds continue to sweep by,
Steadily pulling minutes on a rusting chain;
Steadily dragging its hours ahead of its days;
Steadily trailing years through puddles of pain.

I suppose I should make time to look ahead;
Hide my heart from sight of the empty bed
Hide my ears from hearing echoes of words said
Hide my soul from feeling her resting there; dead.

How can I just toss it into the past?
Lose the things she held so dear;
Lose the medicine and make-up, aging fast
Lose that emptied place I store my tears?

Her chair still sits here, expectantly waiting
For the return of the one who once was my wife;
For a future moment when time finally stops passing
For me, also, and I too, sit and give it my life.

I guess moving on can just wait a while;
Sitting in a hidden corner of my heart;
Sitting and waiting, as I remember her smile;
Sitting in dust, while my life ignores the button- “Restart”.


Tom

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<a name="#l014">Please?!</a>

Please step out a while with me.
Please, just try not to doubt me.

Please enwrap my heart in your arms and hold me.
Please, though, as we walk, don't enfold me.

Please, just bring your body close to me;
Please, if you wish, come now to kiss me;
Please, in your soul, remember to love me.

Please think, sometime, to pray for me.
Please look back now, to our love's new Spring, for me,
Please see how youth, and you, brought new life to me.

Please look to heaven, and view His love with me,
Please hold a few of His stars near; one will be me..
Please, for now, just do these things for me:

Please laugh, and sing a song for me;
Please keep a smile, be strong for me;
Please, don't bleed or cry for me;
Please, though my body must die, my soul ever is with thee.

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<a name="#l015">Whispers</a>

<center>Your voice whispers
in the leaves;
I see your lips
in the swaying
of the trees;
Speaking softly
in my ears;
In the fall
of each
drop of
Rain,
Each
Tear.</center>


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<a name="#l016">Happy Birthday Kid</a>

There is a tune creeping
through my brain
but
I don't want to sing
to revive that pain
but
the tune whispers memorys of laughter
bouncing about the walls of my heart
but
i don't want them to gather
barbed memories to tear my soul apart
but
it is only a child's song
repeated upon itself
but
your young heart is gone so long
our love laid aside on a dusty shelf
yet
still the melody grabs my soul
"Haaapy Biiirthday tooo youuuu"
yet
even so, the tears begin to roll
and the old ache fills my heart through
yet
"Haaapy Biiirthday tooo youuuu" spreads on the balloon
of my life, which is about to burst
yet
not with a bang, but a whimper to soon
as the last gasp escaped, my ballon is emptied as at first
yet
at last, the final refrain plays
"Happy birthday dear Mickey"
yet
and I know till the end of my days
I will always finish it with "I love you"

June 1.........Happy Birthday Kid
Tom
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<a name="#l017">My Living Dream</a>

Only the wind moves like your memory,
Where it brushes my dreams;
Where it touches my heart;
Only the wind can reach those places

Only the sun knows the way,
Where it lit the worn path of joy;
Where it heated the passion of our life;
Only the sun can warm these empty days

But that is enough for now.
For I have had more love than should be allowed;
For I have held and known you in my arms;
Failed to protect you from life's harms.

Only the closet protects the past,
Where dances, games and quiet nights live;
Where frozen moments of life hang;
Only the closet holds your form so close

Only the cabinets proclaim your life,
Where glassware, knick-knacks and souvenirs rest;
Where your love of life smothers in dust;
Only the cabinets are holding you near.

But, this is my life, and my choice;
The vision of your existence speaks with your voice;
The touch of your clothing is your hand on my heart;
For this is my living dream; our way not to part.
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<a name="#l018">The Return Home</a>
<pre>
He returned to a house that was
silent;
A new house, still in the act of
settling,
And yet old from scenes tender and
more often violent.
He walked in and was overwhelmed with
deep feelings
Of remorse and guilt and memories of
quarrels and passion.

The living room was musky, dirty, empty.
Empty of
An angel that he had driven away during a
moment without reason.
The one person that trusted him, that gave
him the love
He needed, was gone. He fought the tears
that came
To his eyes and walked up the stairs and
into the bedroom.
Again his heart, soul, his whole being was
pushed futher into
The pit of self-pity that had held him so long.
The memory of a groom
And his bride and their wedding night, again
caused the tears,
That had threatened such a short time ago,
to dim his sight.
He let them flow freely, and mournfully turned
to see a familiar
Form on the stairs. He turned away with shame
remembering the last fight.
A soft call, running feet, words of shame and
forgiveness,
and a caress..

Above, in a soft, twilight sky, a dove is
returning to her nest,
In the house, two humans cling with an
unyielding embrace,
While, outside, the lasting sun slowly returns
to its home in the west.</pre>
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<a name="#l019">Curtians Of The Window, Pain</a>
Her few bags were in the yard where
I moved them piece by piece into the car,
while noticing, in the corner of my eye, there
was his shadow behind a window, not too far -
to feel and hear the shattering of a heart;
not too far to see curtains shudder too much,
but not close enough to cause two hearts to part;
but not close enough to quell the love of her touch.
With the car loaded, goodbyes said, only each other on our minds,
we drove off to a future, that is now dead and gone
in a car full of hope and love, with guilt dragging behind.
While the curtains, slightly parted, vanished in a glaring sun.


With deepest apologies to Bruce and Midori for changing a future of
forevers to one of what might have been. Tom


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<a name="#l020">I Sit Alone</a>

I sit alone here,
Alone in a crowded room
Full of joy's and sadness' tears.
Where memories unmovable by times broom
Lay, like chunky dust balls
Moving lazily to sorrows breeze
In my heart's corners and down its halls
Where trembling hands gather them while on my knees.

While in my hands they break
Open to reveal pictures and items
Lint covered from lack of use. I take
A moment to brighten with love what time dimmed,
Trying to examine each dream, freed but now dead
Trying to try reach in and bring near
Things that are beyond and always just ahead
While, as always.., I sit..., alone....., here.

Tom

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User avatar
Tom Watson
Forever Silent Friend
Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Novato, CA USA
Contact:

Post by Tom Watson » Mon Aug 08, 2005 6:48 pm

<center>Dark</center>

<a name="#d001">Tell Me The Truth</a>

Tell me the truth
About my birth.
Not the watered down
Version without the sound
Of pain I caused,
Along with the blood loss

Tell me no lies,
But of how your cries
Caused anguish to your nurse,
And even worse,
Awakened your primal fears,
The root cause of your tears.

Tell me the facts
About the contract
With our dark lord,
Made to stop the abort.
How during your pains lull
I came to lose my soul.

Tell me why now, and for
Eternity, I am the son of
Lucifer.

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<a name="#d002">View From The Coffin</a>

You come to pass my face, formed and
peacefully contrived
To appease the fears of
You who survive.

And, in passing, your eyes mournfully
Glaze with tears,
Gossamer curtains hiding your
Stereotyped fears,

Or, you gaze sadly at the glasses
Resting on your nose,
Fearful of focusing beyond to
My mannequin pose.

Slow to enter my room, uncertain
What you'll find,
Quick to leave me to eternity,
And your own doom behind.


Dr. Watson
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<a name="#d003">The Noble One</a>

A poor, dirty little man was limping
Down a dark street; a street without light.
On this same street he saw another man;
A handsome, shining, magnificent man,
And this wonder had something in his hands..
He had pies, fruit, food in his hands.

Our poor, hungry little man limped to him
And weakly asked, "Could you spare me some
Crust, a small piece of pie rim?"
On hearing this, the lordly man touched
The puny one's shoulders, causing him
To go trembling to his knees.

The sick one was now in tears, begging
At the feet of the man of grandeur.
The noble one smiled, reached in his pocket
And took out an apple. The kind one took
Out an apple, took a bite, and walked on.


