Sunday, December 15, 2013

WHAT HAPPENS TO THE LOVE?

by Theresa Lovelace

What happens to the love?
Does it melt away in the sunlight?
Or drift away with the wind?
Does it lose itself in a melody?
For someone else to sing?

Does it take the shape of raindrops?
That fall to earth below?
Does it slip away like darkness?
Or a river as it flows?

Does it trickle away like the sands of time?
Does it fly like a frightened bird?
Does it crawl to a place where no one is found?
Or ever a word is heard?

Does love rage in someone’s anger?
Does it hide in another’s pain?
Does it disappear without a trace?
Will it ever come back again?

What happens to the love?
Once lost can it be found
Once lost can it be found again?
What happens to the love?

THE THINKER

by Theresa Lovelace

I am a thinker
I relax at home and I contemplate
As I drive I need to deliberate
In my quiet moments I meditate
Before I sleep I evaluate
I am a thinker

As I exercise I cerebrate
While working I drift and ideate
Always the one to concentrate
Forever do I cogitate
Always ready to anticipate
I am a thinker

What is it I am thinking about?
It’s the stuff in which life's made of
The good, the bad and the in between
Of Family, of finances and love
Goals for life, roles in life
The many hats I wear
Deadlines, lifelines, things to be done
And always with a prayer!
I am a thinker

Friday, December 13, 2013

TRAPPED

by Theresa Lovelace

It overpowers me
I can’t defeat it
I’m trapped in its billowy embrace
It has its hold on me
I can’t shake loose
I confer with the sun at day
Cry out to the moon at night
Desperate for a way
To conquer this
I am happy yet sad
I’m in ecstasy
I’m in pain
I’m excited yet afraid
Beguiled and bewildered
There’s a storm raging inside
It cannot be quelled
I can’t escape
It overpowers me
I’m trapped.

Monday, December 9, 2013

UNDER THE VERRAZANO BRIDGE

by Theresa Lovelace

His dreams, his hopes, his fears
Tied loosely together, held close to his heart
No one would ever know this secret he held
As he shivered in the dark.

A look down the road was dark and unsure
As he wanted to live like a man with his own
He felt there was not even one open door
So he struggled and refused to go home.

At night in his car he stared at the stars
He gazed at the moon and vowed he would rise
He dreamed of better times there in the dark
These were just momentary times.

Under the Verrazano Bridge
He stayed for so many days
Planning his move so methodically
And soon would make his escape.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

AFFECTION

by Theresa Lovelace

It’s what we all require
As living, breathing beings
A need we all desire
To be content and to feel free
A state when we’re most happy
When we do things on a spree
Yes, we all do need affection
‘Cause affection is the key.

What does it mean, affection?
When you get the urge to touch
When you feel a strong sensation
To squeeze and stroke and such
To want to make him happy
To let her know you care
It’s all about the little things
Those special things you share.

It can be just a gesture
Or a look that says it all
It’s giving someone pleasure
By answering the call
Like holding hands and kissing
     In the middle of the day
And whis’pring in each other’s ear
With nothing much to say.

A simple smile or gentle word
Those carry so much weight
That overpowering feeling
When you’re with your special mate
Don’t fight the need to show him
What you’re feeling deep inside
Don’t have your lady guessing
When you know what’s on her mind.

Affection comes most naturally
For those who seem to care
To keep those fires burning, though
You have to be aware
Of what it is you’re feeling
And if ready to give in
To all those sweet temptations
You’ll commit the sweetest sins.


A NEW DAY

by Theresa Lovelace

Another day has finally come
And with it 
I can wash away yesterday's disappointments
I can throw it all into one big washing machine
I can add hot water
And detergent, a real dirt buster
I'll pour in bleach, a stain remover

I can even throw in some Downy
   to add freshness to that day 
And as I watch the dirt and grime
Gently leave the wash
I am refreshed
I feel clean
I feel as new as the new day waiting
I'm ready
A new day has finally come!

FORTRESS

by Theresa Lovelace

Why did you build a fortress?
Why’d you have to build that thing?
There was no conflict, there was no war
There was nothing you'd need protection for   
No cruel words passed through the lips
So hard to comprehend all this
You built a fortress
Its kept me out
I want to scream, I want to shout
Perhaps protection that you thought you needed?
Or maybe a voice in your head that you heeded?
So you're there behind those walls you've built 
Even a forgotten flower will wilt

Your fortress stands so tall and strong
Its kept you in                 
And me?

