Archive for March 2014

Angel in Blue Jeans   10 comments



It was just another serene, calm day here on the gulf. I was tired and wanted to get away from just everything. I’d walked nearly a mile of glistening white sand beach to find some isolation and quiet at the end of an old pier. I leaned back against an ancient weathered dockpost, not too sure it would support me or not.  The water was smooth as far out as the eye could see.  There wasn’t even the ripple of a boat wake.  It was like a beautiful blue mirror, pocked by the reflection of the few scattered cumulus clouds off toward New Orleans.

Contemplating the scene, I hadn’t pictured this in my grand plans for my grand future.  The plan had been college…, grad school, maybe teaching at a small college and then getting a doctorate and teaching at a university.  For myriad unnamed reasons, the “grand plan” simply imploded upon itself and now I found myself here, sitting at the end of a pier, stupidly feeling sorry for myself and pondering what new plan could be developed from the ruins of the old.  Nothing instantly came to mind.  Oh, well, there’s always tomorrow…

After a brief bit of mourning I kissed the “grand plan” goodbye, closed my eyes and dozed.  Sleep came easily but after a time I heard footsteps crossing the closed hallways of my mind.  I raised my eyes to a vision of long black hair, sapphire blue eyes, a t-shirt, and cut-off jeans. Nothing was said as our eyes met, and nothing needed to be. Thoughts and feelings passed between us without words. She quietly sat next to me, smiling and dangling her legs off the end of the pier. I’d never seen her before, but felt like I’d known her all my life.

A breeze came up, lending a slight chill to the air and rippling the water as the tide slowly made its inward march on the beach. I stirred and woke. She was gone, like a memory in the mists, drifting on the breeze, but I felt at peace with my world. Was I dreaming or…….







Posted March 27, 2014 by PapaBear in A Little Romance, Experiences, Story

~~The Eagle Cried   7 comments


I’m honored to share a poem from my friend, Northern California writer Richard Turton.



The Eagle Cried

The acrid smell of cordite

Still hovered in the air.

No breeze to wash away

The scent of Satan’s hair.

 The Medivac’s are fading now,

Their cabins filled with dead.

So many grisly pictures

Are surging through my head

Another hill’s been taken

The earth all charred and black

We all know what’s coming;

Tomorrow…”Give it back!”

The Eagle cries from barren trees

His tears, he cannot hide.

Where once a proud, young soldier stood

My Warrior Brother, died

 The scorched ground that surrounds me;

Am I in Dante’s Hell?

This skirmish now is over

We saw them as they fell.

My Warrior Brother, Donny,

Died that gruesome day.

He took the bullets meant for me

With his final words did say,

 “Tell Mom and Sis I loved them!

Please! Don’t let me down!”

I promised I would tell them

A promise I’d soon drown.

The Eagle cried that tragic day,

Back in Sixty-Eight.

A promise made…un-kept,

To my Warrior mate.

One thing that I’m sure of,

A thing that gives no rest.

The hounds of Hell still battle

Deep within my chest.

A bottle’d been my address

For forty years or more.

I’d take ‘most any drug,

I couldn’t find the door.

Somewhere there’s a record,

Of drugs and booze and tears.

When I crawled out of the bottle

I’d been buried in for years.

 Half a decade sober.

Not a real long time.

That’s how long I’m clean tho’,

My life’s becoming mine.

The winds of war are blowing by;

In history books they last.

I’m in the winter of my years,

My best days…they have passed.

The one thing that I’ve never done

One thing I cannot face:

To visit the Memorial,

The headstone for that place.

My daughter said, “You have to go,

To honor those who died!”

I said I know I should…

But that I’d go…I lied

Then one day the phone rang;

A call I knew I’d dread.

It was Donny’s sister,

“Please help me!” Karen pled.

 “I’ve spent these years just searching

I even hired a sleuth.

I finally found out where you live…

I need to know the truth.”

“The Army’s always been real vague,

And their answers never matched.

I need to know what happened;

They always seemed detached”

 Our Mother has passed on now,

But I still need to know;

I’d really love to meet with you,

Please…just show me how!”