Dr. Watson
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<a name="#d004">My Pain</a>

I know you,
You who crawls
Through my life,
Enwrapping my heart
As a snake circles an apple.

You are the voice
That tears me down,
Saying it’s my choice
That you hang around.


I live you,
Your created life
Of guilt without reason
Other than your whispered causes.

Yours is the hand
Reaching for that place,
That fastened the white band,
That covered a confused frightened face.


I hear you
Whispering in and about
My soul, keeping it close,
In your dark chosen place.

You are the love
Held with bloodied fingers
Seeking cover from the hand above
Waiting to give the hate on which you linger.


I smell you
Burning my lungs,
Cherishing each shot swallowed,
In a fire unquenchable by any emptying bottle.

Yours are the years
Held captive and lost
Denying and repressing tears
In a world lived at my family’s cost.


I leave you, pain
To be banished
Into the past where you were born,
For I am now saved - in a place you don’t belong.

You painted hate the color of love.
You protected treachery in a lie of guilt.
You put sobriety into a fog of lost days.
You made yourself the container of my life.

You no longer own the scar,
Nor the fear, nor the lost trust.
I’m dumping you, knowing what you are.
I’m taking control, leaving you in time’s dust.



Dr. Watson
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<a name="#d005">Quiet</a>

I decided to re-work "Quiet Time" for some reason...

<center>
In a time of quiet;
When the peace is done;
And all enemies are met;
And all friends are none;
</center>
We sleep the sleep of dreamers!
Sleep is a void beyond the deep;

We dream the dreams of screamers!

Dreams are of nightmarish schemes;

We scream the screams of liars!

Screamers cry out for the Holy redeemer;

We lie the lies of criers!

Liars cry out their call for Hell's fires;
<center>
Criers mourn lost loves forbidden desires.
</center>
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<a name="#d006">Will It End</a>

<center>
So much pain

As the drops of rain

In a storm returning
again,

again,

Until you can lose it,

Toss it in the pit

From where it once sit;

Leaving it to

wait...

wait...


WATS
</center>
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<a name="#d007">Law and Rule</a>

Okay, here I come once more
Trying to bring peace to my war
Trying to make it understood
That all of this self-pity is just no good.

We had a long day,
The five in the play,
My eyes still burn from all of the words..
From all of the words, and words not heard.

The Duchess has already shown nobility
In gracious acceptance, with the ability
To contain the eyes that also burn,
Waiting for the wheel to make another turn.

The best defense is a good offense,
Which draws an offensive defense.
Playing that devil's eternal game.
Coached by the devil who is really the blame.

Angry words do not come from the mind
Though there some you may find.
Anger grows its words from the seeds of emotion
Freshly sown to cause great commotion.

His Barbie is still His, under attack
By satan's occasional knives in the back
Apologies offered hang in the air
Begging for forgiveness not to leave it there.

Only God can judge breakers of His law
And such breakage is all of our fault, our flaw
And only His rule should finally come through,
Do unto others as you would have them do to you.

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<a name="#d008">Day- Tripping Highway 5</a>

<center>
Yellow dashes, flattened into blurs
Black flats straights and turns
Time sits in the passenger seat
Riding with me in the early morning heat.

To the left beyond hand on wheel
I spot, approaching, a sensation to feel
Bones and feathers rise in solemn salute,
Leaning lazily against an owl's clawed foot.

Eyelids blink, awareness sunk in,
A tear of pity in my thought begins,
But it is as dry as the road dust
That surrounded the bird shell in my tires wind gust.

A stop for food, body and car gas too;
The morning sun blooming to noon, as is its due,
A famous brand steak with safe eggs fried,
Then depart, to reveal a truth, long denied.

Windows up quick, the odor, the stench;
Steak house factory, beef on a winch;
Mounds of manure holding piles of lives,
Existence in non-existence, pending the knife.

Pedal to the metal, stomach beginning to lurch;
Still to my right, the rewards of a death search;
Until even the symbol of man's power,
His mastery of life and death, fades in the day-trip hours.

Again the empty land gathers about
Making passing acquaintance along my route.
This dreary land again makes its offering
To this dead eyed day-tripper, lost in muted engine roaring.

A rabbit, huge, furred with long ears,
From nowhere it crosses as I break, too near.
Fear, sadness and a lump in my throat form;
Waiting the bump...never felt..then back to the boring norm.

Then another corpse, snake, then fawn..
One never to be a belt, the other's mother, long gone.
The splashes of fur, skin and splotched stains
Will remain for other day-trippers viewing pleasure, until the rains.

Finally, ahead, this day trip on Highway 5 nears its end;
Approaching the battleground where highways blend;
Prior to the merge, I note one last wave of a Ravyn's wing,
Near a rusted out car, pointing to what justice may bring.
</center>

Tom

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<a name="#d009">Gutter Crawling</a>

<center>
Forty-five degrees of wall and floor,
Flooded and dry, receptacle for trash and more.
A refuge for night crawlers, four legged and two;
Draining water, a welcome mixer for garbage stew.

Avoided in the wheel splashed light of day;
Sought for at night for the rats to play;
And for derelicts to follow, searching for food;
Discarded, rejected, spat up, but possibly good.

Urine tainted water, flows across groping hands
Searching for rewards of half filled cigar bands
Smokes, discarded candy or dropped gum
Anything that may help the next day come.

Gutter crawling, corner to corner,
Trying to outrun the rushing water,
To capture the treasures of haves, for have nots,
Before the plunge down the sewers drop slot.

Wats
</center>

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<a name="#d010">[Is There?</a>

<center>
Is there a world where
Voices don't whisper
Eyes don't stare
Thoughts don't dare..
Go there.....

Into the shallows of the heart
Where only pain resides
Deep to the slimy part
That nefarious deeds abide...

Is there a chance
For a soul to dance;
A laugh to prance
Upon a heart, beyond the lance?

Holding it pinned
Upon the folds of dark,
Against those it has sinned;
To absorb madness, raving and stark....

Is there a way
not to have to pay
this debt, to pray
to move from the gray...?
.
.
.
Sorry,
not
today.

</center>
Wats

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<a name="#d011">Whispers</a>

<center>
We hear those whispers,
We who have lost,
Of the tears falling
On pillows,
From cheek
To still trembling lips,
No longer kissed
By the softness
Of skin, but only
Its whisper of touch,
Silent and soft
Draping over
The cold heart.

We hear those whispers,
We who hold
Loneliness close,
Clinging to
Memories it holds,
Fearing more losing
Of the footsteps
And laughs
The teases,
And other traps laying
In the whispering rustle
Of drapery folds,
Filling empty caverns
Of a broken heart.

Soon the echoes of whispers
Sound their silent alarms
Filling the void;
Sleep denied,
With nothing..
Overflowing
Into something that once
Was a full heart,
Now shell covered rooms,
Full of mourning
Whispers of loss
Floating on a salty sea
Of tears, emptying
With a whispered drip,
Drip,
Onto an empty bed.

Soon, echoes of whispers
Fade, as time's shepherd
Gathers them
As flocks of sheep,
To move, with a
Whispering reluctant heart,
Through a door that
Mutes whispered tears,
Drying them to stains,
Cherished
In silence;
Forever,
A
Silent
Whisper.

Tom
</center>

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<a name="#d012">When Peace is Done</a>

In a time of quiet,
When peace is done,
And all enemies are met
And all friends are none,
We sleep the sleep of dreamers
We dream the dreams of screamers
We scream the screams of liars
We lie the lies of criers.

In that time of quiet
When all peace is done.
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<a name="#d013">Anger</a>

He walks into the street
Among the milling masses of flesh;
Faces smiling; eyes, hopefully
Dart with warmth, seeking
Fellow smiles and friendly glances...

