I've been kicked, put down,

stomped, dragged around

I know what it's like to be looking at a dream

and still have it too far away to see

Too much, not enough

all the while acting tough

so that no one can see what I've buried so deep

inside of me.

Can anyone help me, take my hand?

Does anyone understand?

Is there some little strand of something that I have

forgotten to weave?

In my mind, my heart

my soul, from the start

Someday I will make my dreams come true, and my

worries leave.

Soon it will be my turn to shine

says the voice of my mind

To rise above it all and take a place that has been

denied me so many times before.

And for that one sliver of time

The world will be mine

I will look back to see where I have been,

and look forward to what's in store.

And then the process will start again.

Preston Lloyd Judd - April 23, 2006

I see the awakening colors

the yellow daffodils, red tulips

the morning sky of blue

I hear the gentle sounds

the splashing stream, a morning dove

the trees when a breeze blows through

I breathe in the crisp air

a magnolia, sweet honeysuckle

with every breathe, the bouquet is new

I touch the morning

the soft white pine, silky apple blossom

the feel of the grass covered in dew

The morning greets me

I stretch out my arms to embrace it

and feel the hands of God as I do

Preston Lloyd Judd - April 30, 2006

As I look out at the dawn...

The sun begins to peek over the trees,

the touch of warmth as it reaches my face.

The grass glistens with dew,

the smell still fresh from the first cut of the season.

The birds begin their morning songs,

the sound of chirping and whistling is everywhere.

The flowers open to greet the morning,

the sight of vibrant colors in masterful orchestration.

The air is crisp and light,

the taste is as sweet as the finest confections.

Everything beginning anew,

a banquet for the senses from the hands of God.

Preston Lloyd Judd - April 30, 2006

One watching over the other, and the other watching in turn.

One is hurting, the other gives the shoulder to cry on

One is laughing, the other shares in the happiness

One cries, the other is quick to wipe the tears

One succeeds an endeavor,  the other shares in the pride of

accomplishment

One is struggling, the other is a pillar of strength

One leads, the other follows until it is their time to lead

One is pushed down, the other gives encouragement

One triumphs, the other rejoices in kind

One is wronged, the other pursues justice

The two are one

One heart

One mind

One soul

Preston L. Judd - May 3, 2006

Where do you turn, when there are no more avenues

He has shown us the path

Where do you go, when the destination is closed

He awaits at the end of our journey

Where do you enter, if the doors do not open

His door never closes

Where do you climb, when there are no steps

His hand is reaching to pull us up

Where do you drink, when the well is dry

He will quench us with Living Water

Preston L. Judd - May 3, 2006

People build walls of mortar and brick

strong and permanent, solid and thick.

With concrete or blocks, or wood ply by ply,

or steel and glass, that reach up to the sky.

But none are as strong as the walls of the mind

built of memories and dreams, some not so kind.

The walls of the mind are built to conceal

what we want to forget, what is all too real.

What we want to hide, be it wrong or right,

what we want to protect from others sight.

These things that we bury so deep inside

within the walls we've built, we choose to hide.

A lifetime of memories, feelings and dreams

can be stored away there, forever it seems.

But only so many things will they hold,

leaving us alone, empty and cold.

We all need someone to lend an ear,

to listen to problems, maybe help them to clear.

To lend a shoulder, on which to cry,

to tear down the walls, or at least to try.

When the walls come down, people emerge

their esteem will grow, their confidence surge.

All because the courage was there

to tear down the walls, and breathe the fresh air.

Preston L. Judd - May 11, 2006

He begins before sunrise,

making his way...

he ends after sunset,

day after day.

He longs for the light,

past the tunnel so long...

he knows that to finish,

he must remain strong.

The glow is brighter,

each step that he takes...

his journey gets shorter,

each stride that he makes.

His eyes are fixed,

on that faraway glow...

someday he'll reach it,

someday he'll know.

That it all has been worth it,

those steps that he has trod...

for the reward is a seat,

at the right hand of God.

Preston Lloyd Judd - June 6, 2006

Kicking and screaming,

she enters this world.

Such harsh new surroundings

for daddy's little girl.

Seems like only yesterday

I was holding her close

all wrapped in a blankie,

touching her nose.

Then she was walking,

riding a bike,

going to school,

telling me which teacher she likes.

Making gum wrapper necklaces,

and dandelion rings,

getting scrapes, and bumps,

and bruises, and things.

Drying her tears

from her first broken heart,

helping her along

to make a new start.

Standing in awe

as she came down the stairs,

dressed for the prom

with sparkles in her hair.

I can still hear the music

of that high school band,

as she crossed the stage

with her diploma in hand.

Now she is grown

her wings are unfurled,

but to me she'll remain

daddy's little girl.

