Bend gently 
My ever lasting soul,
Know that all awaits you
Is yet untold

Seek your fame
And light your flame 
I’ll walk within
Your lighted dreams name

And there you stood

Beneath the light

Of moonbeams falling

All over your sight

Do comb your flaxen hair

With a whales tooth comb

A gift from one who

Took the dare

Unto the mornings sun

You did plot

A summers bright sun

kissed your favorite loving spots

A daily ritual

This we know

Till your sailor returns

from where, who only knows

We find ourselves near the end of time

A place unfamiliar for any kind of rhyme

But to be sure I mispeak, not

It ain’t forever is the idea of this plot

So I hope when the time does, come

I will face the end looking up and out

toward the sun!

And gently pass politely, to what’s next out there!

Pick 1 you like if at all and send me a note re same

“Oh Colleen, have you made me blush,

Oh, has the blue from your eyes

Given me such a gentle touch?

I waited so long to give you this poem—

It was all I could do; I wish I could sing you a song.”

And so, eighteen-year-old varsity shortstop Michael made his feelings known, leaving an impression on sixteen-year-old, bashful cheerleader Colleen.

Mike was built—a tall, wiry body, wavy black hair, and riveting brown eyes that caught the blue of Colleen’s. She was average height, with parchment-freckled skin, perfect teeth, and a disposition as gentle as a summer breeze. They dated and promised to be true—true for one, but as you know, it’s hard to know.

Off to college—one finished, one not. A war was raging, and the reality wasn’t lost on Mike. After a year, he was home for good, though he wasn’t the same. I think that’s understood.

They married and had three children. Mike wrote poems to Colleen every Valentine’s Day, which she saved in her top dresser drawer—a collection to look back on when times felt lost forever. Yet, time passed and took their love with it, spending it wildly, as if on the back of a dove. After a while, and after many golf courses, Mike grew cold—distant, is what you would call it, I imagine.

It wasn’t lost on Colleen that Mike’s demeanor had cooled. Though never impolite or rude—he was a decent fellow—he cited work as a real strain. Perhaps an assistant was really the game.

The Showdown

A second format will follow. Pick which you like better and advise via contact please

Valentines Day 1966

“Oh Colleen have you made me blush

Oh Has the blue from your eyes

Given me such a gentle touch

I waited so long to give you this poem

It was all I could do, I wish I could sing you a song”

And so that’s how eighteen -year -old- varsity short stop Michael made his feelings known and first impression

On sixteen-year- old – bashful cheerleader Colleen.

Mike was built. A tall wiry body. Wavy black hair. Riveting brown eyes. That caught the blues of Colleen. She was avg height, parchment freckled skin, perfect teeth and gentle as a summers breeze.

They dated and promised to be true, True for one but you know it’s hard to know.

Off to college, one finished one not. A war was ragging and on Mike it wasn’t lost. After a year he was home for good. But not the same, I think that’s understood.

They married and grew three children you see. Mike wrote poems to Colleen every Valentines day. She save them all in her top dresser draw. Looking back at times gone forever more. Time passed and with that took their love. And spent it wildly as if on the back of a dove. Yet after sometime

and golf courses handled, Mike drew cold, and distant is what you would call it, I imagine.

Not lost on Colleen was Mike’s cool demeanor. Though never impolite or rude, he was a decent fellow. Just work he said was a real strain. Maybe an assistant was really the game?

It comes to some

In the middle of the night

When all is quiet

and there isn’t much light

But then they come

To say hi there Friend

Remeber me?

Why I’ve just begun

To remind you of

your day’s long journey

coxing all and a bit flirty

It’s a good place to hide

Till comes, 12:30

For there is where

the demons do appear

Reminding all

Not to fall

Under their light

dull and not so bright

But clear to see

What next you need to be

On a Triumph

Motorcycle riding alone down an anonymous road

Or in a biplane slicing aimlessly drifting through the sky

Carefree

That is where I choose to spend the rest of my time

Time spent so well in the heavenly sky

Or road of broken promises

No matter at all,

Not for discusion

Only to be felt

Of human life with no strife do I chase

For all my years float in space

Of certain I do cry

For the tacid wealth of the unknown

For the death of the forgone

The principals of loves, admirations

Aand lofty thoughts of no religion,

Break your bread amongst the great unwashed

Around souls who have lost

Where misery rests her head before embes of life beyond come and say again

I was once whole and pure

And could now never think to endure rife phrases spoken from deaf ears draw.

Beside myself I sit alone

Thinking about those 

Who have come and gone

And who are they did you say

So along the boardwalk i roam

Looking for what was left to hate and love in bloom

Where packs creak 

Shutting their speak

As nails pop from holding memories holes

I wonder when it was

We each lost a friend,

Thought of no end

Yet time leapt on

We lost our youthful song

Slipping into the depth of life

Our skins became cold and hard, from awful strife

Oh wouldn’t it be nice

To go back to a simpler time of life

Where just you and me

And me and you

Lived like one,

under mistletoe….