Then, with slow, heavy feet,
He walks from the yellowing white mesh
Of crooked bone, His eyes begin
To move up, around, fearfully,
Hopefully expecting an answering gaze.

His weak smile straightens and holds.
With quiet steps, his feet trudge slower,
And as his eyes freeze, man
Becomes a creature of cruelty,
And his thoughts enter an angry maze.

Inwardly, his mouth opens and curses,
Blasphemies the beginning, begs for
The end. Inwardly, his eyes stare
With cold hatred at a can, his hands
Eager to tear at the creature holding it.

His feet stop, and fists unclench.....
Smiling, he opens the door.
His laughing eyes turn from the bird
In the cage, and, forgetting
Previous demands, look with pity
At the people so like it.

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Tom Watson
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Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
Location: Novato, CA USA
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Post by Tom Watson » Mon Aug 08, 2005 6:49 pm

<center>Haiku</center>
<a name="#h001">Last Drop</a>

On black blade dew forms
Gathering for one last fall
A tear traced in mud.


Tom

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<a name="#h002">4u</a>

In Fall's mist, I pray
Winter of life gently come.
My Spring warms my heart.

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<a name="#h003">Please</a>

Please see, view with me,
Please hold a few stars for me..
Please, just do for me.

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<a name="#h004">Awakening</a>

S-h-h-h, cacophony
of crickets and frog duets
awaken life's seeds.

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<a name="#h005">Rivulets</a>

Passion's rivulets,
Absorbed by one tear of love
and Resurrection.

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<a name="#h006">Fading Hope</a>

<center>Amadrya fades
Image
in Egyptian eyes. Lost
Image
in mist, Elle waits.
Image</center>
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<a name="#h007"> Storm of All Storms</a>

here is Tom and moonflowers collaboration..

Storm of All Storms

sea-scented breezes
whispering soft to the shore..
i try to listen

Listen..Sun glistens
As spray chatters with gulls cries
Sea and tears salt eyes...

Eyes of storm brewing
mutely imploring the sea:
follow me.. follow me..

Safety in a swell,
Sea birds dart inside to hide
and dine on locals

hermits and sandcrabs,
tumbled ashore by the swells,
dig furiously

Homes on rocky cliff
overlooking surge of surf
expect destiny

Destiny arrives
waves crash against rocks and coast
altering the shore

Crashing waves, drums pound;
Wind cymbals match chimes of rain..
God's orchestra plays

gusting squalls dance as
Mother Nature sings the words
of His symphony

As He lifts sea high
to crash upon rock and sand;
Crescendo of love.

sea-swept beach murmurs
last notes of final refrain..
songs message remains

Echoes of power
rumble with His lasting love
in the coming rays

healing sunbeams bathe
sand and sea with bursting light
His will.. glorified
_______________________________

Admin note:
Nominated for Poem of the Week on 7/6/2004

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<a name="#h008">The Season of Tom and Moonflower</a>

well here is our collaborated effort in its entirety.. :mrgreen:
thank you Tom for inviting me to be a part of this renga!..i have
thoroughly enjoyed it and i am looking forward to doing another
one in the future..

:lol: enjoy reading everyone!.. :lol: ...


The Seasons of Tom and Moonflower

soft whispered secrets
to trees from a playful breeze
the trees whisper back..

And this soft whisper
brought, too, a carressing touch
of love eternal

loves carressing touch
felt by earths buds and blossoms
spring is in the air

Below verdant grass
small yellow flowers seek light
finding fuel of life

earths face turned upwards
receiving suns gift of life
dewberries unfurl

the winds spin and bend
swaying meadows of flowers;
Earth's rainbow fields

meadows and fields grow
spinning winds give birth to change
time paints a new page

Bees busily buzz,
feed and spread blooms' love seeds;
future is insured

bright sunny season
warmth, wrought by earths changing face
magnolias bloom

Spring and Summer share
sunlight as heat overtakes
precious water flees.

watermelon seeds
chicken-fried crumbs, spilled wine, scraps
picnic time for ants

Beyond ant picnic
the pond follows Springs going,
leaves behind lost frogs.

dry waterless bed
full of heat-wave mirages
grasshoppers playground

The heat lay dry brown,
but for shade of the evergreen
morning dew is seen

scent of burning leaves
lingers heavy as time flies..
going up in smoke

the fires of summer
natures way of cleaning old
to bring the new Fall.

Autumn hues woven
burgundy, goldish green, brown..
patchwork quilt for earth

Morning mists of Fall
from Summer Moon's final flight
seek last Summer Sun

the garden at night
feeling Autumns' crispy chill
awaits morning sun

leaves swing and sway, fall
seasonal dance to meet earth;
yearly love affair

pumpkins ripening
waiting in vined fields of orange
for thier new faces

full harvest moon smiles
on the parade down below
ghosts, goblins, some fake

scarecrows straw-filled arms
flapping in Hallows-Eve breeze
frightens birds and 'beasts'

Moon clouds, wispy mists,
builds shadow of broomstick witch;
wind blown to nothing

reverberating
sing-song sound of katydids..
music of the night

the rhythmic twinkle
leaving powdery stardust
Fall's Winter prelude

Jack Frost's powdered glaze
makes ice-rinks of porches, lanes
winter arrives..cold

Snowflakes fall to ice
none the same as the other
clinging as brothers

crystal solo flights
white flakes piling and drifting..
snow ice-cream tonight!

the mountains rumble...
Nature shifts her snowy weight;
the fell fall again.

fireplace logs burning
popped corn, hot cocoa for two..
wintery perfumes

Winter winds journey
toward the Spring just ahead..
not felt by hands held

gentle zephyr breeze
broadcasting new-born Springs song
manna to the trees..
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Tom Watson
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Posts: 1336
Joined: Sun Dec 01, 2002 12:01 am
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:19 am

<center>Tribute</center>

<a name="#t001">The Writings of Sarah Jane Watson(1913-1934)</a>

I am posting these few writings of my mother in order pay tribute to a woman of strength who endured the hardest of times always with hope and self pride :hearts:

1.

Time Traveler

Footprints at the dawn of time
Wandering aimlessly in primeval slime.
Then, as if drawn by an unseen force,
Taking a more determined course.
The whitened bones of the unwary beast
show where the traveler stopped to feast.
As the trail leads out of the shadows of dawn
We see by the hazy morning sun
The skull of a brother and broken spear,
And the footprints hurrying on from there.
Soon, marking the path the traveler has trod;
Fire-blackened earth - blood reddened sod.
The trail now speeds relentlessly into noon day sun,
Only to falter occasionally by a well used gun.
The trail is cluttered more and more
With signs of destruction and bones and gore.
Yet ever onward it goes at maddening pace
To meet destiny at a horrible place,
Where the sun sets on fire-scorched lands,
Where the footprints end on eternity’s sands.

Footprints at the setting of time
Wander aimlessly in primeval slime . . . .


In Memorium - Jane Watson
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<a name="#t002">The Final Word – SJ Watson</a>

Her only opportunity was to cry,

and while she cried,

she tried ,

and while she tried,

she died.


To Live without trying
Is to die while only living.
But to try thoughout your life
Is to, in death, remain alive.
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<a name="#t003">A tribute to Faith</a>

It is the day before Christmas
And all through these Pages
Not a prayer is being murmured
Nor praise for He who was birthed.

I offer, therefore, this article received in my Email today.

