Poetry, short stories

O Sacred Woods Now Wounded (Tune Hymn 119, O Sacred Head Now Wounded)

Verse One

O Sacred Woods, now wounded

With grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surrounded

By cuts and wounds all round

How does that green languish, which was bright as morn

Yet though despised and gory

I joy to call thee mine.

Verse Two

What thou deer woods have suffered, was all for sinners’ gain,

On us was the transgression, but thine the deadly pain,

How lost our precious savior, so damaged is the place,

Where once did Cuckoos gather,

And Thrashers flew and raced.

Verse Three

O may it last forever, and no more cutting be

Woods never, never, never,

Be sacrificed for greed.

What language shall I borrow,

To thank thee dearest friend

For thy deep cooling power,

Which shades us without end.

Verse Four

O woods be ever near us, when heat is at our door,

Then let thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore,

When soul and body languish, o leave me not alone,

Take away our pain and anguish,

By thy graceful boughs.

Reminiscing under a magic moon

In the darkness of night under a magic moon

I remember your essence our favorite tune

Lost in your eyes fading into your soul

Hearts beat in unison together we're whole

I love you deeply my darling forever more

I carry you always into my very core

I miss You so much and I always will

Rest easy my love I'm in love with you still

Many years have come and gone

Youre a lifetime away

The memories live on in my heart night and day

The moon holds it's secrets and whispers to me

Keep believing in magic and one day you will see

The one you hold dear and close to your heart

Has not really gone you're not really apart

True love never fades or can ever be gone

It lives on in your heart from dusk to dawn

Your beautiful smile your tender touch

Haunts me day and night I love you so much

Under the magical moon and the spell it casts

True love is forever and forever it lasts

Pretty

Pretty like the moon,

Pretty like the air,

Pretty like the stars, and pretty everywhere.

Pretty like the sun,

Pretty like the sea,

Pretty like lace, as pretty as can be.

Her skin glistens in the daylight,

She's so pretty, pretty like the night.

Her eyes sparkle staring into dawn,

She's so pretty she knows the way,

Like when lights are on.

She dances in the rain, not a care in the world.

Until she's cold and wet, her hair in loose curls.

She dreams and wonders but soon she'll be told

“Act like a lady, well shape you like a mold”

She's thin as air, but soon she drops dead,

Knowing she lived in despair, with the afterlife ahead.

You don't know you

Your dark brown eyes, I could drown in like the sea.

Your warm welcoming smile, I could burn over like the sun.

Your gentle touch, I could sink into like concrete.

Your soft caring hands, I could hold like a gun.

Your smooth brown hair, I could feel like body heat.

You don't know what you mean you me, you're perfect like fun.

Linked to him

His hot skin, makes me melt from only one touch.

He speaks with pride, sharper than bristles on a brush.

He's tall and slim, like Slender Man he has pale white skin.

He communicates through song, and I through poetry

But wait too long, and I’d wind up crying under a tree.

“And I don't care if you're with somebody else” music to my ears,

Please I beg let this be true, don't make me waste my tears.

So you know these words help me express my emotions,

And like all jobs you work it perfectly, so take this promotion.

You're polite like “please and thank you”, mock me all you want, it only makes me think of you.

I write too many love poems, but I can't help it,

When I talk you catch my words when I throw them.

She understands

She writes, she doesn't fight.

She listens to those with a voice, and she does that by choice.

She speaks with power, like Pisa she’s lean as a tower.

She hears those who don't talk, and helps those who can't walk.

She's kind like birds and sings with them like chirp chirp.

She has soft hands that can paint incredible art.

And a genuine soul that sits graciously with her heart.

She feels your pain and cries with you.

And like Marilyn, she's beautiful too.

She knows the suffer and understands the scars.

But she’ll sew up your wounds by speaking to the stars.

They say and never do

They vape then complain they’re struggling to breathe.

They drink all night then complain their head is pounding.

They do the deed before marriage, then say they didn't know it was a sin.

They cuss all the time and get called out, then they say it wasnt me.

They say God’s name in vain, then say “oh my God it's not a big deal”.

They say they're Christian, then say they don't pray every day.

They take part in sinful activities, then say I'll just pray for forgiveness.

They never ended up praying.

The licence plate from hell

To this day, 47 or so years after the surprise attack, I can still text or call my high school buddy Dirk with three letters: HKD, and he’ll reply 950.

It all started innocently enough: a bunch of teens playing midnight street hockey in the frozen parking lot behind the Zellers department store in downtown Grimsby, Ont.

It was a great place to play hockey, no cars in sight and streetlights torching up the place up like the old Ivor Wynne Stadium during a nighttime Tiger-Cat tilt -- everything in shadows, the frozen-solid ball skidding along the asphalt, yelling and laughing, the sounds of hockey sticks clashing.

Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night, getting a great sweaty workout with friends, and staying away from the drugs and alcohol that had taken hold of a growing number of classmates.

The game was progressing well -- probably tied at 10 or 15 or some other astronomical number -- the goalies trying their best against Bobby Hull-like shots of a blazing, frozen, gonad thumping Bobby Orr hockey ball.

Apparently, our friendly game had caught the attention of a bunch of twenty somethings staggering out of the local watering hole after last call.

We weren’t aware as they got into their brown sedan and roared up the alley beside our parking lot hockey summit.

Suddenly, we heard yelling and the slamming of car doors. Seconds later, four over-refreshed hooligans overwhelmed us and grabbed the hockey sticks right out of our hands and started smashing them to oblivion.

Even though they were bigger and menacing as hell, I did try to wrestle my stick way – after all, I had borrowed it from my friend Dave, whose dad owned the Home Hardware, after my blade had worn down to what we called a nose picker.

The struggle was over quickly, though, and the stick was smashed to pieces like the others. The thugs had won the day, but at least no one had suffered a split lip or black eye -- they just focused all their pent-up hate on our sticks.

Losers!

Eventually we all retreated, rather quickly, to Dirk’s front porch a street over. But not before we noted the car’s Ontario plate -- HKD 950 – as it roared away.

We all vowed our revenge but never did find that car or its gnarly, drunken occupants around town.

I’m sure it’s rotting in some junk yard, its licence plate – but never our memories of that night -- long since faded.