by Bob Billy Joe
Angels are the guardians of hope and
wonder,
the keepers of magic and dreams
Angels watch over you wherever you go,
keeping each day perfect and promising a bright new tomorrow
The motto of all angels is "it's a wonderful life"
Wherever there is love; an angel is flying by
Angels help you carry the ball, carry a tune,
carry your weight and carry on!
Your guardian angel knows you inside and out
and loves you just the
way you are
Angels keep the world safe
for hummingbirds and butterflies and rainbows in spring
Angels keep it simple and always travel light
Angels love whispering secrets and whistling in the dark
Whenever you hear music, and angel is speaking to you
Remember to leave space in your relationships
so the angels have room to play
Your guardian angel helps you find a place
when you feel there's no place to go
Keep a spare angel in your pocket
Angels carry high-beam lights
to help you through the darkest hours
Whenever you feel
lonely,
a special angel drops in for tea
Angels know that love is the only four letter word
We are always "angels on call" for a friend
Every time you hear a bell,
another angel has earned it's wings
Angels are with you every step of the way
and help you soar with amazing grace
After all, we are angels in training;
all we have to do is spread our wings and fly.
From cryptic chrysalis
I struggle to freedom
A nascent neophyte
Stumbling and falling
Please be patient
In search for nepenthe
For the world, I am
But should I find it
I must partake
of it first
Tainted by their own blood
Sere white petals drift down...
They cannot discern the cause
Of their untimely death
Neither can I...
What careless thoughts
Compelled the hand
To pluck the blossoms?
What unspoken message
Did the dying dying camellias
Fail to convey?
Tortuga: this too is from ancient musings:
Life is our highway
death is our destination
we go from day to day
without any hesitation
guided by the Lord
or tempted by the fiend
fighting with spoken word
or running with the wind
we all come to the same place
on the appointed date
our judgment to face
early or late
Tortuga: ...this one is really old...already fading of a scrap of yellowed paper...
When I was born the angels didn't sing
and the muses gifts of talent didn't bring
I wasn't given any instruction
on how to save my soul from eternal destruction
I plod through life with resignation
searching for my intended designation
I hesitate at all intersections
where roads lead in all directions
I catch a glimpse of illusive reality
prancing around with obscure morality
But they don't stop and wait
for my bewilderment to abate
I know all roads must end
would mine cease around the next bend?
and if it does, how would it be
would it end in a beautiful lea?
where men and beasts abide in peace
where love and harmony never cease
or in a chasm would it end?
where eternity in torment I'll spend
would either end be my own doing?
is there a way to fate's subduing?
Tortuga:
A pot of gold to keep--the myth does say
for those who find the rainbow's end
But even though the gap was bridged between us with a rainbow
Let us not tresspass to the other side
Pandora's box --not gold is burried there
Let us instead ascend from our respective ends
And when we reach the middle
Let us not strive for subjugation
Instead let our hearts beat in unison
the rhythm of our passion
And let the flesh claim its own
Without weaving webs of fantasy
Across the path of real forms
And if the rainbow starts to fade
Let us descend like strangers
Unbound by shackles of deceit
conscious energy in its inherent fluidity
plays tricks upon itself
by taking form in its infinite states of solidity
like clouds in the sky
scuttling along on the breeze up high
dotting the sky with infitnite shapes
or painting the blue with various scapes
sometimes dissolving into torrential rain
to drench a barren plain
then falling as snow and drifting
piling itself high
akin to a mountain, itself lifting
other times`upon a whimsicl whim
imitating a solid rock
as hail scattering
and everything in its wake battering...
its all a cosmic game, you see
to pretend and seem many to me
Tortuga:
The Native proudly stood
Arrayed in the beaded garb of his ancestors
A tear slowly gliding down his cheek
He stood and gazed upon the land
Scarred, wated and defiled
The land that once belonged to him
To himm his fathers and his sons
The land where ancestral spirits
Roam no more...they left
Uttering a curse in passing
Tortuga:
The Apple Tree
Faraway in the desert, where ghosts at night the air with horror fill
Among forgotten graves and broken tombs
Stands an apple tree upon a hill
The scorching sun and howling winds
through the ages parched the land
and to destroy all signs of life
covered it with yellow sand
No living man upon the land of dead sets foot
Not even raindrops fall to wet the thirsty root
There is no sound of a shepherd playing his flute
Only the invisible souls dwell there restless and mute
While faraway, other apple trees with spring rejoice
The lonely apple tree sighs and whispers in a silent voice
It stands sighing and whispering about its doom
Unaware of its own majestic bloom
In the fall when all the other trees bear fruit ripened and red
The lonely apple tree drops its fruit upon the land of dead
