When a baby is born,
And family and friends gather around
Celebrating and Encouraging,
That’s teamwork.
When a soldier is homeward bound
Carrying memories with pride
And thoughts of those who lived or died,
He remembers teamwork.
When medical personnel, firemen, and the law
Save someone from death,
allowing even one more breath,
That’s teamwork.
When mothers and fathers spend the time
teaching their children right from wrong,
That’s teamwork.
When all work together
To make the world a better place,
That’s teamwork.


Shivering at the edge of the abyss

I shouted, “She owes me a kiss!”

I glared at the jagged rocks below,

Accusing the storm, screaming against the wind.

“You’re the one who ought to know!

Why did you bring me here?

She was my darling, my sweet dear.

“Why?” I yelled again.

The storm roared on and on,

Oblivious to me, convinced it had won.

“My sweetheart lies cold and now she’s gone,

And I’m chilled to the bone.”

I took another swig from my flask.

“Is there no one who loves me, if I dare ask?”

I was ready to leap, but something held me back.

Was it courage that I lacked?

Should I follow her to a watery tomb,

Was I ready to meet my doom?

An unknown voice pierced my inner storm.

“Can I hold you and keep you warm?”

I was sure I heard an angel’s voice.

In the midst of chaos I made a choice.

I  chose a stranger whose kind eyes and sweet smile

Made me love her. (We’ve been married quite awhile).

You ask if I’m happy, I’ll tell you before I go,

My heart loves both, if you want to know.

I come here, and I always will,

To pay respects to my first wife, I love her still.

I’d be lying if I denied all this.

But it seems like yesterday,

And she owes me a kiss.






I’m moving slowly this morning.

My back hurts as I do the Parkinson’s shuffle.

One foot, now the next,

Not too fast, I warn myself.

This dance is not for the weak.

The buzzards are gathering.

I’m not dead, but I haven’t had my coffee.

Usually I pour the hot steaming liquid

With finesse and flair.

But today the smell of death hangs in the air.

I’m too tired to put the little container

Into the coffee maker and push start.

I’ve lost mastery over that art.

My muscles have been cramping,

My hands have been shaking,

Neurons and glial cells shrinking,

Nothing I can see, yet it’s happening to me.

I continue to function

Learning and memory gain as my goal.

Regeneration of brain cells.

I search for some research

That offers me a cure,

Or a reason for hope

Or a reason to laugh

Or a reason to live and love.

I look around.

The buzzards are still gathering.


April 20, 2016

Dan Roberson




He loved the ocean’s many moods,

From red skies in the morning with all alarms,

He warily observed the smooth horizon

But prepared for her oncoming storms.

Beginning with majestic swells,

The ship rode waves from trough to crest.

Inside the cabin he felt content and safe,

Like being at his mother’s breast.


There were also quiet clear nights,

Electric nights filled with glowing fish,

That darted alongside the ship’s hull,

Ready to grant him his favorite wish.

He wished he could be one of them,

Leaping and flying from wave to wave.

But as he watched he felt great despair.

He would never be quite so brave.

The sea could lure him from time to time,

Her beauty had him under her spell.

He would return and walk that rolling gait,

She knew his heart too well.

Seascapes were surreal but always a delight.

Harbors were protection during perilous night.

The ocean was his mother, his wife, his lifeboat,

And from the crow’s nest, his world was afloat.



Dan Roberson



Second Chance


I’ve been gone, away from joys and tasks that made me unique, but it took me awhile to know how to respond to my friends.  My life has not been my own. I’ve been traveling down a road without any way to return or any way to slow my descent into hell. But you, my friends, are lucky because I will be sharing new concepts and research.  New visions have pulled me out of the depths of despair.

I am not a doctor nor can I officially recommend any medications for anyone. Instead I will tell you what has happened to me and as best I can, tell you my next step. I am looking forward to life again and have left my depression behind. My life is improving because there is new found hope for relief of pain and possible cures for many diseases. The disease that grabbed me and shook my world is Parkinson’s Disease.

At night my legs were restless. My sleeping habits were a concern. I wandered about my house seeking something to distract me. My leg muscles cramped often and I began drinking more liquids in hopes that my fluid levels would rebound and my health would improve. My hands shook. My face sometimes appeared expressionless. Some people questioned if I had suffered a stroke. Internally I felt changes were occurring gradually but I tried to ignore what was happening. I took long walks and exercised regularly.  For short periods of time I felt better but I did not understand my enemy, a strange insidious internal enemy that was drying my brain cells.

Months passed, and then I began counting my failures instead of victories. I no longer wrote three hundred words or more each day. I had dreams of glory but my production decreased.  Short stories and poetry were still inspired by my muse, but the ideas languished.  I no longer had the energy to keep my writer’s ink flowing.  What caused this change? Why couldn’t I keep up with other poets or find ways to urge them onward?  I envied those who tirelessly wrote powerful love letters to the world, or continued to stir consciences and demand action. So what was my problem?