THE VALUE OF QUESTIONING
Facing our questions and our doubts can lead us to discover
truth. In discussing with a friend a matter I had been praying
about, I admitted that even as I had asked God to do
something, I did not really believe God would do it. I told my
friend that this realization made me hesitate even to pray,
since it seemed arrogant or disrespectful or somehow
negative to ask when I did not think it likely that God would
act. My friend replied, “I think we are supposed to come to
God with the faith we do have, not the faith we don’t have.
And God accepts that.” Thinking about his words, I would
now add, “And God is pleased with that.” It is our
approaching as much as the amount and content of our faith
that pleases God, because what God desires is not
intellectual assent from us but relationship with us. Reason
and intellect will never get us where we need to go. Miracles
of any sort—babies for the barren, belief for the skeptic,
transformation of a “heart of stone” into a “heart of flesh”—
are counter rational. Always have been, always will be. Yet
Mary surrenders herself to irrational truth and cooperates in
what God already is doing. It always comes back to that kind
of surrender.

Mary and Joseph go to Bethlehem. That is significant, but it is
not all that significant. Many others do the same. What is
eternally significant is that God comes to Bethlehem, and
God takes on a body. We may not feel at home with all we
hear at Christmas, but God will still come to us. Every year,
God says, “I’ll be home for Christmas.” And our welcome is
what God wants.

We don’t have to understand what God is doing in order to
participate in it or to know that it is real. If complete
understanding were necessary in order to know that
something is real, in order to use it, few of us could use
telephones or computers or electricity because few of us
understand those technologies. But we can accept them as
gifts and benefit from their presence in our lives without
understanding them.

God doesn’t want us as a business partner, as a distant relative,
even as a close friend. God wants to live with each one of us, as one
of us. That is the miracle of Christmas. God takes on flesh. It sounds
impossible. Do we choose to believe it anyway? The angel closed
the conversation with Mary by reminding her who is behind it all: “For
nothing will be impossible with God.” God’s coming doesn’t depend
on us, on the depth or steadiness of our believing. This miracle
depends on God, whom we cannot understand or contain, who
reaches out to us at Christmas and every day of our lives. As Mary
shows us, finding ourselves slightly puzzled and in awe before this
mystery is a faithful response.

Excerpted from "While We Wait," by Mary Lou Redding. Published
by Upper Room Books, 2002.


I pray the blessings of Christmas reside in your hearts the rest of your days.

Tom

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<a name="#t004">HERO 1-SAILOR</a>

He was born to loving parents
While in their second year of marriage
And was often taken for walks
In a sun covered carriage.

Harry grew up loving
Baseball and apple pie
Found joy in the Lord
Set his goal early to fly

He went off to college;
At the Naval Academy.
Married his high school sweetheart
From his home and church family

Harry graduated as an officer
Was assigned to a new carrier;
Soon became a new father
Of a boy, and then, a cute daughter.

Then the order came;
Harry hugged his children, kissed his wife;
And honoring God and duty,
Boarded the carrier with prayers for his children and life

On the day of terror,
When the missile fell from the sky,
Only to land unspent, as a dud, where
Harry, near-by moved to save; and Harry moved to die.

Unaware, five sailors had stood,
Till Harry ran to make them scatter.
Serving with honor and pride
He sacrificed himself; the five others had mattered.

Joseph stood in front of the case
As he often did before reporting to the fleet
And, as always, saluted, then turned to raise
His son Harold, who was waiting at his feet.

Mary looked fondly at the plaque
On her dormitory wall's special place
Knowing, he would never have her look back,
As she went to her class final, at Annapolis.

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<a name="#t005>HERO 2-MARIA</a>

Across town a fire alarm sounds fire in a retirement home.
Mom jumps into her clothes at ready for her duty to answer;
To respond to calls for the volunteer team, woken from
Sleep, leaving baby with friend, she heads to one more fire.



It was late;
The storm choosing not to abate
But to grow,
Making trees bow before its fierce blow.
Howling with no mercy,
It ripped the ancient oak’s roots free
As part of nature’s call;
Pulling the power lines in its fall
To where the ancient wood
Roofed retirement center stood.
The sparking wire
Incendiary touch then sparked a deadly fire.

As she prepared for bed,
Maria saw her cell phone light turn red;
A silent call to destiny,
To respond, as she chose, voluntarily.
A retirement home ablaze,
The department needed everyone out of sleeps daze.
Maria’s only thought was affirm
Her calling; glancing at her baby, sleeping warm.
Neighbors Joe and Felicia
Would come and watch baby Patricia
Before she departs,
A kiss to baby cheek, her own heart.

Being a small town,
Only eight volunteers were found
Who arrived at the scene
Of a blazing building, with a tree in between.
Maria, senior of the young eight
Took the lead hose through the front gate,
Her baby’s memory on her lips,
She bounded up the old creaky steps.
Bursting open the door
She found several seniors on the floor.
Directing John and Jack
To help them, she rushed to the back
Where tearful screams called
And a cringing lady desperately crawled.
Amidst smoke and fiery hell
Maria pulled her to the front, and then it fell
She yelled and pushed
And the lady was freed, and Maria crushed.

Patricia’s memory of her mother,
Of a heroine’s burial under cloud cover
Would be held
In tributes saved for a single mother felled;
In hearts of gratitude
Of survivors and family who gained from her good.
Mother and daughter, forever close,
As Patty donned the uniform she, too, chose.


The scorched fire coat hangs in the open locker door
Placed on the fire truck as the honor guard gathers.
Mother and grandchild watch the hundreds come forward
To honor a daughter, mother, a hero who felt others mattered.

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<a name="#t006>HEROS 3-OFFICER MALLORY</a>

HERO 3- Officer Mallory

On the other side of the country, a gun has been fired;
An officer, mother of three, drives where duty says to respond
Lights flashing, sirens blaring, a quiet prayer repeatedly said
She speeds through city lights to where her future is to be found


My dear grandchildren,
I don’t know where to begin.
I was asked to tell you not to worry
And to give this to you and finish the story.

Your mother loved you more than life
Even though no man knew her as a wife,
She was as sweet as a springtime rain;
Always wanting to not give you any pain.

Remember, all during your time with me
She was always praying for you three
And she wrote this letter so you would know
The importance of family as you grow.

Sherry, Mary, Michelle, my children dear
How I miss the time we weren’t near.
I loved and love you so much
And I am sorry I wasn’t there for you to touch.

I know you wondered why I did what I did
Why I seemed to pick my job over my kids.
It was for you I worked and did what I thought
Was right, for that is the way I was taught.

You don’t know but you had an Uncle Willie
He was so little, we all called him Billy.
I know you are quite surprised
It was before you were born that he died

We lived in a bad neighborhood
When anything happened, it usually wasn’t good
I tried to protect him, but couldn’t manage;
A drive-by shooter killed him at 5 years of age.

That is why I dedicated myself to the force
Why I needed to fight against the source
Of wails of anguish, coffins of tears
Why I seemed so distant all these years.

Since you are reading this now,
I must have gone home to the Lord somehow.
I hope you can understand why sometimes I wasn’t there.
For your Uncle and you, I couldn’t help but care.


Children, I believe your mother wanted
To tell you more, for she was truly haunted
By the pain of missing so much of your growing
And the need for you, some day, to be knowing.

That last day, Sharon responded to a call
That an officer she knew had taken a fall.
It was at another drive-by near a schoolyard;
That officer had blocked their way with his car.

The scene had changed when she arrived
The gang had found a way around the policeman, near dead
The way they drove, it was obvious they were high
It seemed almost certain an innocent was going to die.

If she was not able to cut them off, it was going to be a mess
As she pulled alongside, a bullet slammed into her chest
But the angle was shallow and the vest held true
Then the school bus came into view.

The gang, to high to know, bounced and careened
At high speed, straight for the children and a terrible end.
Sharon, alert and knowing only to protect at all cost
Hit the gas, cut in front, took a slamming hit, and was lost.

Slowed enough now, the mangled cars jumped the corner curve
Allowing the startled bus driver and his 32 charges to swerve
He slowed to a stop and shook with shock and only a flat tire;
While Sharon Mallory, her car, and the gang were engulfed in fire.


