When will the Earths Lights go out…#15

In the world that we know we cannot see, yet it is floating, suspended in the dark hole of life. The earth turns floating, and she is tired by the changing of time, seasons, inhabited by those who bring wraith to her. As humans we look for things that will turn out in a magnificent way, we dwell on how things will unfold. Yet, as humans, we keep interfering with her growth, her peace, her beauty. She weeps, the tears fall, trickling, sprawling into the depths of hopelessness.

We, as humans stand still doing nothing to save her, if we have made the wrong choices it is the children who must pay, so why do we care? There is no gain for the earth of today, caring is left in the past, the yesterdays of our own childhood. We show no wisdom, and the great “Sayers” who say nothing, sit and let her be destroyed. A few fight for Earth, but they are too small in numbers.

There is no help from those who can the President and other lawmakers who could make a difference, they do not care. They will not admit that there is such a thing as Global Warming. I have been here for many decades and have witnessed Earth’s decline. There is no victory, we will not leave her as we found her, slow dank waters will form swamps as the rivers dry up, in the woods the cedars’ will soon be like winter bones. EARTH, she will stand for many eternities, but then she will die and her light will go out.




AUTHOR’S NOTE: We cannot think about the “seasons” without bringing Mother Earth into the fold. She has served us well, beware she made not be here forever, be good to her.



Wild Mountain Rose – #14

Wild Mountain Rose…#14
There is a legend up on Mossy Ridge that children hear while listening to the old folks weaves their tales around their supper table at night – About…

Two gentle spirits walking the rutty mountain roads under the mystical Tennessee moonlight. These stories begin many years ago about an old Cherokee and a little girl he called his Wild Mountain Rose – Folks …

First, saw her drinking from a cool mountain stream all legs and dirty yellow hair abandoned by her family so the stories go, but no one is sure of that, if the truth were told. The first time the old Cherokee saw her, she was sleeping under a bush folks call the Mountain Rose – Afterwards…

She was with him no matter where he would go. Folks would say that without old Willie Youngblood she would not have survived – Willie…

He knew that without her, he himself would have died. The years went by quickly and they both grew old, time had touched their hair with gray – They…

Could only dream about their younger days. One cool spring morning Willie woke to find her gone from his side, he sat for hours head hung low as he cried – Later…

He found her lying peacefully she had died there on a soft bed of leaves, a mournful death chant was the only way the old Cherokee knew how to grieve. Now if you know where to look it is in the Tennessee Mountains where Willie Youngblood’s Wild Mountain Rose can be found – Beneath…

The damp rotting forest floor in a shallow grave up on Mossy Ridge near the entrance of Chicopee Cave. The following winter Old Willie died and they buried him next to his Wild Mountain Rose – Folks…

Say in the moonlight two ghostly spirits can be seen sitting on the banks of Chestnut Creek or floating along the rutty mountain roads. When the sun comes up they disappear, or so the legend goes, but everyone on Mossy Ridge knows that it is Old Willie and that golden haired pup he found those many years ago, His…

Wild Mountain Rose.

Revenge – Script – #13

Revenge – Script #13

Doctors looked down at the young girl in her drugged sleep; her pillow wet with tears shed before the medicine took effect placing her in a coma. Her face innocence even though she had lived a nightmare: she would sleep until her broken body and mind could heal. Her attacker had taken her for self-indulgence and pleasure. Andrew “Stubby” Bodine’s type was always on the prowl; always taking from others; especially young girls. He did see the angry mop coming in their flatboats. Mary Jane Ayres would heal while her abductor hangs from a Swamp Oak in Louisiana’s Atchafalaya Swamp.

Author Note: You have just read the beginning of my script, one page into a new book.



Death a Saving Grace…#2



Death, a Saving Grace

At dawn, the life light went out of the woman’s abused body, it lay in front of her the children she tried to protect…she was a mother, she was a woman, and she was a wife.

A coal oil lantern glowed against rustic rough boards, shadowing the fragile souls left behind in the damp shanty where, she was a mother, she was a woman, and she was a wife.

Laid to rest in a shallow grave in the Louisiana heat, dug by a man with moonshine seeping from his body; the moon glowed upon soft damp earth holding, what was once a mother, a woman, a wife.

Tears burn hot upon the dirt-streaked faces of her six children as relatives who heard the shots from the long arm barrel of hate ring out into the night took them to their homes, she was their mother, she was a woman, and she was wife.

Drunk with evil spewing from his tobacco-laced mouth the skeleton of a father had shot his wife, because she was pregnant again; she was a mother, she was a woman, and she was a wife.

No one will ever know beyond the borders of Bayou Gauche, that mother, woman, and wife will never return, her death for her, a saving grace.





