Mists of Time

Light and Dark

“I had a child just like you”

She said to me that day

Waiting in the hospital

On my knees to pray

She didn't know who I was

Her mind just couldn't see

That I knew who she talked about

The child was truly me.


We'd had this converse once before

And many before that

The degradation of her mind

Was obvious, as she sat

And prattled on about her son

How happy he will be

With her family when she comes home

And I had to agree


She never found her memories

Or recognized my face

After everything she went through

She's in a better place

Where memories last forever

And can't be lost to time

Where human bodies don't break down

Always in their prime


Many years have come and gone

I can't recall them all

It's not like I haven't tried

But the thoughts just have a pall

I try to stare back to the past

Peer directly through the grime

Just like a fog covered my eyes

It's hard to see through mists of time

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My Life Would Be So Much Better

My life would be so much better if you hadn't become sick and died.

You were a wonderful person because love was what you supplied.

My life would be so much better if you had gotten well.

But you died in the hospital and life became pure hell.

My life would be so much better if you were still around.

I wish I could still hear your voice because it was such a beautiful sound.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013.

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A piece of heaven! 2015

A piece of heaven! 2015


when we first met you could tell i needed a friend

so you took me under your wing and helped me to mend

you were quick to tell me i was worth saven

thats when i thought i was looking at a piece of heaven

your cheery attitude gave me reason to smile

and your endless happiness went on for miles

wheather you were talking to some one or waven

thats when i realized i was looking at a piece of heaven

and when my mom died you never left my side

you didnt give up on me instead you became my giude

family always came first to you they were your everything

there was nothing you wouldnt do for them you always made there heart sing

i looked into your loving eyes and knew your love you've freely given

and then i knew with out a doubt i was lookin at a piece of heaven

you made there world a better place and put a song in all there hearts

you always looked out for your daughter and was very proud of your son

pride and joy shows in your eyes when your grand kids are having fun

we're all lost with out you here your love and guidance draws you near

your strength and courage made you strong enough to concor all your fears

knowing you has been a pleasure you helped me to wanna go on living

by leaving a piece of heaven in all our hearts.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wrote this poem for a very special lady who i concider my second mother she was always making me laugh and feel better about all i was going thru this poem is for younRita I love you!!!



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It was forty-three years ago today when I left your womb.

Your death has brought about tears, despair and gloom.

Usually pregnancies last nine months but you had a longer wait.

You carried me for ten months, I was a month late.

From the day I was born until the day you died, we shared a special bond.

You were always there for me and I'm still unhappy because you're gone.

You didn't deserve to suffer the way you did, what a horrible fate.

The doctors did all they could but you went to the hospital too late.

I didn't know what I had until I lost it and I lost you too soon.

It was forty-three years ago today when I left your womb.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who gave birth to me 43 years ago today.

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There is You,
my son, and You.


The You that died;
the You which we see
on rising
in photographs on walls
or framed or there
by the window;
the You staring back at us
from our mobile phones.


There's the You I saw
brought into the world
pink and small
and wanting to feed
and latch on
for the liquid food.


The You growing up
from baby to toddler,
mischievous, but loving.


The You growing
into manhood,
stoic and quiet
and brave, going about
in your own way
to climb many a mountain
of adversity
and reaching the top
and over it
and quietly smile
and unseen
in a corner, sit.


There is the You
of quiet talk,
of gentle words;
You of soft
under the breath swearing,
if the referee
had got it wrong.


There was the You who
became ill so suddenly;
the You who was let down
by medical professionals;
the You we loved,
the You whose heart
flat-lined and died.


There is You,
my son, and You.


The You who was taken
and the You whom we feel
around us still,
walking by
out of the corner
of our red rimmed eye.

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You left the door
of your washing machine
wide open.


I noticed that
when we fetched
your clothes
the following day.


You never did wear them;
after your death
we took them away.


I guess you, like me,
my son, thought you'd
return that day
to close the door
and carry on
with the wash.


You never did
return to close
the door or do
your wash again;
you thought it
was an old
problem returning,
a similar pain.


Your flat is rented
by some other now;
all your worldly goods
divided like
the cloth of Christ,
but with a sadness
and hurtful feel
handling your things
after your demise:
books, clothes,
CDs, DVDs,
hats and coats.


Seeing them again,
my son, brings lumps
to ours throats.


I wish I’d stayed behind
that night, not left,
thinking all'd be
all right.


What was it like,
those last hours,
when we weren't there?


I closed the door
of your washing machine;
a scent of you
hanging in the air.

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As the numbness
of your death
wears off,
the harsh reality
sinks in, bites
at the heart and nerves,
tightens its grip
about the throat,
clutches about the heart,
sends punches
to the head.


I still can’t believe you,
my son, are dead;
seems unreal
despite the reality
kicking in,
despite the hollowness
where once you were,
despite the silence
of your laugh and humour,
despite the absence
of your hungry bear walk,
the look you gave,
the softly spoken talk.


We put fresh flowers
on your grave, took
away the dying ones;
we stood and stared
and watched the plot
where now you lay.


Wish you were not there,
my son, but here
with us today.

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It is you, my son,
my first thoughts think on
at dawn's dull light;


it is you I hope to see
in dark dreams at night,
it of you my last thoughts hold


as I drift to my drugged sleep;
memories of you
I hold and keep;


years of yore,
of childhood days,
holidays and day


to day visits,
wishing things were
as they were before.


It is loss of you,
my son, that wounds
my heart, that tears


open and apart,
that final time
we spoke, solemn,


you in pain,
no light heartedness,
no humour, no joke.  


It is of you my son,
my mind returns to,
and the loss reminds me


of our mortal state,
moment to moment
ticking by, taking


for granted each day
we live, each person
we love, each kiss,


each exchange
of words we cast,
not thinking each

may be our last.

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We went by train
to an old familiar
seaside resort
with children
and grandchildren
and others as such;
and it was a good day
with fine weather;
and the laughter of children
and the distraction
of their enjoyment
on the beach, but you
my son,weren't there,
or if you were in spirit,
I was unaware.


But I guess you were,
there amongst us
tagging along,
your silence and humour
there in spirit,
remembering as I did
the days when you
were young and played
upon this beach
with your brothers
and sisters
of a much tender age.


I wish now I was able
to turn back to that time
as if in a book's page;
to relive those times,
hold on to the excitement
and youth of that time,
but time passes us on,
and on we go whether
we wish to or no;
the times passing us by,
moving us on
in a continuing motion.


The children played
on the sand, I watched
the wide expanse of ocean;
the constant rush of the tide;
the memories of you, my son,
out there, playing on the edge
with your bucket and spade,
engrossed in the game.


We went to the seaside and beach,
but it will never be the same;
now you will always be,
seemingly, out of reach.

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