The winding road


Winding road…

Old world making me tire, it seem we all are weaving and moving, not going no-where.Just keeping above the deep waters of life.

Once I was hell and turmoil, now I’m old words, old memories and wasted days and nights. When my eyes were young, I thought the devil was chasing me. Now I know. Wasn’t the devil. Just me giving-in and giving-up real face and allowed my dreams to falter.

Now the winding road is calling me.

“Johnnie, Johnnie. Where you at? Where you been? You are not dead yet. Mark your place or be forgotten. Engrave something into the mountain. Write a note into the sand, tell the world. I had lived and I ain’t dead yet. The winding road is always near. You can stay or you can go? Men who dwell in self-made prisons. They learn too late. Dead is dead. The dead can’t…

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A memory, a story…


A memory, a story….



In the stillness of the night, you held me, so tightly.
You were my 2 am lover and my midnight dancer. Your kiss was the sweetest breathe given to me.
You told me often. You are my everything and you make me feel alive and needed.
I knew our love was just like the snow flakes floating into the Winter wind. We were dreamers, wishing for a miracle.

Tonight I know silence and memory. I whispered to the falling snow, outside my window.
You bewitched my heart dear love. I know now. You were my everything.


                  A memory….

Lovely, perfect and wonderful.
Soft, tender and perfect.
Fearless, desperate and so sweet.
We stole kisses, we stole our kindness.
You, I.

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The great Harry Chapin and some words.


Once upon a time

I returned to Akron in 1980. I was looking for a sweet memory

In 1973 at my fifteen birthday party. The prettiest friend of my sister gave me a birthday kiss.

Beautiful Susie held my hand and she took me up stair to a private room.

I held her and we kissed.

She was someone else love but I adored her so.

She was almost a woman and I knew.

She was a wish and a pray for me.

Now I wandered back to her and I hoped she did okay.

I found her living at her aunt house.

I saw her and she had a baby on her hip.

And she gave me a kind smile and I went to her.

I hugged her tightly and I kissed her face often.

I told her. Dear Susie, are you okay?. I never forgot your beautiful face.

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Painted memories…


 Painted memories….

My lovely Liz, my beautiful Elizabeth.
I have so many canvases of us.
You and I.
Mirror reflections finding proper place.
I have told the midnight hour.
I need the honey kiss of a perfect beauty.

You are near and you are so far.
Once you told me.
–Lover, lover, my lover.
White lies, black lies, demanding lies.
Words whispered to private places and locked doors.
In the morning. Our true faces must appear.
We must accept love with a mountains of walls to climb over or
we must accept the life we have known.

Pretty pictures are childhood wishes are just utopia for the dreamer.
Real love come rarely and when she appeared.
Must paint a place where lovers can run free and wild.
My lover, my dear love.
Sometime  we must make the wish and dream last all day and all night.
We must lay in…

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