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Prayers, Dreams and Goals

When you pray for something, add feet to your prayers – Do something about it.


When you dream, add wings to your dreams – Take action, no matter how small.


If you have a goal, write it down and put it somewhere you can see it.

You will be reminding yourself that you are working towards and end,

not just wandering aimlessly.


Anyone can do nothing – It takes someone to accomplish something.


Don’t forget Synergy – an object in motion generates forward movement.


Remember Serendipity – Along the way, enjoy all the good stuff that happens.

Broken Dreams

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


It stands on a hilltop,

Abandoned, forlorn,

Weathered and beaten,

Shingles missing and torn.


What tales would it tell,

If talk it could?

Peeling paint clings

Precariously to ancient wood.


Its old warped floors

Probably knew tiny feet

Of children born there,

So cuddly and sweet.


Conversations crossed over

The old kitchen table…

Voices filled with hope,

And arms that were able.


With a heart full of prayer,

A bucket full of sweat,

They worked the land

The harvest to get.


No one left now

To toil on the land.

Tombstones out back

Mark the passing of man.


The old house now stands

Ramshackle, alone —

Its boards bleached out

Like a skeleton of bones.


A prayer holds it together

From breaking at the seams —

A monument to man

And his broken dreams.


Random Thoughts

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


Oh, Merry Go Round of life,

Treadmill of my dreams,

Concrete jungle,

Polluted Streams.


High-rise buildings blot out the sun,

Smog-filled air,

Slum sections teeming decay

And suppressed life, despair.


A question, urgently stirring

About wings spread and whirring.

Freedom to move in uncluttered space —

Tiny forms darting and blurring.


Will the swallows care to come back to Capistrano?


These thoughts come from Autumn Leaves:


The marvel of life…

Like the unfolding petals of the rose,

Awakening to greet the first warm rays of the morning sun.


The marvel of life…

Like a microscopic speck mingled in the cosmic dust of the universe,

Dawdling and dancing to the muted dreams of eternity.


The marvel of life…

Toiling unceasingly with the aspirations of its gender,

Gathering the wisdom of the ages, dreaming the dreams of by-gone eras.


The marvel of life…

Growing hot, waxing brighter in the pursuit of achievement,

Yet, when suppressed and thwarted constantly by unknown forces,

Flickers and finally dies.


This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


Speak diligently, strive hard

Seeking to find

Higher truths, awareness levels…

Always use your mind.


First level, fresh mind,

Everything new, white as chalk.

Learned to speak, began to think,

Slowly learned to walk.


Second Level, awkward years,

Body strong, learning right from wrong.

Having fun, wild free years,

Lackadaisical attitude, trying to belong.


Third Level, maturity, responsibilities,

Striving to fulfill our dreams,

Different places, varied faces,

Drowning in waterless streams.


Fourth Level, yearning yet stable,

Successful, empty, desire burning.

Appreciation of art, beauty, humanity,

Thoughts always churning.


Fifth Level, consciousness abides.

A foreboding feeling,

Something surely missing,

Emptiness, realization stealing.


Sixth Level, words like stone,

Deep impressions stand alone.

A deep, soft voice says, “Welcome,”

Chill inside my bones.


Seventh Level, deep voice, all-wise,

Henceforth and upwards is paradise,

Length, depth and breadth,

Measured with cubic rod.


Speak with praise forevermore,

Wrapped in Love,

Praise His Holy name for

You now speak with GOD!

My Dream

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


I dreamt of hunting buffalo

And long grass shimmering in the sun.

I saw cold, crystal clear mountain streams,

With its banks bordered by wild flowers.

Away up high, almost a speck against the light blue sky,

A bald eagle surveys his realm.

Although it’s spring time in my dream,

The distant, hazy, purple mountains

Still wear their caps of white.

The air is clean and fresh

And filled with the smell of growing things.

The white-trunked aspens

Keep sentinel in their quiet beauty.

Life is simple but hard.

Man fulfilled his dreams by the strength of his hand,

Sweat from his brow, and cunning of his mind.

