Beach Memory
I remember the day at the beach
I remember the hot sand burning my feet
I remember how cold the ocean felt
and how my skin seemed to sizzle in the heat
I remember the boardwalk clamor
I remember how I wanted to eat everything in sight
I remember walking and baking in the hot sun
Even though now it’s still February and gloomy
I remember savoring that summer day
But my favorite memory’s yet to come
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poem by Wade Blade
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If You're My Friend
If you are my friend why have you not spoken the words?
If you are my friend why have you turned and walked away?
If you are my friend why have you taken the other side?
If you are my friend why have you insulted me?
If I am your friend treat me with some respect.
If you are my friend then don’t ignore me.
If you are my friend then don’t laugh at my falls.
If you are my friend then don’t humiliate me.
If I am your friend, I can’t be your stupid pet!
If I am your friend show it!
If you’re my friend state it,
With all of the warmth, and meaning
Like a true friend of mine would.
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poem by Wade Blade
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There's A Hero
There's a flower,
In the smallest garden,
Reaching for the light,
There's candle,
In the darkest corner,
Congquering the night,
There is amazing strength,
In a willing hand,
There are victories,
That you've never planned,
There's a hero,
In everybody's heart,
There's a fire,
Inside of everybody,
Burning clear and bright,
There's a power,
In the faintest heartbeat,
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poem by Wade Blade
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A Soldier's Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by mantle, just boots filled with sand,
and on the wall pictures of far distant land.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
a sobering thought came to my mind.
For this house was different, so dark and so dreary,
the home of a soldier, now I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
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poem by Wade Blade
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