The Empty Places

Places no one can fill,

Nothing anyone can say,

Your places, will always be,

Still and quiet, as you see,

Doctors have no pill,

One call of the day,

Our daily time for tea,

No voice now, oh gee,

Living just makes for nil,

Still nothing to play,

Quiet now no glee,

Yours places are even still,

Your places will always be,

The Empty Places.

The Beauty of the Poorest Country

Like many poor in back streets they beg.

Honorably some indeed borrow.
In the countryside a child steals an egg.
The speed of life is extraordinarily slow.

Life in this sundered culture.

Island after island each one with different tones.
Expectations rise with each departure.
In lieu of drawing simple stones.


A camera he shouldered an art enthusiast.
Only one question in this fertile place.
Each island seems so vast.
Can nature keep this pace?


This is a place that bears dreams.
The brunt of creation almost elite.
Only one speck of beauty as this water streams.
One country complete with all lituite.


In the days before Hercules with strength of bulls and mules.
On islands so fertile and green they hunt and gather and glean..
Celebrations are many including Three Kings gifts and yules..
Parades include two small floats only one pulled by machine.


Lands of color and bounty like silk ribbon and linen bolt,
Music and markets in the open air.
Strolling through the land and shops gives senses a jolt.
With great zeal and happiness their environs we share.