Somebody’s Mother-Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray,
And bent with the chill of a winter’s day;
The streets were white with a recent snow,
And the woman’s feet with age were slow.

At the crowded crossing she waited long,
Jostled aside by the careless throng
Of human beings who passed her by,
Unheeding the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’
Come happy boys, like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep;
Past the woman, so old and gray,
Hastened the children on their way.

None offered a helping hand to her,
So weak and timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet
Should trample her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop
The gayest boy of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
‘I’ll help you across, if you wish to go.’

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so without hurt or harm
he guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were young and strong;
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,
For all she’s aged, and poor and slow;
And some one, some time, may lend a hand
To help my mother- you understand?-
If ever she’s old and poor and gray,
And her own dear boy so far away.’

‘Somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was: ‘God be kind to that noble boy,
Who is somebody’s son and pride and joy.

Written by- Mary Dow Brine

This was my Mother’s favorite poem, so I am posting it in her honor. Also, below is a link to a poem about my Grandma’s Kitchen and the flood of memories that comes over me just thinking of it.

Grandma’s Kitchen

Lost and Found

You are my LOST and FOUND Department. That rather simple explanation carries a plethora of connotations, first is the obvious in that without you I am lost; yet you find me.

But, in a more profound nuance and implication, I was adrift in the sea of life, lost in the churning waves and all but drowning in the storm-tossed seas; when you found me and threw out a lifeline and offered me safe harbor, you gave me shelter and firm mooring in safe harbor—you provided sanctuary and perpetual happiness in calm waters.

Every time I lose sight of the far horizon and drift off center, into “plumb” or level out and fly “right,” you are the shinning beacon that draws me in, beckoning to me and helping me find me way.

You are North on my Compass.

You are the center of my world, the apex of the peak at the mountaintop and you are the absolute North Star guiding me by night keeping me from getting lost and helping me find my way.

In every conceivable way, my precious, beloved Bride of 34 glorious and BLESSED years, you are the destination at the end of my every journey, so I can never BE lost; merely making my way back to you.

©J.L. Day 6/5/2016

Happy Ending

Oh my love, my ever precious darling love;

how infinite and fathomless, my love is for THEE.

I count endless stars twinkling merrily above us,

each one sings praises of you, each professes devotion for eternity.


With a simple glance, shy and demure;

You long ago captured my heart and soul.

I am wholly and completely yours.

But for your love, I have no soul and am not whole.


I breathe you in and I swear you intoxicate me.  You flood my senses to overflowing; you wash away any logic I may have had and I disappear into this foggy haze, losing myself for months or days—exactly which I cannot tell but I do not care for I am with you and that makes me glad.


I simply lose myself in thoughts of you; steamy daydreams one can always hope might come true!

So many thoughts, so many dreams to come true; but the best part of all is living life with YOU.


Long ago I placed you high upon a pedestal, an altar perhaps; sadly it may be too high above the clouds

for you to have much of a view.  I also worry you may suffer from oxygen deprivation,

 from my keeping you so high above all of the rest of the world, State and the nation.


But I simply don’t care as long as you are still MINE, for that is all that matters to ME, regardless of how the world turns. I do not care if it is the end of times. I do not care if the world is going to erupt into chaos and a volcano or an asteroid or some other natural disaster is going to destroy the planet or at least wipe out all of mankind. None of that matters to me, as long as I can hold your hand until such a time; as long as I can see love’s pure light shimmering in your hazel eyes, as long as I can hear my name whispered in your soft breathy sighs.  Let the world slip away, let Jesus descend, let the end of everything start to begin—just let me love you and to be loved BY you until it happens and I will call it a Happy Ending.

©3/6/2016 J.L. Day

I Stand Before Thee

Oh, but even were there ten trillion words for each and every star in the night sky, there could never aspire to be enough expressions to compose a poem, sonnet or song to articulate or convey my love for thee; nor to paint a masterpiece of such exquisite prose as to be even half so lovely as your ethereal, effervescent and utterly breathtaking beauty.

 I stand meekly before you, absorbed in utter fascination, timidly drinking you in with greedy and undeserving eyes, as if I were a man dying to quench his thirst stumbling in from the sparsest of deserts.

Muted by my awe, knowing full well I have naught other than love to offer to the love of my life, the other half of my very own soul; I present upon the altar of love as homage and tribute—the meager and undesirable mass that was my heart, as well as the void and aching chasm representing my soul—also and with unceremonious aplomb I humbly relinquish my own unworthy, lackluster spirit unto my darling wife, saying unto thee; thou hast all of my trust and love, mold me at thy will.

