we all are gypsies of a sort wandering traveling through this life other lives space and time here there and yon on roads less traveled - this is a written and visual journal of my own travels - imagined and/or real - come along with me - we'll dance among the stars under the sun and over the moon - share our stories around the campfire - come along -

this site is simply a streamofconsciousness rambling of words and images in which i find meaning and beauty - there is no organized order of thought or format -
poetry painting and writing on love and life and things thereof from the heart and through the eyes of a louisiana gypsy spirit travelin' roads less traveled...enjoy -


My photo
A...WOMAN IN MOTION WITH HAIR AS DARK AS NIGHT HER EYES WERE LIKE THAT OF A CAT IN THE DARK... SHE WAS A GYPSYWOMAN... she danced round and round... from the fire her face was all aglow... she was dancing... dancing... waiting for the RISING SUN... loving caring relationships are like THE RISING SUN...we are nourished by their warmth...we are energized by their strength...we grow in their light...we find shelter and solace there...they are our sanctuary... born in the sign of the sun, i am a true LEO-love the sun and its hot orange red fire-passionate in and about everything i do-i believe in instant chemistry charisma love/lust at first sight-in the magic of the eyes and the beauty of the soul-in the instant recognition familiarity in meeting someone from a past life and in the knowledge that we might meet in a future life-i believe that we are each ageless and flawless-i believe in the beauty of the moment-the whisper of yesterday-the hope of tomorrow-the power of forgiveness for even ourselves-the absolute and total beauty of love---[credit to brian hyland and curtis mayfield]

to dance with life

to dance with life
come dance with me...

Friday, April 15, 2011

little boys blue...

little boys blue

sinners sittin’ in a jail house row
prayin’ to a god they don’t know

readin’ the book of all the rules
but none of them have all the tools

innocence lost in sandbox play
never had nothin’ to save their day

no mother’s kiss to seal their nights
no daddy’s love to show the light

little boys lost at what a cost
lives without love now trampled and tossed

so they sit in solemn quiet
all dressed alike in prison white

faces turned up lookin’ for grace
ain’t got much time for this life’s race

arms held high for them pearly gates
searchin’ for salvation ‘fore it’s too late

heart’s singin’ sweet till kingdom come
ain’t gotta chance till servin’ is done

cross-ways art in ink on canvas flesh
ain’t enough to git outta this mess

men still boys now at the end
worderin’ if their souls will mend

wantin’ to taste of the water sweet
wadin’ to heaven in their bare feet

dreamin’ of love and another life’s dance
lookin’ to god for a second chance
little boys blue
what to do

would you like to hear these words spoken?


Trish said...

Terrific. I knew bunch of those little boy blues when I worked as a librarian in a prison. Your description fits it all.


you know, trish, i wrote this piece last april 20 - almost one year ago to the day - and have had it on my mind of late for some reason - anyway, decided since it seemed to be haunting me, it might be time to re-post it - i'm sure institutions 'round the globe are filled, sadly, with such little boys blue -