Belizean roller coaster

Flying down a Belizean road,

jungle flies by green and bold.

It seems as if the driver knows

that greenery keeps us safe as gold!

 

I on the other hand, see the edge.

It’s blurred, yet fills my heart with dread!

This bus is not an Indy car,

so I might soon be flying loose!

 

I’m hanging on with hands gripped fast,

my knees they brace, yet still I shift.

The gal beside is sitting calm,

she has this knack to keep her ground.

I find I’m pressed into her arm

which I sure hope does not alarm.

I would have stopped, I really would,

if this old bus just hadn’t slewed!

 

And now the bus slows to a crawl.

The city’s flow is kind of slow!

Roller coasters will now be tame

cause this old bus was really game!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

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Journey into Love: Laughter

Love comes in with laughter bright.

Companions sing in whimsy’s light.

Walking through this bubbling brook

that’s love’s caress in easy peace,

while slowing floating as she wades.

Lives entwined, I breathe and move

with comfort born from a tickley kiss.

This makes me chuckle once again,

my face just shines with smile’s light.

I know I’m full, replete and still,

because I’ve felt love’s cheery bliss.

Laughter’s music’s become my song!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Memories dancing

Doing nothing, fingers idle,

things that flash into my mind;

images fleeting, memories dancing,

without order, without form.

There’s dis-comfort with dis-order,

helter-skelter seems bizarre!

What can fill this crazy chaos,

that disturbs me without cause?

 

Choices clamour for distraction.

What can silence raging storms?

Numbness found can be relieving,

yet it’s only found within storm’s eye!

So I move where’er the storm leads,

to avoid being tossed and turned.

Now I’m bound as if a prisoner,

living in distractions lie.

 

Taking time while doing nothing,

is a contest for the brave.

As I face my storms of turmoil,

I too soon face heart’s sore cry.

When with patience, I stop and listen,

pain’s procession opens gentle grace.

Holding hands with comfort’s presence

I connect with my own face!

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Journey into Love: Generosity

Where once there was an orphan’s heart,

so full of fear and desperate hurt,

I found that love in fullness came

and broke fear’s lie – “I’ll be without!”

I’m not alone, there’s hope and more.

The future’s bright and not forlorn!

That which I have on hand is blessed,

when in your eyes I thrive and jive.

It is with joy that love o’r flows,

to give and give and then some more.

There’s laughter in a generous soul

-cause love’s great gift calls me to soar.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Solace

Questions rising, turmoil surging,

voices often can destroy.

People speak with careless freedom-

wrecking balls have no dismay.

When within the shattered caverns,

gentle souls lift up their heads,

they find solace left in panic,

while their hearts sobbed out it’s pain.

 

Faithful presence – warm, enduring,

is the hallmark of a friend.

When the packs come round to slay me,

that is when a fury rises

in those hearts who won’t betray.

When I’m close knit with my heroes,

they step in as solace leaves

and become my light of day.

Author – Bill Tidsbury

Expectations

Raised expectations surge with delight.

it feels like it’ll happen, maybe-just might!

The visions they swirl and dance in the wind,

the possible’s endless, and wonder’s in flight.

The hormones are cranked up, the crackle is felt,

and time seems suspended and waiting’s a fight.

All this and more flows out from just words,

that simply portended  that dreams can see light!

 

Failed expectations can hurt just like hell.

The future collapses as pain’s torment swells.

The heart feels despairing, sinking deep in the sea,

while purpose is listless and eyes cannot see.

My stomach does threaten to  split me in two,

and dread seems to squash whatever feels new.

Life’s gripped in iron when future looms dark,

and hope just lies stillborn in grief’s hateful night.

 

Living, believing is never a waste.

It frames my good fortune when in valley’s grave.

My present is always a gift of great hope,

when breathing is granted and friendships are close.

I hold to the precious, that lives in my hand,

and reach for the promise that vision demands.

While ever uncertain, I still see a strand,

of grace that’s connected to that which is grand.

Author – Bill Tidsbury