The three ladies looked at each other and rose to stand
And walked to their grandmother, each holding a hand.
“We know, and love our mother, grand mom”, as the sun shone on the wall,
Where the three Academy diplomas said they would protect and defend all.


The bagpipes mournful sounds echoed about the trees
With the slow, dum-ta-dum of drums shaking the leaves,
Officer Sharon Mallory, a hero, badge number 2133,
Who pledged to serve and protect; laid to rest, a credit to her beliefs.

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<a name="#t007"HEROS 4-Soldiers</a>

Across the sea, on a desert stretch of land, two soldiers wait,
Youth of twenty, they volunteered, of necessity and duty, they saw,
To protect country, and families apart, who at home fearfully sit;
While incoming rounds pound the ground where fear is raw.


~~~

THEN

“Soldier, straighten up, chest out, show some pride!”
“Sir! Yes sir!” Jerry said, looking straight ahead
Wishing to hide
Not wanting to be dead.

Fresh from high school, a varsity star who lost hope
Running from a family on life’s dark fringe;
Father sold his soul for dope
Mother hiding in alcoholic binge.

To his left, Paul, dark complexioned, of Asian descent
Filled with love and pride for his adopted land
This is what it all meant
To be a Vietnamese-American, an immigrant.

Paul knew well of the troubles of his birth nation;
The place he, and the others, would be going soon.
For his old home he held compassion
While heart and soul hummed America’s tune.

Paul and Jerry and thousands of young ladies and men
Boarded ships and planes, following those who led before
All fearful of not returning again;
All sent to fight in their nation’s war.

The jungles and fields were damp and overbearingly hot;
Jerry and Paul, still together, struggled to keep the pace,
Plagued by bugs and jungle rot;
Survival and honor wore the same face.

The last letter from home gave Jerry the news
Father completed rehab and mother finished her AA..
Dad’s soul found in a pew
Where mom had finally knelt to pray.

Paul, however, was confused, filled with anger and hurt
When news came back upon return from a 30 mile trek
His family, cursed, spit upon, treated like dirt
In the very country for which he risked his neck.

The dampness of the ground that swallowed foot and knee
Encouraged mold and then rot grew between flesh and soul
Yet they never stopped to question their country..
They fought and survived, though surrounded by a failed goal.

NOW

“Hey dad, can I take the laptop computer?”
Paul Sr., stared incredulously at his only son,
Using laughter to hide the fear;
Knowing this fight was a very different one.

Paul Jr had eagerly joined to gain the education benefits,
Not thinking or caring about what may lie ahead.
His dad had scars that ate him up bit by bit
Episodes of ‘Nam memories, of children and women shot dead

Jerry’s daughter, much to the anguish of her mother and father
Had enlisted to revenge the fallen Towers as propaganda played
Jerry begged her not to bother
But Gerry was not to be denied.

At the terminal, Gerry and Paul happened to meet
While waiting to get aboard to their appointed place;
The past and present to greet,
Finding a connection in each other’s face.

After miles of talking of families and decades passed,
Soon the sand and reality of what may meet their eye
Pelted them with the stinging sand blast
Neither allowing, by oath, the other to die.

~~~

The shell fell ten feet to Gerry’s left position,
Showering both with rock, sand and silence.
Paul held Gerry’s head down as he looked to see the reason;
The bomb lay waiting to blow away the line of defense.

Shown by Paul what lay in the sand near by,
She ran through incoming fire to warn others to move away,
As Paul ran to grab it and heave it to the sky
And then dove back to his hole, hoping for time to pray….

A year later, to the pride of family and parents on hand
Two heroes of extraordinary valor escorting fallen comrades;
Paul and Gerry, sharing each other’s wedding bands….
A new day reaching for new tomorrows, while the past fades.


Thank you to my comrades, survivors and fallen.....you are all HEROES in my book...
:cheers:

Tom
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<a name="#t008">Timmy and the Sheperd-Type Dog(S.J. Watson)</a>

This is a story that was written by my mother, S. J. Watson, which I had no previous knowledge of. My sister brought this to my attention and mailed it to me. Due to its length, I am posting separated from my original tribute to the works of my mother. My sister says there are no other hidden writings from my mother, and since she and I are the last of our family, this is the last, and the best, of my mother's legacy to us. I hope you enjoy reading each part as they are posted.

INTRODUCTIONS

Timothy Jacob Peterson was the name that was finally written on the birth certificate. What to "call" the baby was the subject of the next heated discussion. Sue liked "Timmie," but Hank flatly declared that it was to sissified and held out for "Jake." The deadlock was broken when Sue slyly suggested that "Tiny Tim" sounded rather cute. They compromised and chose "Timmy"---spelled with a "y".

There was no argument or discussion about names when Hank decided to buy a pup to raise with his son. He simply walked into the pet store and told the clerk what he had in mind. "One," he said, "that will grow into a large, gentle, shepherd-type dog." The clerk handed him a six-weeks-old bundle of fur with extremely large feet. Hank held up the squirming puppie and said, "Hi, Sport." The pup joyfully responded by licking the tip of Hank's nose and making a tiny, warm puddle in the palm of his hand. Hank had no way of knowing that Sport would never grow enough to match those huge feet, or that the soft, brown fur would soon become a scraggly coat that denied all attempts to groom it. Any shepherd-type qualities that remained were further hidden when Sport, seemingly overnight, sprouted a magnificent growth of bristly, grey whiskers on his chin.

As Sue was busy with diapers, teething problems, and other matters relating to a six-months-old baby, Sport was kept either outside or in the service porch during the day, depending on the weather. Hank took on the job of house-training him evenings and weekiends. He accomplished this by a series of shouted "NO-NOs!" and occasional whacks with the flyswatter. Eventually Sport became a fairly well-behaved dog and, quite naturally, adored Hank.

Timmy was a healthy, strong baby with an amazing appetite. He would consume anything and everything his mother chose to feed him, only complaining when the spoonfuls didn't come fast enough. By the time he was a year old he was taking his first uncertain steps.

On this particular day Hank had called to explain that he would be late getting home from work. Sue was taking advantage of the extra time by folding diapers back in the service porch. Timmy was standing at a small bench, noisily banging a pan with his favorite toy, the flour sifter, while Sport was sulking in the corner, wistfully eyeing his empty bowl and water pan. Hank had always been the one to feed him but Hank wasn't there. The pangs of hunger grew stronger. A low whine of protest finally escaped from his throat. Sue, glancing up from her task, suddenly realized that it was well past Sport's dinner time.

"Poor Sport," she murmured. "You must be almost famished. I'm sorry." She gave him fresh water and emptied a can of "Doggie Delight," a goopy sort of stew, into his bowl. Just then the phone rang. Sue looked briefly at her child, decided that he was thoroughly occupied, and slipped silently away.

Suddenly it became very quiet. Sport, surprised, glanced in Timmy's direction. The boy had stopped his banging and was staring at the dog. In the past, Sport had been allowed to cautiously sniff at the baby, but any attempt at closer contact had been met with a sharp rebuff from Sue. Hank had wanted the dog and child to become better acquinted, but she had firmly declared that there would be time enough for that later. Thereafter, Sport had ignored the boy. Perhaps that was why he watched with uneasy interest as Timmy took one, two,---six, seven faltering steps toward him, then wobbled and sat down ----kerplop, right in the pan of water.

"Oof!" grunted Timmy.
"Arf!" responded Sport.

Considering this to be an invitation to dinner, Timmy gleefully plunged in with both hands. When Sue appeared a moment later, Timmy was plastered from head to toes with Doggie Delight and Sport was trying to clean up the mess with a long, wet, loving tongue.