Out….Too….Long!
Fortress

Sunday, December 1, 2013

SUGAR PIE, HONEY BUNCH!


by Theresa Lovelace
I sit at my window, my mirror into then

And reminisce on the innocence of those days when

Life was carefree and filled with fun

Cheerful mages

Of us, the young generation  

On the stoops of Monroe

Where we gathered and played

Our private offices

Where decisions were made

Where secrets were shared

Where friendships blossomed

Where solutions were found for all of our problems

Where we planned our day of the games we’d play

Where the ills of the world were so far away

There was a kindred spirit there that we couldn’t see

An invisible thread that would always be

Connected by times in a different world

Bound by an era in our own little world.


Growing up on Monroe Street, our childhood home

Where everyone’s mother was yours and

Every grandmother, your own

Never a shortage of what to do

Always something different, always fresh and new

Roller skating on the block

On Franklin on Gates on Bedford

Then back

Back on the block

Yes, we rocked those blocks

Round and round we’d go

Laughing and giggling, not a care in the world

Rummaging for soda caps with just the right slide

I am a killer diller number one!

Said with a feeling of pride

Chinese jump rope

Feet together, feet apart

Inside the bands and out

A my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al

We come from Alabama and we sell apples

We’re going to Kentucky, we’re going to the fair

To see a senorita with flowers in her hair

Last night and the night before

Twenty four robbers knocked at my door

Fire hydrants spitting out splashes of cold wetness

Ever competing with the sultry heat

Luring us to its metal spout then

Chasing us back onto the hot concrete

We giggled, we laughed

Not a care in the world

Handball on the gates of the auto store

At that time, it’s all that we kids lived for

Hollywood, 5th Avenue, Big Time and Mars

Sugar Daddy, Zero, Oh Henry and Clark

Candy bars that reigned through these auspicious times

These times an indelible part of our lives

Catholic school ruled by the nuns

Feared them true but still had fun

Nativity School was the place to be

For eight long years then BMcD

Fashion was mostly a teenage affair

It was they who sported the latest flair

The familiar streets echoed the familiar tunes

Of the Tempts, Supremes and others who crooned

The Delfonics, the Whatnauts, the Moments, the Fuzz

All those contributed to that soulful buzz

On the street, in the house forever our hearts

Stuck in our minds, we knew every part

Block parties, bus rides, the play streets were king

What can replace all these memorable things?

For these were the times when our spirits ran free

These were the times that shaped destinies

Laughing, giggling

Not a care in the world, not a care in the world

Now, I sit at my window, my mirror into then

And reminisce on the innocence of those days when...


Copyright 2013

Monday, November 18, 2013

WHEN HE TOUCHES ME

by Theresa Lovelace

Everything changes, nothing's the same
When he touches me.

When he touches me
I'm an eagle
An eagle soaring high in the sky
I'm a mighty oak with my arms outstretched
I'm a star that shines in the night.

When he touches me
I'm a stallion
A stallion let loose from the stall
I'm a lion angrily on the prowl
I'm a raindrop ready to fall.

When he touches me
I'm a speeding train,
Racing down the track
I'm a rainbow painted across the sky
I'm lightning when it cracks.

When he touches me
I'm fire
A fire blazing out of control
I'm a steamy, passionate love story
Getting ready to be told.

When he touches
I'm the ocean
With my waves crashing on the shore
I'm a driving rain, a blustery wind
I'm a dynamic musical score.

When he touches me
I awaken
And I can no longer be
Myself, the person who I am
Whenever he touches me.


Copyright  2013

Friday, November 1, 2013

A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE

by Theresa Lovelace
 
A woman of substance is she who possesses the wisdom, the confidence
  the beauty and the charm to be called a woman of substance
Her inner strength is matched only by her outer gentleness
It is she, this woman of substance, who doesn’t quiver
  when life throws its unexpected fast balls
She merely catches them and throws them back.
 
A woman of substance needs no one to define her
Because she has paid the price to define herself.
She needs no one to lean on
Because life has taught her how to stand on her own two feet.
She needs no one to rescue her
  because she has always been her own knight in shining armor.
 
A woman of substance is a survivor
She has fought many battles and have won them.
She has faced many dragons and defeated them.
She has carried many burdens and unloaded them.
She has whispered many prayers and has confronted
  armies of demons orchestrating her downfall and
Her prayers have always been answered.
 
A woman of substance is classy and sexy
She alludes her classy sexiness
With elegance, style and grace.
She emits her sexy classiness
With brilliance, radiance and sophistication
As only a woman of substance can.
She knows when to turn it up and when to turn it down
She also knows when to turn it off.
 
Dare to gaze into the eyes of a woman of substance,
  if she even lets you that close
There’s hope, love and joy
  pain, sorrow and regret
You might think that you can get into her
But beware! She’ll get into you first
You may never know the heart of a woman of substance
It’s her memory box, it’s her treasure chest
And it’s hers alone
A woman of substance is a woman indeed!  Handle with care.
 
 
Copyright 2013