He became one with his surroundings.

The world was sustained by natural order,

And it was good.

When I awoke,

I realized that I’m but a dinosaur

Transplanted into a modern time and world.


Ironic Circle

This poem is from Autumn Leaves:


The first men on our shores had freedom,

But little time to truly experience it

As they struggled to make their place and tame this big land.

Building, hunting, foraging, and planting consumed much of their energy,

But they had freedom.


Later, men struggled in chains,

Dying to secure richer lives for their owners.

Throughout their lives of trials and tribulations,

They held to their dreams tenaciously  —

Their dreams of freedom.


Later still, men fought and died by the thousands in great wars

To stop tyrants and secure freedom more concretely.

They fought, bled and died to uphold

Our country’s cherished principles,

But these men died, knowing freedom.


Even later, men who knew freedom’s sweetness and blessings

Let it erode because of greed, indifference,

Lust for material wealth and apathy.

Blinded by these pursuits,

They became disillusioned and let it slip away.


Ironic? Yes! Men who realized freedom,

But no time to fully appreciate it.

Men who didn’t have it and could only dream of its possession.

Men who knew it and died fighting to hold it.

Men without vision who let it slip away like a thief in the night.

Life Styles

This poem is from Autumn Leaves:

Bright lights, music shattering to the ears,

Slick talk, designer dress, disco crowd,

Meaningless talk among peers,

Different life style for the young-at-heart.


Four-star restaurant, soft music, silver service,

Opulence to the tenth degree,

Works of art, big mansions, fine cars,

Wealth and life style for all to see.


Eyes downcast, ragged clothes, empty stomach,

No place for a weary head.

Cold streets, lonely hours, empty future,

Lost dreams, no roots, another day of dread.

Life styles of street people and drifters–

Whose dreams and hopes are dead.


Every day, same old thing,

Week in, week out, same routine.

Strength of hand, sweat of brow,

Make the payments on the bills somehow.

Year in, year out, rain or snow–

Life style of the workers who make the country go.





This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


Standing by the seaside

One cold, wet, dreary day,

Longing for some warmth and sun,

My thoughts just slipped away.


There on a sleek, white schooner,

Under a blustery sky,

The wind billowed full her majestic sails,

Causing her rigging to  sigh.


Dark clouds on the horizon

Signaled an on-coming gale.

With canvas shortened and shoulders bared,

She slashed through the rising swell.


Hands clenched tightly, knuckles white,

As she tacks before the wind,

Then relax once more as she gathers

And rights herself again.


Her deck sways gently beneath me now,

Slipping through the warm Gulf Stream,

Able to dance over white cap and calm–

She’s truly an ocean queen.


Streamlined bodies of Neptune

Frolic in playful behavior

As clean, cold spray stings my face

And nostrils inhale the salty savor.


Over on the port side, an island appears to sight,

Lingering in quiet beauty of early morning light.

I spy a sun-browned body, climbing a stately palm

To gather nature’s bounty–ah, what soothing balm!


“Stop dreaming!” my conscious mind shouts at me,

Invading solitude sublime,

But a tiny voice deep inside answers,

“It’s solace for a work-weary mind.”


It seeks to escape harsh reality,

To regain balance on its beam,

And like a ship without a rudder,

So is man without his dream.

Young Again

This poem is in Autumn Leaves:


Pleasingly spread at forty-five,

No longer part of your dreams,

Nor is the way you bulge out

And cram those designer jeans.


Now you wish a new sensation…

To belong to the “Pepsi” generation.

You watch young ladies bending on the tube,

Jazzercizing without cessation.


The night belongs to Michelob;

Young lovers walk the street.

You bend, twist, and sweat

To a frenzied beat.


Madison Avenue ad men

Use every gambit to get you to try it.

Out comes the faithful MasterCard,

And you’re on another diet.


At last, here you stand so shapely,

I’d say a perfect ten.

If you don’t work hard daily,

That old five’ll sneak back again.


Regardless of the outcome,

I’ll still be around,

To support you in your efforts

And love your every pound.

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