 The hounds of Hell are roused again;

Their howling has re-started.

I force their shrieks out of my mind,

My path, it has been charted

 Quiet now, you dogs of war!

It’s time for a new quest!
It’s time for me to wrestle you,

And lay your souls to rest!

Then I thought the one thing,

A thought I’d never say,
Should I meet her at The Wall,

And put my hounds at bay?

I finally said I’d meet with her,

With a voice that was not mine.

“The Wall is where I’ll meet you.

I’ll see you there at nine.”

I saw flowers in her hand,

As she walked my way.

“Yellow roses were his favorite.”

Later she would say.

“Hello, my name is Karen.”

She said when we did meet

“Donny wrote me many things,

I knew that you’d be sweet!”

“I know this must be hard for you,

But I really need to know.

Please tell me how my brother died,

That day, so long ago.”

The moment had arrived.

I could hide this fact no more.

I said things I’d kept hidden,

Behind my mind’s locked door

She took my hand in hers,

And waited patiently.

My head bowed down as I thought

Of words I had to say.

I knew my words would stab her heart

But she would not look away.

She watched me as I told her

Of that ghastly day.

“Your Brother died in my arms,

In that nameless place.

He took the bullets meant for me

And died as we embraced!”

Her head dropped down, when I was done

Her chin upon her chest.

A single tear rolled down her cheek,

“Now Donny’s laid to rest.”

I walked with her as she made her way

To the Wall of Stone.

She laid the flowers at the base

Her silent prayer was sown.

At last I’ve honored those who fell,

Whose names are etched in rows.

We touched the name of Donny,

Who died so long ago.

And we cried…

The Eagle’s cry is heard again;

It lives within the Wall!

Each time a name is touched

The Eagle gives his call.


© Richard Turton

warmemorial wall


This speaks so eloquently of the feelings of a generation of soldiers, sailors, and airmen who witnessed the atrocity of this war. It aptly describes the private hell that lives in us and the memories that, while somewhat faded with time, still haunt us in the lonely late night hours. After witnessing this there could be no return to the innocence of life before it. Young men, instantly old, or maimed and old, or dead. There are those who would not admit it, but we all lost parts, important parts of our lives over there, be it the friends who died there, or something of us that died there. As you read this, please take time to honor the men and women who have served this country in the past, serving it in the now, and those who willl serve in the future. Reassure them that their sacrifice is worth the price they pay.






~~ More Odds ‘n’ Ends   4 comments



The night is clear
The moon is bright
Stars wink at me
From their place in the heavens
I see your reflection in their eyes.


‘Tis now past the appointed hour
Needs to find the midnight flower
And send ourselves off to sleep
In search of dreams to hold and keep.



Night falls with the softness and
serenity of a snowflake.  In the gentle
peace of sleep we drift into our dreams.


The day was tired and worn
And now it’s early, early morn
So in the star vaults vast and deep
I rest my weary mind and sleep.


Dreams come
And linger on
In the silent hours
Before the dawn
It is their peace I take
Til the sun rises
And I awake


In a crystal clear sky
On a cold starry night
A thin crescent moon
 Gives naught of its light
‘Tis time for the promise
Of dreams to keep
To rest our weary heads
And, at last, to sleep.


free and high
above the troubled earth
like an arrow in an azure sky
above the loud and noisome dearth



Touch me
…with the softness of a feather
….with the sweet scent of mountain heather
Look with me into the starlit sky above
Let me touch the wonder of your love.


Songs and lullabies, metre and rhyme
Rules for the melodies
And rules for romance
Looking for answers to life’s mysteries
Once again…, I’d die for this dance.


Looking out the window tonight
Moon and stars shining bright
Peacefully quiet,
As the world should be
In this moment of eternity.


It was a cold and dreary night, all warmth gone,

Save one candle to last til dawn for warmth and light

But that candle is you, and it is enough for me.

