Wednesday, September 09, 2020

A Traditional American Thanksgiving Poem


It is with great joy that I write to tell you that the Thanksgiving poem have been illustrated by Sue Hooper-Lawrie and is now available in the stores in time for the holiday.

Please write a review!

Take a look at a few of her wonderfully colorful drawings, and share them with the family and your friends.

Giving Thanks!

Welcoming the Wampanoags!

Saying farewell to the "Mayflower"

Tuesday, September 08, 2020

A Shell In My Pocket

 People tell me stories, I like that!  Every now and then I am so struck by the tale that I have to write it down and take, you might even say steal, the idea and after juggling with the notions a poem appears. “The Licorice Store”, “Maddie’s Ring” and “The Stamp On The Cow” are good examples.  None of us write in isolation, we are dependent upon others, so many others. This anthology of new poems is dedicated to all those people whose stories are captured on these pages.  It contains stories that I struggled to write over many years but lacked the inspiration.  The longer poems like “Eric and The Wolves” , “After The Storm” and the “Saga of Harald Hardrada” fall into this category.

The book is available on Amazon, and I hope to make an album with James Covell.

Take a look on Amazon: 

Here is the cover title:

A Shell In My Pocket

I went down to the sea today

To the ceaseless sea and the sand,

Where waves churned out across the shore

And its breath poured out on the land.

My mind was filled with the thrill of the call

Of memories endless rhyme,

And all I need is the song on the air

And a shell in my pocket and time.

The sound of each wave pouring in

As the last wave whispers away,

Produces the music on the air

An unending sibilant sway,

And the smell and the sound and the sight of the sea

Stretching out to the edge of the sky,

And its breath on my skin is all I need

As time goes silently by.

The shell in my pocket reminds me when

I stooped on the shore and the sand,

Of a time gone by like an ebbing tide

When I plucked it up with my hand,

And the sun in the sky when its arc was high

Before tumbling down to the west,

And the hours that have flown like the life I’ve known

When the shell in my pocket is pressed.