This old house


The summer heat had lulled this house to sleep, but now with temperatures dropping
and winter slowly approaching, its walls are complaining. Its just too cold and its bones
are groaning.

The following is a portion from my poem
‘The Voice’ with a little happier note

The house won’t stop creaking at night.
Is it trying to say something we don’t
want to hear? Houses say words too,
they hold what is true! They are faithful,
wrapping their arms around us,
opening their windows to let in light
touching us with rays of daylight…

Imagine all the children

Amongst
a world of hate, it seems there is no heaven,
Everywhere is sorrow, with no place to dwell.
The enemy seeks the helpless and the weak.

Imagine
all the people, no longer filled with hate, united with their
children, delivered from their fate. A world without a frown,
silence in the air, united hand and hand, filled with love and
peace, for all turmoil and violence have ceased.

Child abuse and neglect are common issues
around the world. It is important to understand,
to reduce the risks of abuse of our children!

Happy!!!

On This Sabbath Day

As the custom, every Friday ‘eve of
the week, there comes a special day to
celebrate. A woven cloth is placed
upon the table and seven candles in the
center are lit. As they sing a song, father
lifts his hands inviting the God of Shalom
to enter their home…

This is an excerpt from the
author’s book ‘The Story of Ruth’

Two Little Brothers

Many stories could be told of how children follow
in their parent’s footsteps. It truly is a mystery how
an illness can afflict some and not others!

There comes a part in the closure of day, when the
evening brings repose to the weary and mirth to the
gay.
A story is told of two little boys of the same kin, no
one knows what happened to them or where to begin.
So allow this be told and the reader to know, this
story of the children could be tenfold told.
A local tavern in the village square, brings vintage
wine among other fare.
Beer flows, laughter rings, bringing about joy to
father and boys.
Becoming drunk father is angry and mean, they
don’t understand and become sullen and sad.
They are grown now, father is gone, they still go
to the bar not knowing it is wrong.
One has a drink, that is enough, the other boy sits
on the stool long into the night.
I often wonder, why was one lost to alcohol and one
was not?

In memory of my father and uncle