©2015 J.L. Day                                                        


Into Port

A blurry whirl of days goes by and from port to port it drifts, this sad old ship with anchor never weighing and never casting lines. Though its sails unfurl and hopes arise time and time again, each new port refuses the ship a slip or denies it safe harbor.

Turning once again and pointing out to sea, the weary ship pushes through the salty seas besieging it. Not a single port offers safe harbor.

The anchor chain is rusted in place and has never been weighed into the sea so slowly seeming to be the grave in which shall be entombed the dauntless ship, ever denied a secure place to cast its lines.

A vessel adrift in the seas of life,  each day torn, by turmoil and strife.

Cast adrift from the very moorings that refuse it, the ship struggles through its life.

Another harbor lurks on the horizon, somewhere beyond the line of the far blue sea.

The ship valiantly tries to fix its eyes on the line where the world falls away and the sea becomes the sky, it bravely offers shelter to its cargo, beneath pitching and rolling decks where turmoil and chaos reign supreme.

A tumultuous sea tosses the ship to and fro, aging timbers creak and groan.

Sails flap angrily in the stiffening breeze. Harsh winds overtake it and the ship fights for life itself, fiercely struggling to stay afloat, valiantly pledging not to let the seas suffocate or swamp it.

Turning into the wind, the ship braces against the storm. Wearily searching on the horizon for safe harbor from the storm. A port appears at last in the evening mist and the ship turns into the wind to run for sanctuary there.

Easing into this new-found port, the ship drops sails and slows in search of a place to weigh anchor or a slip where it might cast out lines. But, never to hear the anchor’s splash, the ship is turned away.

Once again it eases out to sea and rotting sails unfurl.   Waters slide easily under the hull, life goes slowly by.

Adrift without safe haven, a sad old ship am I.

©2015 J.L. Day

You HAVE to sign this….PLEASE. Stand UP for Down Syndrome with CHange.Org

I am signing because this kind of thing really angers me. I worked with kids and adults facing challenged the rest of us are oblivious to and are therefore equally oblivious to their special gifts of love, understanding and kindness beyond the realm of understanding of the average person.
Back when I worked with these kids a lot, I was VERY possessive and called them “MY KIDS” or the adults “My FRIENDS” and could easily become incensed at the casual way most people and especially the media, so effortlessly brush them aside as if they did not matter in the least. The are PEOPLE, not ONLY are the people, they are HUMANS and are far more humane than most of the day to day average citizens so complacent in their ivory towers sneering down at the struggling masses and denying opportunities to all but those that fit their particular genre of persona gratis.
Aiden, like every other child like him, deserves every opportunity the rest of us are afforded AND he deserves the chance to try to succeed or perhaps to learn through the bittersweet lessons of failure; as the rest of us all have to face up to at some point in our lives.
STOP the haters, give this young, beautiful soul the chance to flourish and grow, to discover his potential. Perhaps he will fail? OR, mayhap he will succeed In ways that will set the world on it’s ear and open new doors and opportunities for not ONLY his remarkable self, but for tens of thousands of other gifts from our GOD and WE may finally learn the astonishing and earth-shattering lesson that our Creator has hidden behind that handsome face and those beautiful, friendly and wholesome eyes gazing ever so deeply into the soul of the beholder.
SHARE THIS! SIGN THIS PASS on the message, let there be HOPE!



Do you ever get that chill running up your spine?  Can you feel predatory eyes boring into your back, yet on spinning around, you find not a person in sight?  Does a sense of dread and foreboding ever weigh so heavy upon your soul that you cannot even begin to draw a breath of air?

Can you feel your life-force going out with the tides.  Has “Elvis left the building?”  Is it the world around you growing dim or merely your eyesight?

Who or WHOM watches your every move, studies you like a lost art, follows your every move as a kitten watching a bug, twitching and jerking; preparing to pounce?

WHAT on earth is that out there in the gloom, peering in to leer at you and syphon every ounce of dignity and identity from you like a thief in the night?

Mother Moon

A starry night, a moon so bright.

We fear no plight, for we are right.

Star kissed eyes, a contented soul sighs.

Powers arise and fly the skies.

Sheltered by the sacred oak, we dance our dance and say our rote.

Fires flicker and flames jump high, kindred souls, are you and I.

Forms in moonlight, alters built.

We give our gifts and our love is spilt.

Entranced and formless, our souls depart.

They blend together, they come apart.

Flights in fancy, a goddess pure.

We make our offerings, our hearts are sure.

Different powers, different gifts,

each has a soul the gods have kissed.

Your eyes subdue me, your heart divine.

I’ve known you forever, friend of mine.

My soul is ancient, I’ve oft been told.

Yours is a like one, cut from the same mold.

So dance, my sister. Let your burning light shine.