"Timmy! NO-NO!"

Sport jumped about a foot straight up in the air, scurried into the kitchen
and cowered under the table, awaiting the fully expected whack from the fly swatter. It wasn't until very late that evening when Sue was telling Hank the story for the fifth time that she was finally able to laugh about it.

That was only the beginning, for as the toddler became more and more mobile, his knack for getting into things increased. This was before the appearance of TV and the wide use of playpens so Mommies could watch soap operas uninterrupted. It was also long before Dr. Spock wrote his book. Therefore, Timmy was trained in pretty much the same way that Sport had been trained, and Sport, at first confused by the new onslaught of "NO-NOs," soon learned that it wasn't necessary for him to duck under the table when:

Timmy decided that drapes were made to swing on.
Timmy tried to eat the pages out of the dictionary.
Timmy discovered that if he pushed down on the little
pedal at the bottom of the garbage pail, the lid would stay open; thus
leaving his other hand free to rummage around in all the goodies.
Etc., etc., etc.

"I swear to goodness," lamented Sue to her husband night after night,
"I don't dare turn my back on that child for one moment."

But she survived and Timmy survived, for he was soon turning four years old. Meanwhile, the fickle Sport had forsaken Hank and centered
ll of his devotion upon the boy.

(next: The Gift --SJ Watson)
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<a name="#t009">IN THE SHADOW OF THE RAYVEN</a>

I walk the streets, lost in sorrow, day and night
Under the shadow of The Ravyn's wings in flight

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
In time to my walking feet
</center>

Under sun of day, the shadow is a bright white,
Moving ahead, outshining the sun’s heating light;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
Sounding like my shuffling feet.
</center>

At night, under the fullness of the dark new moon,
The shadow deepens the dark of my path, then leaves too soon;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
Scattering tears on my slowing feet
</center>

I look to the sky to see The Ravyn soaring up high,
Giver of shadows of darkness and light;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
Whisks my tears to my feet
</center>

The power of the down-swing push times of fear and desperation
While the lifting raises hope, love and final satisfaction;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
Clears a trail of possibilities at my feet
</center>

The Ravyn sweeps around in a mighty circle of strength
Turning on a journey into lightness of eternal length;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat
Laying the grace of hope at our feet.
</center>

And still, over the streets of night and day, flies The Ravyn;
Circling our hearts and souls in their own safe havens;

<center>
Slow rhythmic beat,
Pushes our tears, in designed scribbles, at our feet.
</center>

Her pathos and courage have left me forever changed.
Thank you Jenn
Tom

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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:19 am

<center>Challenge</center>

<a name="#c001">Sep 6th, 2003 Challenge Entry: First Dance</a>

She stood for a moment, stunned,
With the juice of the apple running
From the bite taken, down her encircling hand.
Her mind began embracing the dance
Of visions, first tangled, then braided
And woven, of brilliant colors, leaving her blinded
And amazed as she stared in awe,
The apple causing her to take the blindfold off.

This sudden knowledge left her laughing
But bewildered; a transformation leaving
Her fainthearted, and confused
As all new emotions grew and fused
From sensations soft as the fuzz of a peach
To those of the hardness of diamonds, each
Colliding in the labyrinth of her soul,
To rejuvenate desires, hot and cold.

Back in control, she turned to the man,
Offering, with a smile, the apple in her hand.
Giving him an enticing deadly chance

To join her in embracing the dance.

Dr. Watson
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<a name="#c002">May Challenge- My Ticket To A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream</a>

What can I say, I remembered this so I thought "Why not?"

Our 10 year old whispers moved about the auditorium seats
Punctuated by the occasional snickering laugh,
Quickly muffled by words we feared to repeat
As her immense shadow cut our mutterings in half.

Her voice, high pitched, like the gaseous air
Fleeing from an oversized party balloon
Squeezed at the end for emphasis, made us stare
And choke back laughter, as she turned, none to soon.

With her broad back to us, she twittered about notes,
Of the music kind, not the one we passed around
Secretly upon which each of us sneakily wrote,
Until the point I wrote “bitch” when silence was the only sound.

The paper instantly was soaked with my sweat
As she grabbed it from my hand and read.
The next moment, it seemed, the principal I met.
When he read the words “fat bitch” I knew I was dead.

The principal actually expelled me for the next day
Though, it seems, even he must have agreed with me;
For when he learned I wished to see a movie, to which Mom said “No Way”,
He said “Let him go. Midsummer Night’s Dream would be good to see.”
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<a name="#c003">April Challenge- An April, Long Ago</a>

April, in long ago paschal days,
Saw no bedizen dressed eggs,
Just crosses of denunciation ways,
And the dying, sagging, on broken legs.

Back when Judas performed his shenanigans,
Would “Got my mojo working” play in his head
When, for some coin, he set pearls before swine?
I think only fear and shame play, till he hung dead.

Pre-resurrection there was only one way to be;
That was to keep your nose to the grindstone,
And ignore mankind’s upcoming destiny;
Accepting that only you and yours were God’s chosen.

Then the Christ came with a new path,
Daring to upset the priests set scheme.
As was God’s will, He incurred their wrath,
They stated “Don’t change horses in midstream!”

So the horse remained, as the stream dried;
While His disciples, empowered, went out.
His resurrection was hidden, disguised;
And His word and His name were passed about.

Now the baskets, with eggs are filled;
Symbols of new life and hope to fulfill;
A promise remaining, from a long ago April.

Tom
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<a name="#c004">July Ch.. ch—ch--challenge: Myopic Stalker</a>

It's true, she was awfully pretty in his mind, so demented.
(He thought of himself as an amateur expert on such things.)
”Maybe if I just try to act naturally” he thought as the room emptied,
Eyes admiring Baggy tights and wellington boots, caressing her diamond rings.

He wasn’t a chicken about chasing little cherubs in all their chastity,
No matter if the dress was cheesy or having sick, chalk like skin.
It made him chuckle to himself, the weaklings constant neediness;
Perfect for his churlish nature; chomping up goodness, spitting it out as sin.

Then he had to hesitate, noticing the German shepherd with her-this could cause a mess.
He pulled from nowhere a female French poodle, pheromones loaded with heat.
Releasing her, she jaunted off to lure the mighty Shepherd away,
Then, losing doubt, thinking “OK then, we'll call it a definite maybe”,
He rose from his seat, growing grim about the mouth, anxious to play.

As he approached He noted then, the bags in the jeans were not bags but amply filled.
To his dismay, it seemed, a change had come to his victims’ person
The boots were matted with reddish-brown clumps and stains on pants where blood had spilled,
He paused startled, then, from the turned bearded face and Buddha bald head, ran away, cursin’.

Tom
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:19 am

<a name="#p001">Another Day</a>

5 A.M.

"R-r-r-r-ing". Another rude awakening among thousands and the monotony begins. Forty-six years have gone by since the first, and no apologies yet. If the times weren't so unsteady, maybe all of the racket would be worthwhile. There isn't even the automatic background music to soothe the rattling hammer. I gave up my electric clock-radio when they approved the entertainment tax for "non-essential" electrical goods. The official word was that this money was "---going into research and development of new energy resources and pollution control measures."

"Bull!" I thought in disgust, and grudgingly staggered to the shower, wishing that my wife would just once forget to wind that damn clock.

6 A.M.

The coffee steamed into the cup, giving off an aroma which, with its warmth, helped me forget the chill of my morning shower. I could never get used to the staccato shower heads before, and now it is worse. Some idiot-savant discovered the perfect solution for the shortage of clean water. It seems that this fellow invented a water pipe stutter valve, which, in some way, prevents a steady flow of water from building up through certain water lines. I think it reacts to the diameter of pipe, or something of that sort. Anyway, it sure screws up any chance of a nice warm shower.