The Journey – Sunday – Day 13, 2019…

I  recently spoke to an acquaintance who told of her husband living in a nursing home, he was unhappy and so was she. Being ten years his junior placed such a burden on her shoulders. What can one say about growing old? The loss of shape, hiding beneath many layers of clothing, sparkle gone from one’s eyes. One is no longer beautiful in the eyes of others, not my belief. The function of one’s body grows weaker, sitting in that doomed place with little human contact. The sunset-glow in the beginning of each day is gone. Dreams escape the demented mind, as does the ordinariness of each day.

There is certain knowledge within this fog in the mind of the aged; at times, they remember of those long ago youthful days. They may flitter across the closed mind like an open window. Nonetheless, the prison door of the mind never opens; it is walled-in unknown to most what thoughts lay buried deep within. It is the last stage of life, frozen within and quite, a phantom of themselves, a hollow ghost.

No longer, a figure of delight, no longer surrounded by the sweet smell of one’s self. Like the snow-covered winter landscape, life is stilled, a shadow of one’s self. Life from the womb begins a painful story, a stormy world like summer winds and rain. Beauty spent and done, despite Hells rage now silenced by the passing of time. With the eyes looking past what lays ahead, bondage no longer a threat as the mind realizes it will only end in death. Whom can we blame? No one!

Mindfulness provides a simple but powerful route for getting our selves unstuck, back into touch with our own wisdom and vitality. It is a way to take charge of the direction and quality of our own lives, including our relationships within the family, and to the larger world and planet, and most fundamentally, our relationships with our self as a person. Begin now, to become aware of what lies in the future our future. The key lies in the works of Emerson and Thoreau, Whitman and Native American wisdom. Read and become aware of what your future might be, the words of these great people will pave the way to your tomorrows.

Do not fall prey to the thoughts of those who would harm you. Hold on to your opinions, expectations and the many possibilities that will open to you as you age. Mindfulness is simply an art of conscious living. Be yourself, keep in touch with your deepest feelings, and let greatness flow from you. This will go a long way to keeping you young.



The Journey – Thursday – Day 10, 2019

We are day ten into the New Year, I try to recall the past and what have I done, what have I accomplished during these many years. My childhood, I more often than not I raised myself, along with those wonderful women my great-great-grandmother whom I call “Ma” a solid rock of full-blooded Native American ancestry and “Aunt Francis” a black woman of wisdom. I raised five children alone . Along the way, I worked in the public sector for forty years. During retirement, I begin searching for who I was, and what I wanted out of the second half of my life.

I returned to painting and writing. I have written and published nine books of poetry.  I had a daughter who passed in 2010; I published her story, I also published a photo journey of my special companion Mason, my four-legged child, in pictures. I published a book of my own paintings. I have tried to reinvent myself during these past twenty years and I am still working on myself as I continue to travel down a mysterious path on my journeys into yesterday, tomorrow and that final day. What have I learned?

I believe that the journey we humans lead down one of three paths. The first path leads to success, these are the people that have material riches and yes, sorrow. Then there is the second path, one that leads to happiness and sorrow, yet, these people live a good life. They are capable of handling life. The third path is one of total destruction. The important question now is how you and I are going to live our lives, which path will we take.

When you find yourself at the crossroads of the here and now, will you put in the effort to be free, will you walk through the doors of reality, choosing the path wisely. I believe in meditation, it is simply about being yourself, finding yourself, your life is always unfolding in front of you, seeking the answer to truth. If you are not careful truth will be ignored, be fallow and unacknowledged.

Life is at times like a slippery slope, the grave will hold all of those years of  life-unexamined half-truths, fears, you did not achieve that which was given to you on the path of your life, and you ignored the wealth, happiness and greatness. If you wake up and breakout, your life unfolds on a path of success. Get off that slippery slope and follow your path to importance. No one can do this job but you. At the end of a long life, dedicated mindfulness will be acknowledged and you will be remembered as an individual of understanding and wisdom.




The Certainties of Life…

The Certainties of Life…

Life is an uncertain race where most people do no more than run in place,
there can be happiness, sadness, and around every corner a surprise; yet
hope blooms.  Life is what one must create within their allotted space, or
sit on the sidelines and wait leaving their journey to fate.

Life is not all joy floating upon the winds of time; there are rights and wrongs;
and unknown quandaries, setbacks, and living means moving forward.   Life
quickly passes, fair and cloudy days, laughter and tears, and then the warmth
of the sun subsides ones fears. 

Life may mean walking in the valleys of despair until fate starts an upward
climb, living with happiness, or grief; always trust the heart and mind.  Life
lived in harmony with others, loving, caring and expectations met; seeds of
livelihood sown, repentance locked away for God to judge; we strive and labor
as time passes on.