Working Title, Part 2

I believe in Jesus,
He led me to you,
But your body’s unfaithful
And your heart is untrue.

I believe in Jesus,
He showed me the light
How I work every day
And your gone every night.

I believe in Jesus,
I don’t mean to complain,
But how can I live
With a life filled with pain?

Mary, oh Mary,
How do you do,
Can we spend a few minutes
Up in your room?

Mary, oh Mary,
Please help with my pain,
Cause I suffer from a love
That’s destroying my brain.

Mary, oh Mary,
God loves you and me,
Won’t you show me how much
While you’re down on your knees.

I believe in Jesus,
He gives me a smile,
Cause I haven’t seen her
For a very long while.

Yes, I buried her body
Just over the hill,
A dangerous thing
Is a love unfulfilled.

Mary, oh Mary,
So kind and so true,
The rest of my days
I’ll spend loving you.

The soldiers have come
To hang me today,
But I’m waiting for Jesus
To take me away.

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Working Title

First verse:
I believe in Jesus
He led me to you,
But your body is unfaithful,
And your heart is untrue.

Second verse:
I need to start bringing my digital voice recorder in the shower with me.
Stand by for updates.

Ideas?  Opinions?  Feedback?

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Anniversary Poem

I wrote this for my wife, Malette, on our thirty-seventh wedding anniversary yesterday.

A lasting relationship,
as imperfect as it may be,
transcends mere love,
to form a bond that is stronger,
and is linked inevitably
to our mutual destiny.

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I almost cut my hair

I thought about cutting my hair and beard, but that would be unfair to all the fans I don’t have yet.

Addendum: As a gift to my wife upon her return from a trip in April to see the grandkids, I did shave off my beard. The wonderful thing about hair is that it grows back.

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Praying for the right man

Although Eleanor and Robert had pledged their love and set a date to be married, her mother still prayed fervently to God that a good man would come along to marry her.   Unlike her mother,  Eleanor realized that there were no good men or bad men, just complex men.  And Robert, for all his failings, was a complex man.

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A Good Day To…

It is a cold and wet Sunday, here in Central Florida. It’s a good day to stay inside, have a cup of tea, and read a book I haven’t written yet.

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It was one of those Saturdays—you know the kind. You don’t wake up quite on time and from that point on everything is sort of disjointed and out of phase. And that’s how it was that she talked me into driving all the way to Kissimmee to attend this healing service at a friend’s house.

Before this I had never really understood the word ‘charismatic’, but I do now. Because that is what the preacher was, charismatic. From the moment he arrived, until he anointed my head with oil and told me he knew how I was suffering, he was the center of attention. With his hand on my head, he whispered in my ear about my sins and pain until I found myself repeating after him with a shout Help me, Jesus! and In the name of Jesus and Halleluiah!

And then he moved on to save someone else and I had to ask my wife what the hell just happened. That this little West Indian preacher could touch me on such a personal level was discomforting—and downright creepy. He and the others at the service were, in many ways, like characters from a Stephen King novel.

Would it be rude to say that while he was laying on hands I fully expected his head to split open and a serpent to pop out?

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