The coffee was warm and dark when it coursed its way down my throat and eased the curtains of chill and sleep from my vision. The timer on the gas burner had turned the fire under the coffee pot off and I hurried to gulp down the last few drops remaining in my cup in order that I might grab another while it was still warm. A good hot cup of coffee is practically an impossibility since the skyrocketing price of butane fuel made the constant fire a luxury afforded only by the very wealthy or very privileged.

The coffee was turning cool and bitter when the radio news came dimly into the bleak grey of the dining room. I made a mental note to order more batteries from the catalogue which lay resting in its niche in the magazine rack. Ordering the little necessities from the Government Mail Order Company Catalogue, as established by the Central Printing Agency of the Environment and Energy Control Commission (E.E.C.C.), is much less expensive than time saving, and therefore, still worthwhile. Besides, the money paid for those goods from the book helps in the good ol' research and development of new energy sources and pollution control measures, etc., etc., etc.

7 A.M.

I sat behind the steering column of my new Petro-Lectric Commute Van and stared apprehensively at first the alternator, then the fuel gauge. No matter how efficient the E.E.C.C. claimed the solar panels are on these crate, I could not feel secure about my status of mobility after all of the stormy weather we had recently gone through. Also, I had used a good portion of my monthly allocation of gas stamps already and didn't want to go into any of the portion I had saved for our vacation.

Having satisfied myself that the fuel cells and tank were sufficiently stocked, I glanced up to the overhanging oxygen mask and checked the pressure gauges. It was a rather expensive luxury which recently had become a necessity of life, especially for people like myself who have to commute into the basin four days a week to work. The dramatic increase in air pollutants in the last few years reached its peak last summer; during a long dry spell over 500 people died from asphyxiation. If the pressures on our economy exerted by those oil moguls hadn't become so unbearable that the clean air standards imposed upon our refineries had to be released, the availability of a ready source of oxygen would not be so important. Three of my fellow workers and close friends left widows and children behind to testify to the seriousness of the situation.

1 P.M.

Thankfully, the weather was still a little blustery and the day at work went smoothly and was not interrupted by an actual air pollution alert. Of course there was the usual practice drill to which everyone responded with the efficient seriousness bred from the actual experience.

The traffic both to and from work was light and relaxing. Even the steady hum of the many electric commute buses, which make the trips seem like driving in the middle of swarms of bees, seemed to be lighter in density than usual.

10 P.M.

The picture seemed to fall into a pit of blackness until only a dot of light could be seen, then there was nothing. We sat, staring at the blank face, remembering the days when the screen would only turn to grey in the early morning hours when the station management decided, finally, to rest its transmitters, or earlier, whenever weary eyelids would drop to rest our own tired receivers. Now it is different. No programming lasts longer than 10:00 in the evening. The only exceptions are those special cable channels provided for the benefit of the night worker. Batteries for televisions are cheap and long lived, but not so cheap that all night viewing is practical.

The day was over the hill and another was coming up the road. Preparing for bed, I thought again of the days past, with joy and regret. The joy stemmed from the picnics by the lakes (now fenced off for the general public safety due to extreme mercury and toxin chemical content), long drives out into the country and to the beaches ( now impossible because of energy consumption regulations, and limitations set on the number of vehicles allowed in the few protected areas of clean wilderness and beach), and the quiet evenings sitting near the fireplace, watching the small flames do their eternal dance of ecstasy over, under and through the laughing crackling logs ( no more fireplaces; wood has become a too valuable resource for home consumption to be permitted, and to use gas flames is unthinkable).

Regret lay across my soul like a lead blanket. Not so much for myself, though I certainly was as unwilling to see the dangers as anyone else, but for all of my generation and the generations before it and following. We danced upon the treadmill of technology without concern for our destination, only with concern for the convenience of mobility. In order to see the green world we proudly inherited, we filled our tanks to overflowing, failing to see that the overflow was turning our pride a dead brown.

With a trembling sigh, I placed my glasses on the night stand and, checking the Little Ben to make sure it was set, turned off the light. After kissing my wife good night, I turned on my side, and, feeling a tear brush my soul, closed my eyes to dream and wish ...
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:20 am

<a name="#p002">Sight and its Attached Influences</a>
<pre>
Freedom is not just the prisoner’s dream or the patriot’s goal. True
freedom is self-sufficiency, and allows no binds or bonds upon self-
development. The influences of the world attach themselves to whatever
we may sense, and lock those senses in a prison of pre-expectation.

DRY ICE
The brilliant haze of sun had turned the young man into a blister on the
white hot desert surface. His eyes, swollen nearly shut, gazed dizzily
ahead at the unending swells of shimmering fire, and saw the rippling
pool of water beckoning his parched throat closer, He cupped his torn
sun-blackened hands and dipped into, and brought up one, long, last
swallow of crystal cool fire.


There are many things that we, as people, are attached to for
the sake of, and in the name of living. We are born into a world of
sights, sounds, scents, and various other sensations, which, through our
very sudden awareness of them drown, with their babble and glare, all of
our prior awareness. The world is ours, and yet, we are possessed by
it. We are free to sense the world, but are not free from the influences
of these sensations.

SIGHT
Do eyes, which through out life are
Half-crossed,
View, same as we, the symmetrical
Lines
Of the flowery entwined
Vines
Or is the doubled rose’s beauty
Lost
To us, in our simple
Trust?


There may be many instances where we become attached to
the way something looks without our actually seeing it. How many times
have you, in your impatience, seen something without really looking at it?

SEA SHORE
A breeze uselessly brushed at the ragged edge of torn sail,
while the drifting life raft swayed uncaring on the sea’s surface.

Her last meal a memory lost between the waves, the young
woman lay against the coarse, salt coated rubber surface, drained of
everything but hope, searching the perpetually moving sea for land.
Half blinded by the wind, salt, and glaring sea, her sunken eyes
spotted on the borders of oblivion a stretch of brown sand, bouncing and
rolling with the motion of her boat.

With a last surge of strength born of desperation, having lost
her paddle days before, she pawed and scratched at the white tipped
surface, which became more like the foam of surf. All too suddenly,
there in front of her, in the haziness of her delirium, lay the brown hard
beach, With a voiceless scream of joy and madness she leaped into the
foaming surf toward the brown expanse, After a splash, she fell, lost
forever, under the bobbing raft oar.


Belief certainly cannot be based solely upon seeing with vision
and its attached influences.

This sight which is attached to the influences of the world is
that I hope to lose, if only for a moment. Without the worldly influences
attached to my sight I could see forest from among the trees; I could
see the many drops of water holding together the pond.

Without this unattached vision, I am afraid I might become
lost in a world of emotions and misleading attractions, and end up falling
into a pit that I saw only as a distant shadow.</pre>
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:21 am

<a name="#p003">The Crossing</a>

The sun was just beginning to spread a red glow through the haze of the morning light when Gorath awoke. He was hungry and thirsty, and was very frightened. He thought of the journey he must make if he wasn't to starve, and he shook with fear. There was only one known region that had any food or water for him, and he had to cross the Hardland to get there.

The trip wasn't long, and he wasn't worried about getting lost, for if he headed toward the source of the always prevalent stench of rotting flesh, he knew he would quickly get there.

With his journey over the dry, dead land that was his home nearly ended, Gorath peered through the bushes he was hiding behind to see the long, black band that stretched ominously in front of his path. He was preparing to cross, when a sound caused him to stop and freeze with terror. His keen hearing had picked up a deep rumbling in the distance. It was a familiar sound that never ceased to terrify his family and friends. It was a creature of the Hardland. It moved at a speed incomprehensible to Gorath. Its four feet seemed to touch the ground spontaneously, as it traveled toward some unknown goal, devouring and mutilating everything in its path.