Candle and hands






~~ Good Night   Leave a comment


In a crystal clear sky
On a cold starry night
A thin crescent moon
 Gives naught of its light
‘Tis time for the promise
Of dreams to keep
To rest our weary heads
And, at last, to sleep.

Night on the Lake







Posted March 19, 2014 by PapaBear in Experiences, Painting, Personal, Poetry

Tagged with , , , , , , , ,

~~~Three Feet Tall~~~   4 comments


Washington St rowdies


Memories of three feet tall

And tattered hand-me-downs

Of dreams beneath the back-door porch
In leaves of gold and brown.

Shades of autumn fill the air

And blanket all around.

Then with the frost and chilly wind

Cold snow blankets the ground

The bed was swept and bare,

Reborn in white the season’s end

With snow and frigid air.

Came springtime and the snow was gone.

Replaced by wind and rain.

But summer’s warmth was soon to dawn

And bring the sun again.

With memories of three feet tall,

And tattered hand-me-downs.







~~Irish Eyes “r” Smilin’   3 comments

I’ll be off now for a short little while
But in my wake leave ye a bit o’ a smile

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

to one and all, be ye Irish or be ye not
‘Tis a day to enjoy and be not forgot.


“Well, Mrs. O’Connor, so you want a divorce?” the solicitor
questioned his client.
“Tell me about it. Do you have a grudge?”
“Oh, no,” replied Mrs. O’Connor. “Shure now, we have a carport.”
The solicitor tried again. “Well, does the man beat you up?”
“No, no,” said Mrs. O’Connor, looking puzzled. “Oi’m always first out of
bed.””Shure it’s because the man can’t
Still hopeful, the solicitor tried once again.
“What I’m trying to find out are what grounds you have.”
“Bless ye, sor. We live in a flat — not even a window box, let alone grounds.”
“Mrs. O’Connor,”
the solicitor said in considerable exasperation, “you need a reason that the
court can consider.
What is the reason for you seeking this divorce?”
“Ah, well now,” said the lady, “the man simply can’t
 hold an intelligent conversation.”



Q: What is Irish diplomacy?
A: It’s the ability to tell a man to go to hell.
in a manner that he will look forward to making the trip



Pat had been celebrating St Patrick’s Day at his local pub all day. The bartender says, “No more drinking for you tonight, Pat.”

Pat replies, “Okay, I’ll be on my way then.”  Pat climbs off his stool and falls on his face. He pulls himself up by the stool.

He takes a step towards the door and falls on his face again.  He thinks that if he can get to the door and breathe some fresh air, he’ll be fine. He crawls to the door and sticks his head out to take a deep breath of fresh air, which makes him feel better. He takes one step onto the sidewalk and falls on his face yet again. He thinks he must be really drunk.

Pat can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door and inside. He crawls upstairs to his bedroom door. He takes one step into the room and falls on his face again. He climbs into bed and falls asleep.

The next morning, his wife, brings him a cup of coffee and says, “Get up Pat. Did you have a lot to drink last night?”  Pat says, “I did. I was drunk. How did you know?”

‘The bartender called and said “You left your wheelchair at the pub.”‘



Good Night Everybody !




Posted March 16, 2014 by PapaBear in Humor, Personal

~~~Slainte !   3 comments

I had posted this last year…, and the year before,  so I sense a  wee bit o’ tradition developing here…, but seems appropriate to the upcomin’ day



May you always have

the sun on your face

And a dry path to walk.

May the stars fill your eyes

And the moon light

The way to your door

May you know

Peace in your dreams

And love in your heart


celt heart

And now, for all the real Celts out there, ’tis translated into true Irish:


Fhéadfadh a bheith agat i gcónaí

an ghrian ar d’aghaidh

Agus cosán tirim chun siúl.

Bealtaine na réaltaí líonadh isteach do shúile

Agus an solas gealaí

An bealach chun doras

Bealtaine Tá a fhios agat

Síochána i do aisling

Agus grá i do chroí


Bealtaine do Trioblóidí amháin a bheith aisling iontach !



Posted March 15, 2014 by PapaBear in Uncategorized