Books at

Coffee Table Books – 8 X 11


On a Blue Bird Day

It is spring, warm breezes float through magnolia trees.  A gracious woman of the South rises from past memories; her thoughts behind the ice blue eyes. She sits on the bank of a pebbly brook under a Blue Bird sky, the scent of lilac rises from her starched dress.  She dips her fingers slowly into the cool water; she is old and life has passed her by, and the depths of her truth never known.  In her secret place of selfishness her hate for an unwanted child; she stops to ponder her own question; does she deserve the name “Mother”.









A reflection on conception an unwanted

Soul cast away because of greed. An

image of the future; lost in time, starvation

did not kill the seed

It lived, did not go away; destiny or fate;

life without love surrounded by hate.

yoke around the neck at birth emotional

scars during its journey on earth.

Tomorrows’ path long and steep, searching

the past; a need to prove why hurt and

anger ran deep. Truth in abandonment

can be found, sanity and sorrow closely




Benevolent Memories

I have enough memories from the past to last me for the rest of my life. My bountiful memory will not bury them from which they were born.  A small country church, a chorus of crows; the splashing sounds of the brook running through the Birch trees. The wind caressing the colossal row of Oaks in the field.

Death, a road away from the weathered house of worship, followed by black feathered angels. No longer will the water beneath the Birch cool, nor will the winds surrounding the Oaks embrace flesh.  The rocker on the porch is stilled, no hand waves goodbye. In a cobwebbed corner of the room, the sun shines through a cloudy window, as the image of tattered curtains dance in a nearby mirror. Childhood is dead.







“Our past is the map we followed into the future!” eajm



Decisions …

Life’s plan changes daily by events that

happen to us along the way; the outcome

based on every decision that has ever been

made. Expectations written into your plan

may never be met; yet one can survive a

lifetime of unhappiness, sometimes feeling

much like a thief stealing love or pretending

to belong is all one might get.

Feelings are a privilege for those who have

had, and never lost, for those who have locked

the doors on their emotions for the sake of

pleasing others, have done so at a great cost.

Living details, moment-by-moment experiences

in life, these are the most important things…

not strife.

It is never too late to make changes, to devote

yourself to details, make this the time to discover

whom you are; maybe it is time for a new start. If

the years behind you are more than those that lay

ahead… the future is at the forefront of your

existence, and the end may be near, when you look

back on the plan for your life, will it show that you

played the right part?



Naked Before God

Death, life’s breath gone, naked;

bones to dust, gone.

Civilization mad, existing; bones to

dust, gone.

Raw sinew can no longer hold together

humankind, truth prevails; bones to dust,


Bones to dust, gone; humanity naked

before God; bones to dust, gone.



Aging in a Cage…

Crazy old fool moving back and forth, rockers on the chair worn, staring through tattered curtains; windows with bars.

Obscure old fool your seasons are gone; you have no more mountains to climb; hours, days months reliving the rags of time.

Once respected, mind strong, now all day you rock away; aging in an asylum cage declining senses, your fingers cannot hold a pin or brush.

The poems in the mind have no paper, no canvas for images of color, and within your own sphere you know longer care.


Innocence Breath…

Witless, but fearless, spirit dulled, because innocence no longer knows the meaning of love. Pen moves along an invisible page, each word spews rage. The controller held all of the treasures, love he did obtain. Controller you did not want to know of innocence’s love and pain.

The pen cannot put on paper the words; they cannot be said within innocence breath. Yet will the controller ask why the smile on the innocent ones face when they took their last breath. Sorrow lingers in the twilight, tears fall upon the earth, into the sea; remember the beauty that once was and no longer can be.

Evil creeps while the world sleeps, the fight is lost with the coming of light. Breathing no more, quiet falls upon the sparkling shore; dreadful hours are gone like the wind in the night, soul is now in flight.

There will be no flowers covered by the morning dew, darkness has left and the spirit is once again free and new. What follows this perpetual fate, no longer tears, pain or hate; love no longer tossed away, earthly desires melt away.

Disentangled from humanity, resting in the light of love for eternity; when innocence is dead will a spray of roses crown the hearse, in death innocence will look peaceful, will they instantly go to Heaven or is there nothing but a box of dust; even in death innocence cannot trust.

Hate can be measured by the grains of sand in the sea, no longer a voice, only the flame of destruction left behind remains the same. Deep knowledge of truths cannot be hid even in death no matter how much it is tried. Innocence will leave judgment to all the rest, but the controllers’ heart will remain evil until they take their last breath; and innocence could only be free with their death.