Poems by The Winning Poets
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ISBN #0-912658-00-3
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"The Helping Hand Anthology"


I was just a drunk on the down side of town
sleeping anywhere my wine would lay me down
my suit needed pressing, my face could stand a shave
I was just a couple of drinks from my grave.

Was it that man from a mission or a cop on the beat
the hand gcntly touched mc and I got to my feet
then hands touched my shoulder I shrugged them away
I didn’t want to hear what I knew he would say

My feet stood again on good solid ground
thru teardrops I could see clearly once more
I picked up my bottle then I threw it down
turned to thank him for the strength I had found

His eyes had tears but on his head was a crown
and the hand he extended to steady me down
was strong but soft, gentle rather pale
marked with several scars about the size of a nail.

art by the renowned Charles Dana Gibson
originator of the "Gibson Girl"

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As we travel on our earthly journeys,
Each passing along our own unique roads
Going our separate distinct ways,
We must sometimes stop
To count our many blessings.
Our Heavenly Father mysteriously
Instills within us a special longing
That stays with us all our days,
We long for a. peace, joy and fulfillment
That is usually only partially attained.
One of our greatest gifts to fulfill
This special longing is our capacity to love
And to share ourselves
And our Lives with one another.

From The Sunlit Path

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Dear one, I abandoned you when I was too green to know
return is not a simple thing.  One travels far, and then,
fate has it so, there is no turning back.
Could I escape this dovecote, I would fly to your feet;
yet, solitude conquered you, devouring your memory of me.
Not Argus, you no longer see more than a stranger.
The golden thread in you did not endure, but snapped;
about my heart, instead, it strengthened, tangled with regret.
Not even raging storms, blackening skies, maddening seas,
could drive me home: shipwrecked and forlorn,
I met your signal, of fog and ice.

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