Dear friends I leave these to you, courtesy of the Queen of Diamonds, 
I will be 42 on Monday, I am grateful for the lessons of these 42 years.

As we maintain the laws we maintain our strength.

Laws need to be written in books only when we've forgotten that the laws are self evident.
All of nature is but law in action and to go out of acoordance with nature is to go out of 
accordance with the law.

The acceptance, maintenance and repair of our character is our life's meditation.

Looking back places too much strain on our vision.

The fear of being hurt again keeps us hurt.

We begin to lose our lustre the moment we begin pitying ourselves.

A traumatized mind sees shadows where others see light.

The good news is this : at any moment, life could just break out!

In industry, in the absence of inspiration, the tools become the stars.

Against the backdrop of darkness, Grace is not only more easily seen but more easily felt as well.

Acceptance sublimates all beasts.

Each man's heartfelt cry is the earth crying out, and all tears the true origin of the rivers.

A branch grows crooked when it is uncertain.

It is not the role of the church to stay in touch with the modern world as its critics suggest.
It is rather the modern world who'd be wise to stay in touch with the church and be grateful that its branch never bends beneath its calling, which is to remain a lighthouse, 
a beacon, a cornerstone of what we know ourselves to be and a weathervane of the simple rules of law for prosperity and peace, two of my three favourite p's!

To know a thing is not to understand a thing,
to FEEL a thing is to understand a thing.

Self pity weakens our chances.

Most kings fight their crown
before they put it on,
their kingdoms squandered, 
their money laundered 
to clear their minds before the dawn
wine was poured with too much haste
Love was shared with little taste
and though the heart is cut and paste
the waste has bled it dry
once a Lord, now a demon, 
and the waves have tossed
into the mouth of the whale 
all his semen

if you see Prometheus 
tell him I forgive him
I was only mad at him
because he stole my girl 
it really wasn't about the fire
it was because…
he stole my desire

sometimes life falls apart between the price and the deal
but never extracts less than the value you are willing to give it.

I played with thunder once 
now I'm called a dunce
because my dimes I keeps

if all of Shakeaspeare's sonnets 
could fit in my hand 
I'd throw them at the band
and invite the family stone 
to make a stand 
and blow some smoke
at Bruce and Patti
then polish the crest of the Duke of Earl
….by the way an oyster once said to its pearl:
one day you'll leave me for another girl 
and I'll be high and dry, 
but when I think of you,
I'll bring a tear to her eye, 
she'll drop it on a passerby 
it'll bring moisture into his world
but back to the sonnets
and the trees they press
LA – LA – LA – LA
5- 6- 7- 8

I ain't looking for any followers 
though I never turn away any Olivers,
Olivia's or Olivier's 
and will squeeze the oil out 
when it pays 
and spend the amber weathered days 
looking out for Cromwells 
whose time delays 
the prayer that pushes churchbells 
into rings producing ground swells 
in saffron scented waves
though sometimes the church smells 
of incense and decay 
I bowed inside one 
sometimes even argonauts 
pray to feel more priestly 
and survive the battle
with their wounds
though dressed in bandages

straight on through the narrows 
the ship is clipped and listing
the demons taunting the captain's mind
are the only things not drifting 
he once dreamt of warships, 
of heroic deeds and thoughts 
of being commander of mores
though in fairness the days 
were never his
his vision has turned to barnacles 
and rust, and speckled by the scarlet milk
coughed up by wonded sparrows
but that's life at sea
there's too much dust 
in destiny
to blow off or avoid 
an allergy
to the life that slips 
beneath the waves
and chokes on fate's equality

for fear of ladling hope
into the wrong bowl
I crushed it with a stone instead 
the harvest that had gone 
into the soup along with 
sweat and brine 
once swayed the tomb stones of the dead
once I carved a valentine
from the disparate portions of 
my unloved flesh 
the wound is still fresh
so a cotton ball I've wed 
so now 
the fate of the nose
between the ball and the seal 
is down to how slippery his chances feel

all wounds heal in time, give it a chance! 
what do we have to lose?