Down Pembleton Road

There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
Where it makes its abode with stools of toad,
And ever thick fog hanging low over its bog
That brightest light cannot penetrate —
Tis always night and filled with blight —
And you ask, what lives there but a reprobate,
Some deformed shadow lurking all around
Under naked tree branches so you hardly see,
But you know it lives in dark as thick as brick,
And that it’s been there long before the street,
And it has no name but it has staked its claim,
And no one is welcomed on Pembleton Road,
But the unwary move in some times, at least,
Until the pet-beast craves another meal
And, thus, seals the doom of strangers,
Who seemed oblivious to the curse, and so
Now find there place in the back of a Herse,
That is, if there is anything left to bury . . .
And this is the only time it makes merry
With cackling laugh that can only be heard,
Never seen . . .
There lives a mystery down Pembleton Road,
One undiscovered but still known all too well,
And at a short distance chimes the church bell
As if to punctuate this evil on Pembleton Road

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Sonnet of Trepidation

Whence cometh this fear that grips my heart in despair?
And why, with such a boon, should my soul need repair?
Ah! But this dæmon stalks at night and during the day,
And who will rescue me now and his malevolence repay?
Oh, that I might laugh once again in free joy and in peace!
God, givest thou thy servant bravery and in life new lease
That he might better serve thee in this time untarnished,
And walk with head held high in your truth unvarnished!
Lo, does this deadly pestilence stalk me ever so crudely,
And doth heavily weigh down mine heart quite so rudely
That these feet of mine hath most assuredly become lead,
And the cowardly trepidation of soul is mightily well fed;
But shall I await the doom that largely seemeth to loom?
Nay! Not while there is aplenty of room in empty tomb!

You Are Not Alone

We know you can make it through this valley,
That you can escape the darkness of this alley;
Only you doubt in your bout with depression
And repression of the fullest scope of real hope,
But that’s okay because we are here, very near,
And you are dear to us, thus we will not leave
Or forsake you to your burning burden alone;
Oh no! We know what it is like to hike this hill
And hear the shrill noise of fear in every part
Of the heart and feel a gaping hole in the soul,
For we are also children of the night
Who have faced this very same blight,
But we also found the bright light and alive life
To live not rife with pain but the greatest gain!
So we are here, too, to talk and walk with you
And, if you choose, to help you along the way;
You have nothing to lose and you are not alone!

Stage Fright

You clamor to be heard but then you stammer;
It just does not come out right though you try
With all of your might in the sight of everyone
And you’ve only just begun to spin your story
And so you begin to falter at the altar of fright
Because you feel you’re blowing it by showing
All of the world you cannot take the large stage
Even at your age, but why not turn a new page?
Let the sage inside you take over for the time;
Wisdom will guide, not chide, and you will not
Abide in fear so near to tears and they’ll hear
Your voice loud ‘n clear as you steer the stage
And engage the audience, gauge their response
And know that you have captured this show . . .
And, too, that it’s only stage fright that bites!

No Romero, Not Here! Not Here!

Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear;
You see, we don’t know you and only a few want to;
You have made your pilgrimage at such a young age,
But all for not for we have bought this wall
As a clarion call that we’re surely not for all,
Even the weak and small like you, O Romero!
Say, can you see the torch held high up into the sky?
Fire once burned there to light the night sky
As a bright beacon of hope for those who cry;
But now we must say ‘good bye’ and just let you die,
For we have no place for your face ‘n no more grace;
O Romero, what are you thinking as you’re blinking?
Skies here are not blue for you,
And your skin is the wrong hue!
From sea to sea shall we be ever so discriminatory?
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear!
Not here, lad, not here . . . for we are filled with fear!


Note: Romero is both a Spanish and an Italian surname meaning: A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage . . . (also) an herb of rosemary symbolizing remembrance and fidelity.

New Venture . . . Today

Surely, we bear some fear with every new venture
Because the clincher is it could be a misadventure;
After all, we cannot see down the road and the load
To carry can end up being quite scary; what to do?
Forge on ahead with fidelity and prayer,
And ever look for what is bright and fair;
Expect the unexpected as a prospect for the future,
And remember: You are never alone,
Even when you’re chilled to the bone;
There is an Eye that sees and the Heart that cares;
There is One who never forsakes but close abides,
Who does not chide, but offers the helping Hand;
So with this in mind we unbind all our trepidation
And move forward into the unknown; into the new