Heaven holds no paradise
that I've not found in your embrace.
No golden hue, divine device-
Heaven holds no paradise,
to beckon me look even twice.
No glory there to match your face.
Heaven holds no paradise
that I've not found in your embrace.

You tell me that you love me so,
and that you always will-
a love like that is hard to find,
and harder to fulfill.
You love me while I'm full of life
I truly hope you stay,
but are you gonna love me when
the luster falls away?

I'll never be this young again,
now, please, don't think me bold-
but are you sure your love will stand
when I am gray and old?
The spring will be gone from my step,
my strength will also fade.
Will I turn round to see you gone,
or be glad that you stayed?

The stars themselves fade out in time,
their shine will dim and die,
and it won't take that kind of time
to wither you and I;
but if you love me as you say,
then time will see us kept,
until beneath her currents cold
the river sees us swept.

So, when the luster falls away,
and all that's left is old,
will you still be the one I have,
the one I get to hold?
If your dear heart is true enough
to an old soul like me,
then that sweet love will be enough
for my eternity.

He's a small black man
from Baltimore County
brings the witching hour
always craves a meal
or two.
Thomas.
Treads like Neruda's doves
on slippered feet.
Flicks his tail
and tales are told
the galaxies turn
Baltimore disappears
in the rear view mirror.

My man
my dark sprite
of hunger and thirst
first and best
Cat.

Pretty little singing blue jay,
petite chanteuse in navy gown,
your sweet tweets drive the gray away
and pick me up when I am down.

But, blue jay friend, so help me GOD,
if on my car lands one small poo,
I'll climb that tree and drop my pants,
and return the favor to you.

Early one morning, before sun took to sky,
they came to take Johnny. It was his time to die.
The town had all gathered, the crowd circled in.
As Johnny was strong armed, by four big men,
and lead to the gallows, to hang until dead.
They called for his blood, and he just turned his head.

Johnny stayed silent, as the hateful calls came,
with no pleas for his life, or innocent claim.
He stepped to the noose, with no fear in his eyes,
not every man chooses just when he dies.
But Johnny had taken, the life of a man-
with no explanation, with his own bare hands.
The crowd raised their bibles, demanded him dead,
they called for his life, and he just turned his head.

The priest at the gallows, looked him in the eye,
and said to him "Johnny, you're fixin' to die.
You've been tried and sentenced, and haven't been heard.
You're found guilty of ******, and y'ain't said a word.
It's too late for you now, to make recompense,
but do you have any last words, to speak in defense?"
The crowd was voracious, they wanted him dead.
He just cleared his throat, and lifted his head...

The silence that followed, was stuck in their throats,
as Johnny spoke up, in no broken notes.
"The man killed my brother, and then was set free.
He was friends with the judges, that execute me.
If justice shall fail, then take vengeance instead-
so I took the man's throat, and I choked the man dead.
Now I face the gallows, I do so with no dread."
The crowd remained silent. Each one turned their head.

The sun broke the darkness, on the top of that hill.
Johnny stopped speaking, and stepped to the ****.
The noose was pulled tight, up under his chin.
He looked towards heaven, eyes vacant of sin.
The old oak trap door, creaked under his feet,
and with a pull of a lever, the deed was complete,
and a peaceful expression graced the face of the dead;
and even the hangman, had to turn his head.

Later that evening, as the sun left the sky,
she sat at John's grave, with no tears left to cry.
She dropped a red rose, on the freshly dug earth,
and said goodbye to the last child, she'd ever giv'n birth.
She'd buried the other, as she buried this one,
one died for the other, to see justice done.
She sat there and pondered, where the road had lead.
Then she stood up, heartbroken, and just turned her head.

There're few stories mournful as Reese's,
who, on dynamite, wrote his thesis.
One day, as dawn broke,
he lit up a smoke,
and BOOM!  Now it rains Reese's Pieces.