My physical abilities were different. Parkinson’s Disease was weakening my will to write and my will to survive. It would have been so easy to escape the world’s pressures.  Yet despite personal financial battles which stripped me of possessions I had accumulated, including the loss of my beautiful house at the edge of the oak forest, I rejoiced because I still felt physically fit.  I could still walk, talk, and write.  The world was still beautiful and I had a multitude of friends.

My health continued to fail. One knee was replaced in February, another in June. Everything was happening too quickly. Over the next six months my gall bladder was removed and a hernia repaired. I had been almost indestructible and now I was falling apart. I didn’t like what was happening to me but I had no answers. What would happen next?

Mentally I began preparing for the worse.  I would return to the land of my relatives and regroup.  Though I talked of restarting my life, in reality I was going back to die. I could feel the disease working on me and I knew it was degenerative.  I could imagine myself tied to a stake while a predator circled, knowing I would die, the only question was when it would take place.

My arms shook, my legs stumbled over imaginary rocks and sticks, and I knew the disease was getting worse. I lost my confidence in my driving abilities. My neurologist decided I was a danger on the road and reported my condition to the Department of Motor Vehicles. My license was rescinded. I fought depression because now I became confined within a house or close by. Mentally I was tethered without hope of recovery, without any understanding of my future life.  I had nothing to do but smile and do the Parkinson’s shuffle or choose a quick way out.

I almost died one day in the most innocent of circumstances.  I left the water running in my garden and went to turn it off. In one location the water was two inches deep and I stepped through it. The clay beneath the top soil was not letting the water seep through and my shoes were getting caught in the mud. As I looked for a solution I tripped and became tangled in tomato vines. I had no strength to pull myself up so I began crawling towards the end of the row.  I bumped into the electric fence. Mild jolts made me realize that exit was blocked. For over an hour I struggled to escape. The two inches of water became a threat because I couldn’t lift my head for long. I didn’t want to drown and there was no one to help me. I slipped out of my shoes and shook free of the vines. Inch by inch I made my way to drier ground. Finally I was free of the watery trap.  Exhausted from my efforts, I slept a few moments before crawling to a tomato stake. I pulled myself to my knees and slowly got up.

I survived but lost my joy of life. Parkinson’s had won. There was no way to make things better. At least that was what I thought.

My son and daughters were becoming increasingly concerned over my mental state. They researched old remedies and new ways of thinking regarding Parkinson’s Disease. They convinced me to try new ideas. What did I have to lose?

Reluctant at first and very cautious, I tried CBD.  Within days my back pain lessened and my muscles relaxed. After taking this medication, for a few hours I could stand up straight and walk for short distances. I noticed other benefits. Constipation had been a problem but as my body relaxed that changed also. Now I’m able to do a few jumping jacks and pushups. I’m not young anymore but I’m expecting dramatic effects. I’m happy that I’ve been given a second chance to live.






If I ignore the plight of two hundred girls,

Leaving them in the jungle with no hope,

How can I look myself in the eye tonight?

If I see thousands of children starving,

Caught in the throes of war and plight,

How can I sleep tonight?

Their eyes accuse me, each and all,

While I eat until I’m sated,

Extra pounds gained but really hated.

My clothes have shrunk and are very tight,

How can I sleep tonight?

Political refugees, sexual refugees,

Economic refugees, and more,

Let’s squash their hopes and close the door.

Let’s build tall fences to stop those fleeing,

Who cares what terror they are seeing?

But how can I sleep tonight?

Nuclear bombs are at the ready,

Controlled by rulers who are sane and steady,

Powered by testosterone and ready to fight

But who are the ones who will do what’s right?

And how can I sleep tonight?

If I ignore the wounds and endless pain,

Shrugging off man’s inhumanity again,

Will the world survive to see morning’s light?

And how can I sleep tonight?

by Dan Roberson 9/28/2015

No Rain in Sight

the crickets were forecasting the weather last night,

singing, “No rain in sight, No rain in sight!”

wells are drying up, businesses are shutting down,

soon no one will be living in this deserted town.

today two men were chastised for washing their car,

I’ve got to escape real soon to someplace real far.

my friends are looking at me with evil in their eyes,

my well is still working but i’m beginning to tell lies.

if they only knew I took a bath last night,

they’d sputter and yell and say it wasn’t right.

then one and all would leave with a frown,

and sometime at night my house might burn down.

I’ve got to be careful when crickets sing their song.

anything I might say could be construed as wrong.

I’m breathing dust that hangs heavy in the air,

there’s no rain in sight, so beware, beware!

by dan roberson