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Be A Joyful Child

A long, long time ago there was,

A happy child at play.

The old face in the mirror asks,

Where is that child today?

Sometimes it seems like yesterday,

Sometimes an age or more.

Since I have seen that smiling face,

That long ago I wore.

I look for them sometimes it’s true,

That child I used to be.

And now and then, I catch a glimpse,

Of laughing, smiling me.

I think of how it was back then,

With future just a word.

And all the stress of adult life,

Not lived and seldom heard.

I couldn’t see the treasure of,

The life I lived back then.

Sometimes I wish I could go back,

And do it all again.

But that is not the way it works,

Each life goes just one way.

So find the child you used to be.

Let their joy fill your day.


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Own You

Why do we do the things we do?
What is it makes us go?
And when we do what we should not,
Pretend we didn’t know?
Some say this is the way we are,
Imperfect, full of sin.
Some say it’s what our parents did,
Still buried deep within.
I say it is each choice we make,
We make each one alone.
Not parents, God nor DNA,
It’s on our heads alone.
We choose to hold one person back,
Another person teach.
The hand that hurts, the hand that helps,
Just one mind guides them each.
We are just who we choose to be,
No truth could be so plain.
Some lash out from the smallest hurt,
Some rise above their pain.
You cannot choose all of the things,
That life will bring to you.
It’s up to you how you respond,
Think well before you do.

Cheers, Winston

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I Believe In Us


When all the news is doom and gloom,

And hope’s a fools game,

Remember we’ve been here before,

It’s just the tune that’s changed.


We only hear the worst of things,

Bad news sure travels fast.

But there is much that’s good as well,

Although we hear it last.


So many want to hear the worst,

To feel their lot is best.

It’s really hard to find the good,

When bad’s sought by the rest.


The worse the news, the more it plays,

It’s hard to get away.

Find better news more upbeat words,

Folks with good things to say.


So I’ll say this for those who seek,

For words some hope to bring.

I still believe in you and I,

And caring is the thing.


Cheers, Winston


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I am the Law and I care not

For what is wrong or right.

I answer only to myself.

Care not for oversight,

No justice here, for justice is

A subtle, fickle thing.

The Law cares not for subtlety

Morality is king.

And i don’t care whose Morals are

Enshrined in every line.

The Law’s the Law, so says the Law,

And all the power’s mine.

So if you ever stand before

My lofty bench and seek,

For justice know the Law is strong,

But juries may be weak,

Cheers, Winston

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NaPoWriMo 03


Come greet the dawn

Of blessed morn

From sacred night

This day is born.

At start of day

With promise bright

All basking in

This golden light.

Come lift your head

And share your smile

Chat with someone

And stay a while.

Just know this day

Is yours to take

And good or bad,

It’s what you make.

Cheers, Winston

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NaPoWriMo 02

The Poet

I sit and stare at unmarked page

My lack of thoughts some sign of age?

Or other blight upon my brain?

But I will carry on and on

Until what words I have are gone.

Despite words driving me insane.

I cannot help this urge I feel

To bring rebellious verse to heel.

Ah! There’s that cursed rhyme again!

So write I must and write I will

This verse of such diminished skill.

So sad to watch my wordcraft wane.

I sit and stare at words I wrote

Brain still intact I gladly note.

“Until the morrow!” My refrain.


Cheers, Winston


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So it’s April and that means NaPoWriMo is once more upon us. I wrote this yesterday, but didn’t take the time to post it.


Hello again, my foe, my friend.

That time of year, I hope, I fear.

A time for dreamers, and for fighters and for those who wish to heal.

This dreadful fate I love I hate.

With pen in hand, again I stand.

Shape words for dreamers, and for fighters and for things so much more real.

But I demur, postpone, defer.

Try to avoid, obsessed, annoyed.

I write for dreamers, and for fighters and all those who fear to feel.

I write each word, ignored, or heard.

Be read or not, recalled, forgot.

I am the dreamers, and the fighters and all those whose souls I steal.

Now read each line, if not, that’s fine.

Each word by me, enslaved, now free.

Give to the dreamers and the fighters and to poets this appeal.

Come write your verse, or prose, or curse.

To free your heart, or mind, some part.

Art for the dreamers, and the fighters and to all your soul reveal.

Cheers, Winston

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