Memories of Love

Walking hand in hand
Watching stars so bright
Talking lovers talk
Whispering in the night

These feelings in my heart
Unknown to me before
Like a candle’s dancing flame
Shining strong and pure

But that was long ago
And time has drifted by
Like wind across the desert
Changing sand that’s left behind

These memories of love
Sweet thoughts I have of you
Will live with me forever
No matter what I do

So many times I’ve wondered
How my life might have changed
If we had been together
Sharing sunshine and the rain

The joy of being around you
Just feeling you so near
Yes everything about you
I loved you so my dear

Blue Eyed Happiness

It’s morning time again
Sunshine fills your eyes
With a sweet gaze of joy
And the love you carry in your warm caress
Brings to me my blue eyed happiness

A child’s laughing face, a heaven sent dream
With outstretched arms you say “hold me, protect me”
When life is hard and everyone has their scheme
I turn to you and in your world I find joy

If only you knew that I need you
More than you need me

Man of God

You have no children
You have no wife
But here you are preaching
Telling me about life

You are sick and unhealthy
Diseased at your soul
You give praise to God
But the devil has control

No one is listening
To this man of the cloth
So filled with torture
Frustration and doubt

You can’t hide forever
Be two men in one
So give yourself up
To the love of the Son

Get down on your knees
And repent to the Lord
Gush forth with your pain
And fall on His sword

He will forgive you
While I cannot
He will make you whole
To stop your rot

Cleanse your heart
And start anew
But leave this place
I beg of you

A Wedding Present

Here I am in Vietnam
Wishing I were home with my Mom
But things don’t work that easy here
You must understand my sister dear

Your wedding day is drawing nigh
But I’m too far away to even say hi
I wish there were something I could do
To show that I’m still thinking of you

Yet all I have is a paper and pen
And a mind to use to get the right blend
No shops, stores, trinkets or toys
Just mud all over for us boys

And so I hope you can appreciate
These facts of life that so aggravate
That while you’re dressed in your lily white
With proud parents nearby to tend your fright

And all the friends and well wishers too
Whose joy and happiness abounds in you
And when the bells toll and the rice falls
And you nod your head to photographers’ calls

Through the hugs, handshakes, kisses and tears
Remember there was one who through the years
Though not always there you still know he cared
Sure it will be just father and mother

But here I am still your brother

Come Away

With these words you cross the line
Dividing friend and lover
There is no thought or emotion felt
To share with any other

The gentle wind flows through my soul
Carries me like a bird
With wings outstretched I yearn for more
She gives me what she’s learned

Come away she says
Come away
Come away with me

The desert sun sears your skin
The LA smog chokes your breath
Through restless nights you toss and turn
With dreams of city death

The island drum is beating strong
It beckons you to her
You cannot stay you cannot go
Be with or without her

Come away she says
Come away
Come away with me

Invitation
Anticipation
Expectation
Excitation
Realization
Coronation

Come away with me

Lincoln Avenue

Soft wind blowing over the alfalfa field
Kids are playing neither team wants to yield
A mother shouts where are you son
Light is gone and evening has come

Hey look momma we’re just having fun
My team’s at bat we just need one run
I know I’m late know I should be home
Can’t you wait I’ll win this game alone?

Through the night comes a neighbor’s voice
Get home Richie you don’t have a choice
Bring your friend bring your bat and glove
You can’t play ball by the moon up above

I hit that ball as hard as I could
Over Richie’s head and rolled into the wood
Round those bases as fast as I can
Crossed home plate winning run in hand

Kept right on going heading to my house
Sneaked in the back door quiet as a mouse
Momma stood waiting with her big black belt
Most painful victory I ever felt

Get away from her and I head outside
Next door Richie’s momma is tanning his hide
She starts talking to me don’t you forget this day
You break the rules the price you pay

Got lots of Love, Got lots of Love

Life ain’t the same on Lincoln Avenue
People pass don’t say hi to you
Strangers coming to their hometown
No one there to show them around

Two friends standing side by side
Came to visit their parents’ gravesite
Big tears falling emotions come undone
Orphaned children at 41

Got no more Love, Got no more Love

Commentary

Buster Douglas-Evander Holyfield Fight, October 25, 1990

Note: Jim Murray was a Pulitzer Prize winning sportswriter for the Los Angeles Times. He was widely respected and had a writing style that was above the fray – he observed, absorbed, then commented. This is my feeble attempt to emulate him.

Success – The Ultimate Failure

If you were a gladiator during the Roman era, visiting the Coliseum was not a particularly happy occasion. If the day’s activities led to failure, you left the Coliseum permanently, never to return. If you were victorious, you postponed terminal failure for one more day. Payday meant you got to keep your life.

Boxing is the modern day version of the gladiators. If you are one of the guys in the ring in a championship fight you are not trying to please Caesar and his cronies. You have a bigger task. Those celebrities in the front rows paid thousands for their seats and they expect a good show. Then, you have to please the promoter and your manager and the media and the hotel casino owner and your family and your entourage and finally the millions who paid a pay per view fee for the right to see you get a step up on dementia. In their eyes you are fighting for glory and a big paycheck. If you are Buster Douglas, maybe you are not so sure.

