Writer's De*Light

Writing addiction replaces my 'weeds,'

Pencil stub cigarettes fulfill the old needs,

To hold, to flick, to squash out self-doubt

for that's what my smoking was all about.

Now with pencil to lips, expelled thought array,

I flick words, not ashes, on a clean paper tray.

Habitual motions, not dispelled overnight,

Have reprogrammed to this writer's de-light!

Call of the Trees

How do I welcome Spring, you ask,

What do I feel and see?

A warm sun's rays under which to bask,

Scented blossoms on an apple tree.

Bare branches stark from Winter's chill

Awake now adorned in leaves.

Resurrection of life: God's infinite will,

Calls out to me from the trees.

The Note

How often we write, "No words can express..."

When appreciation and thanks are sought.

Gratitude is too often suppressed

By our lack to describe a thought.

How blessed is the person who can well impart

Proper thanks and appreciation due.

To convey the fullness of ones heart

With a clever and classic, "Thank you."