Gorath huddled behind the largest bush he could get to, and watched with terror widened eyes as the monster quickly passed by, roaring its defiance at any who might be in its way.

Gorath's memory wasn't very good, but these sights and sounds forced him to recall a happening in his youth that made his blood curdle and his heart freeze. He was heading toward the same drinking and feeding place with his parents and brothers and sisters. He had stopped near the Hardlands to pull a thorn out of his foot while his family crossed ahead of him. The monster was there and gone before he could do or say anything to warn them. It had done it's job well. All that remained of his family were their torn skins and other unrecognizable fragments.

Gorath shook his head, trying to free himself from that memory, The sun was beginning to rise out of the morning haze. If he was going to satisy his hunger this day, he would have to cross right away, for the further the sun traveled, the more often the monsters would rush madly by.

Slowly, with the caution that years of fear breeds, Gorath approached the forbidden land. He strained to hear a warning sound that would send him fleeing back to the bushes and shelter.

There was no sound, only the rustle of wind through the bushes sounding like the muffled screams of anguish of the dead. Not hearing or seeing anything, Gorath took a trembling breath and began to make the crossing; too slowly, too cautiously.

He was halfway across, when he realized that a sound in the wind was growing in intensity each second he stood listening. His heart seemed to leap to his throat and the bottom fell out of his stomach. In the distance a monster, with his eyes glistening in the sun, was running toward him! Gorath began to run with all the speed he had in him, yet everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, that is, everything except the charging creature. Realizing that at any second it would be on him, Gorath made one final, desperate lunge at the edge of the black earth.

He felt the hot air made by the speeding wheels as he fled, with ears back, into the dense undergrowth and safety.
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:22 am

<a name="#p004">GOT A LIGHT?</a>


"Got a light?" This question is the absolute symbol of the paradoxical human mind. In the same manner as the tiny lemming drive themselves across the countryside into the sea, many people seem to purposely drive their bodies to destruction for no apparent reason. For every effect there is a cause, though. The lemmings make their fatal dash to the sea for the sake of survival. Their prolific birth rate would, without the mass "suicidal" drives, cause overpopulation of their species, shortage of food, and eventual extinction.

The human drive is not based upon anything as noble as survival:
The human works for self destruction simply out of habit: the "need" to smoke. The search for self-destruction is taken along many pathways, all of which involve the taking into the body substances which serve only to destroy. These paths may include coffee, tea, beer, wine liquor,
marijuana, uppers, downers, heroine, cocaine, L.S.D., pipes, cigars, chewing tobacco and cigarettes. The list could certainly go on, for in our unique imagination the means to our end are innumerable. It would seem, though, that the most serious threat to all people is the
non-personal escape route. This would be the all enveloping smoke of burning tobacco, whether it be from a pipe, cigar, cigarette or Cigarillos.

Consider the cigarette. Where it came from is of little importance, for here and now is the time frame in which it must be dealt with. The
fact of its danger is well known, and, most often, ignored. The substances and chemicals contained and released by fire are well described
on every carton, case and package made. Sufficient warnings are stated:

"WARNING: THE SURGEON GENERAL HAS DETERMINED THAT CIGARETTE SMOKING IS DANGEROUS TO YOUR HEALTH".

Drawing in and exhaling the smoke of a cigarette is not a personal exercise in suicide. It is an occasion for all people, smokers and
non-smokers, to notify their insurance agents about. The process of breathing is a process of life born into all people. The quality of that
which is taken into the lungs is dependent upon the individual values placed on the breath of life. If smoking is the drawing in and exhaling
of the smoke of a cigarette or cigar, then when one person carries a lit cigarette into our air space, all of us will end up smoking it, and by
allowing this to happen, we will have demonstrated the same lack of concern for our own health as the cigarette carrier does for his or hers.

If you are concerned about your right to breathe air provided by the processes of nature rather than the excesses of humanity, if you are
concerned about the ever present potential of fire in the country and home, and if you truly need your friends and love your family so much that you would not, just to stay in their loving graces, condone a habit that may be killing them and others, then go ahead and dare to say
"Please, don't smoke."

As a final note, perhaps determining the meaning of the word "smoking" would be beneficial in seeing the senselessness of the habit.
Dictionaries are the mirrors of the values of society. Smoking is reflected in very poor light but accurately. The following are the names
we as a people have given to cigarettes.

SKAGG: The yellow-brown stained fingers and teeth give another view of the two pack a day person.
COFFIN NAIL: The mirror image of a cigarette comes through even clearer in the charred human carcass smoldering on the burnt out
mattress.
BUTTS: We see the vision of lipstick stained filters, and tobacco straining through soggy paper, drying and leaving its stain, once
destined for lungs, on white porcelain sinks and urinals, and holes burned on tables and clothes.
FAGS: Prostrate with burning lungs and worn out with the effort of driving aching legs and arms on a short jog, the runner attempts
to relax with a cigarette and succeeds only in planting more seeds of weariness in pitted lungs.
GASPER: Hacking coughs shatter the peaceful world and echo throughout the towns and countryside. They then gather among the wheezing gasps of breath being crowded out of lungs packed with the ooze of tars and pitted by stains of nicotine burning their way through walls clouded grey by the ever present yellow wisps of smoke.

Don't pity, therefore, the poor little lemming. Its mad dash to possible destruction is to the benefit and strength of its species. Pity, instead, the human who is blinded to all warnings, and strolls unheedingly, to an early grave with a head lost in a cloud of smoke.
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:22 am

<a name="#p005">Parable of The Swimmer and the Desert Man</a>

Take the story of the former college swimming champion and the middle aged business man from the desert.
There was a businessman and swimming champion who loved the water and was very proud of his abilities in it. When on a business trip he met the man from the desert and asked if he wanted to go to the pool with him for a swim. The man from the desert stared for a moment, mumbled something and walked away. The next day the swimmer ran into the desert man again and again invited him for a swim, knowing and believing that one can swim their way to perfect health. The desert man scornfully replied back “did you not hear me yesterday? I don't swim! I don't like swimming! It is too much a waste of time." The swimmer persisted though, explaining all of the physical rewards swimming offers, having noticed desert man had a weak, pallid look about him. The man from the desert responded angrily that the problem with swimmers was too much water on the brain and in the ears and walked away. This exchange continued for several days, in spite of desert man's resistance, because the swimming champ knew he would want to be pushed hard to jump into the water if he was resistant to it.
Then, one day after returning from a trip out of town, the swimming champ started looking around for the desert man, who was nowhere to be seen. Stopping a fellow worker, he asked for desert man's whereabouts. He had come up with the most convincing argument yet for getting him into the water.
He was told then that the man from the desert was taken to the hospital earlier. Apparently he had been drinking his third cup of coffee after finishing a trucker's sized breakfast, when he suddenly got up mumbling something about how he was going shut that swimming fanatic up once and for all by jumping in at the edge of the pool, holding on at all times, so that he could pull himself out right away. Unlike the swimming champ, desert man had grown up in the desert where swimming pools were a waste of a valuable commodity. He had never learned to swim because no one was around when he was a child to teach him. Swimming was a foreign word by the time he was in college. Anyway, immediately after jumping into the water he cramped up into knots and nearly drowned before someone pulled him out. He did recover enough prior to the ambulance taking him away, to say that the water felt so cool and refreshing for a moment, that he may try getting in again, but first he was going to prepare himself and be certain he was ready. A few days later the swimming champ sent a note of apology to the desert man. The note read: "I'm sorry if my badgering caused you to put your life at risk. It’s just that I knew if I never got in a pool before, I would want someone to push me to jump in. I never thought that the life I had led would cause me to falsely expect someone unfamiliar with it to eagerly accept it too.
The moral to this is: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you as if you were living in their life.
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