The world of sport and boxing in particular is insane in 1990. One year ago we did not know who Buster Douglas was. On October 25, he collected 18 million dollars – win or lose – in a fight against Evander Holyfield. He lost.

I do not know Buster Douglas, but I am inclined to think he found himself as a result of this fight. Buster might be a prime example of “Be careful what you ask for – you may get it.” Most of us have had the experience of wanting something very badly, getting it, then slipping back into some kind of no-man’s land. The feeling in our gut is gone, and hard as we try, we cannot get it back.

Buster Douglas fought the fight of his life on February 11, 1990. A 42-1 underdog, he beat Mike Tyson. Eight months later, he left his Coliseum defeated and perhaps, shamed and embarrassed. What happened?

The hunter became the hunted. Webster defines champion as” one capable of defeating his competitors in any form of sport.” Notice the plural “competitors”. The implication is that the champion does it again and again and again. Arguably, the most difficult aspect of success is sustaining it. The champion – in sport or any endeavor – aspires to the level to do just that. The everyman accepts the momentary success, but finds the public view of him distorted because of his inability to meet their hope for him as a champion. The public wanted Buster to be a Champion, but his heart and soul knew otherwise.

And so, he left the Coliseum, never to return.

Commentary
Buster Douglas-Evander Holyfield Fight, October 25, 1990
Note: Jim Murray was a Pulitzer Prize winning sportswriter for the Los Angeles Times. He was widely respected and had a writing style that was above the fray – he observed, absorbed, then commented. This is my feeble attempt to emulate him.
Success – The Ultimate Failure
If you were a gladiator during the Roman era, visiting the Coliseum was not a particularly happy occasion. If the day’s activities led to failure, you left the Coliseum permanently, never to return. If you were victorious, you postponed terminal failure for one more day. Payday meant you got to keep your life.
Boxing is the modern day version of the gladiators. If you are one of the guys in the ring in a championship fight you are not trying to please Caesar and his cronies. You have a bigger task. Those celebrities in the front rows paid thousands for their seats and they expect a good show. Then, you have to please the promoter and your manager and the media and the hotel casino owner and your family and your entourage and finally the millions who paid a pay per view fee for the right to see you get a step up on dementia. In their eyes you are fighting for glory and a big paycheck. If you are Buster Douglas, maybe you are not so sure.
The world of sport and boxing in particular is insane in 1990. One year ago we did not know who Buster Douglas was. On October 25, he collected 18 million dollars – win or lose – in a fight against Evander Holyfield. He lost.
I do not know Buster Douglas, but I am inclined to think he found himself as a result of this fight. Buster might be a prime example of “Be careful what you ask for – you may get it.” Most of us have had the experience of wanting something very badly, getting it, then slipping back into some kind of no-man’s land. The feeling in our gut is gone, and hard as we try, we cannot get it back.
Buster Douglas fought the fight of his life on February 11, 1990. A 42-1 underdog, he beat Mike Tyson. Eight months later, he left his Coliseum defeated and perhaps, shamed and embarrassed. What happened?
The hunter became the hunted. Webster defines champion as” one capable of defeating his competitors in any form of sport.” Notice the plural “competitors”. The implication is that the champion does it again and again and again. Arguably, the most difficult aspect of success is sustaining it. The champion – in sport or any endeavor – aspires to the level to do just that. The everyman accepts the momentary success, but finds the public view of him distorted because of his inability to meet their hope for him as a champion. The public wanted Buster to be a Champion, but his heart and soul knew otherwise.
And so, he left the Coliseum, never to return.

Write What You Know

Several years ago, when I had the audacity to believe I could write a book, the problem for me was what would I write about. The idea of creating a fiction novel out of thin air – and perhaps a thin brain – was daunting. How do these authors do that? Where does the gift of creation they possess come from?

I started reading about the art of writing, attended a couple classes, and soon discovered a common theme that was being shared with aspiring authors – write what you know. I was in my early 60’s and certainly had a lot of life experience. But what did I know that was worth sharing, that others would find interesting?

I made a list of things I enjoyed. Working out, golf, gardening, cooking, remodeling a home, being a Dad, etc. My mind drifted to growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania.

I remembered how I loved the vegetable garden my mom and grandma had in the backyard. I loved certain meals they prepared, and how much I looked forward to them when I came home from college. I remembered becoming a single dad and having to cook meals for my daughter and myself. I began to ask my sister to send me some of my mom’s and grandma’s recipes. I would talk to women I knew and ask them what their favorite meal was, and then request the recipe. I started experimenting. Different situations would arise that led me to cook a meal for others beside my daughter and me. When everyone would enjoy the meal, it gave me a wonderful sense of satisfaction. I learned it was a beautiful way to draw people closer to you and you to them. It was an extension of the dinner table I sat at when I was a child.

And so, the idea for Food Stories, my first book, was born. I would write what I know. I would share my personal stories and target men who had no clue in the kitchen. My beginner book would help pry men away from fast food and processed food. Food Stories would be their guide in their own kitchen. Men would take an idea from my book, try it, learn how easy and satisfying it is, and then formulate their own meals. They will keep my book forever as I have kept my mom and grandma’s recipes forever. And most importantly, men will learn how good it feels to share a part of themselves with their friends. And who knows, maybe I will pick up some new recipes from someone who got his start reading Food Stories !