I’ll melt to the shadows, for that is my design.

A fire in darkness, an enigma am I.

You are the purity of earth and of sky.

©2007 J.L. Day



Fair? I don’t know, I suppose it may not seem fair. You and I, our twisted and convoluted relationship; there are many aspects of our co-existence that I certainly do not deem to be fair. The more aware I become of the totally unfair and one-sided imbalance with which you rule my very life, the more embittered I become.

When I think of you, there is an unexplainable shift in every facet of my being. I swear, though I know it sounds absurd; thoughts of you often cause my breathing to become labored. Much like the dog of Pavlov, I even find myself salivating when thinking about you and that includes this very moment as I write to you of my disdain for you.

It is an unearthly nightmare, to be so infatuated and completely powerless while simultaneously seething with hatred and turmoil. Even while my heart races with anticipation, bile builds in my system with pure loathing and disgust.

In an unholy waltz of synonymous harmony, you rule every single facet of my life. You are my joy, my love, my fulfillment and the foundation around which I have built my tortured life. Yet, you are the very bane of my existence; the boogeyman beneath my bed and the demonic monster lurking in every shadow of both my unconscious and my conscious mind.

I awake every morning with you foremost on my mind. Every special event, every joyous occasion and even the minutest celebrations in my life revolve entirely around you. You are my comfort, my oasis and the culmination of everything I enjoy in life. I adore you. I love you.

I hate you. I abhor how you treat me. Because of you, people ridicule me, point at me and laugh at me. Because of you, people assume me to be weak and a lesser person. Because of you I am filled with shame and self loathing. Every waking (and even in my dreams) moment of my life is affected by you, my weakness for you and the addiction I have for you. You overwhelm me. You rule over me.

You dominate me and I bow in subservient servitude, the shame of it making me red around the ears.

Oh food, how I loathe thee.
©2015 J.L. Day

The Crag

Blackness- Disturbing silence- Still as death. This life is such a puzzle; it is such a long and horrible journey. Light, illumination, is there nothing to cut this gloom? Misery is my companion, despair my best friend. Oh, dear God, please send me a reprieve? Allow me to escape this lifeless existence?

Mindlessly wandering with nary a path to follow; meandering throughout endless time and distance—even my breath evades me—I fear I cannot catch it.

Is it night? No, maybe it’s daytime? There is no difference in my shadowy world, no way to decipher time. Climbing upwards, I scramble the face of a cliff; surely there is something beyond the misty walls of my unseen prison.

Upward and onward, gasping and panting. The rocks tear at my fingernails and break them loose, blood drips from my fingers making even harder my ascent. Feet slipping and sliding, I crawl to the top. Finally, I am there. I can open my eyes and enjoy the view!

Slowly, I lift my eyes. Almost frightened to see the world that I know must lie out there somewhere? My eyes drift slowly up and a huge sigh escapes my chest. Nothing, absolutely nothing lies before my eyes. I study the rocky crag on which I am perched. It appears almost two-dimensional; cold, hard and void of color.

Easing back, I lean against the ledge behind me. I feel the coldness and emptiness creeping higher and higher in my soul. Silently, I study my lifeless world. A gray mist fills the air; actually—well, I cannot say for sure—it seems to be air. My tortured lungs struggle to take in life sustaining air and I ache from the lack thereof.

My mind reels from the vastness of the emptiness before me. Beyond comprehension, is this endless eternity of nothingness? In the gloom of the ever present shadows, I sense no other life around me. I am surrounded by death and pray for its orgasmic release.

The stillness and its accompanying silence invade my spirit and leave me feeling inanimate. Suffocating is the heavy blanket of loneliness that envelopes me. Were there a path top follow, I would know that this misery has an end. I find no path. I find no end.

Tortured soul, scurrying for release, I pray and dream of deaths sweet peace. Shuddering from the cold, realizing that its the coldness within that is chilling my bones and not the cold outside. There is no temperature in my world. Nothing changes; there is naught to stimulate the senses.

With abject horror, I realize the possibilities. This might very well BE my eternity. THIS might be my life! Oh, GOD! Terror attacks my heart; I feel it convulsing and racing and my spirits SOAR!

Mayhap, there IS an end to this nightmare, maybe it will come soon. MAYBE it is coming NOW! PLEASE?

I drop to my knees and pray, but scream in silent anger for I feel not deaths sweet release. No exit to mercifully carry me to freedom, no escape can I find from this existence.

Sheer and utter horror overwhelms me, maybe there IS no end!

Maybe this pain and misery will go on forever,” My tortured soul whimpers and whines.

I melt into a puddle of despair and dream silent dreams of deaths sweet reprieve.

©2015 J.L. Day

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