Preston Lloyd Judd - June 6, 2006

She had five children, this woman you met

a ready made family was what you would get

on a hot July day, you both said "I do"

a long road ahead was waiting for you.

in the beginning, it was easy, everyone got along

but as time would pass, that would go wrong

a son was born, number six was now here

then your job left state, your future unclear

you went back to school to learn a new trade

you worked so hard to make the grade

the children were growing, minds of their own

with attitudes to match, each one alone

they argued and fought, and broke some things

one by one they left to spread their own wings

you seemed so cross, not like the start

then the news of a grandchild warmed your heart

you did things that we didn't think were your style

she seemed to melt you, with just a giggle or smile

things were different from then on it seems

you were closer with all, and shared in our dreams

the tensions between us at last disappeared

now the air had finally cleared

we went out to eat, had a beer here and there

we bowled and talked, even a joke to share

then in an instant, you left us to fly

so quickly there wasn't time for goodbye

they came calling, the angels that night

you went with them, followed the light

I miss you Dad, I wish you were here

for just one more game, or at least one more beer

In memory of my Dad - Arthur Judd, Jr.

January 6, 1947 ~ August 5, 1998

Preston Lloyd Judd - June 23, 2006

We have met but only a few times

yet I see you everywhere

Your eyes look right through me

as if I wasn't there

I know that we have met

another time, another place

yet I still cannot remember

just where I've seen that face

My mind is all tangled

trying to recall a date and time

when a face and name were in front of me

and my memory was in line

did we really meet?

were we really there?

or is it an intrusion

from a past life somewhere

I just can't help but feel

that we have spoken some time before

I just can't help but think

if we speak, we will learn more

then I can put to rest

these questions that haunt my mind

of the face I know I've seen

another place, another time

Preston L. Judd - 07/30/2006

His hands stained dark

from the grease, sludge and oil

his mind is focused

on distributor and coil

He's surrounded by gadgets,

gizmos, and tools

wiped clean and put away

those are his rules

Each tool has its own use

unique to only it

the right tool for the job

the right socket, the right bit

His mind finely tuned

to find and fix

each problem he encounters

that is thrown in the mix

His ears trained to hear

problems inside

things he can't see

have nowhere to hide

As he makes final adjustments

a tweak here and there

then closes the hood

and latches it with care

He takes pride in his work

making things run

sometimes for his pay

sometimes just for fun

Preston L. Judd - 07/31/2006

Hammer in hand, he begins

with nothing more than a dream

There is no plan on paper

no schematics, no blueprints

yet the vision in his mind is vivid

slowly at first, it begins to take shape

board by board, nail by nail

he will work from dawn to dusk

until the dream becomes reality

day by day, his passion grows

with each piece fitting perfectly in place

as he fits the final board

there is almost sadness

for this is the final piece of the puzzle

his task almost complete

as he drives the final nail

sadness turns to pride

as he marvels at what has been created

by his idea and his own two hands

even in his delight his mind wanders

to the next dream his hands may achieve

Preston L. Judd - 07/31/2006

The days no longer have enough hours

for the work that I must do

The list keeps getting longer

whether the sky is gray or blue

My tasks, they are many

they run from morning til night

Yet I'm still slipping behind

Is there no end in sight?

By day, I am a salesman,

selling policies to help with strife

And all of the little things

that happen in our life

Afternoon makes me a carpenter

working until bed

For this the only pay I get

is a place for my family's head

By night, I stock the shelves

with cans, bags, and more

Until the break of dawn I work

then I leave the store

I can sleep for an hour or two

not even time to snore

Then I must begin again

I am exhausted to the core

I'm taking on another job,

to add to my day

Hopefully, I'll find the hours

to help me on my way

Until I get ahead

of the creditors and bills

I must keep on working

whether tired or ill

Hopefully that day will come

so that I may take a rest

But until that day comes

I have to do my best.

Preston Lloyd Judd - September 18, 2006

It stands alone,

against the morning sky

Its paint chipped and dull,

unlike the days gone by.

Once there were many

working at its base

Now not a soul

left to work in this place.

Its doors are closed

Its docks are bare

such a difference

from what was once there.

Smoke used to billow

both day and night

machines running nonstop

no end in sight.

Built in the boom

following the war

it made many things

to fill shelves in a store.

Trucks back and forth

materials brought by train

Now all is silent

only memories remain.

Now all that is left

of this once busy place

is tall smoke stacks

reaching towards space.

Preston L. Judd - October 4, 2006

As the news is delivered,

it fills him with glee

soon a new branch will be added

to his proud family tree.

A new life will be born

to walk on this earth.

A new generation

begins with its birth.

Now the question

Will it be a girl or a boy?

To him it won't matter,

either will bring joy.

Over the next few months,

his impatience will boil

to see and hold the miracle

he can't wait to spoil.

Every store that he enters,

he can't help but look

at all the stuff for babies

the strollers, beds, and books.

His mind will look forward

his face, it will glow

as he thinks of the stories he'll tell

and the places they'll go.

Soon, he'll understand

the answer will be clear

Why his father's heart melted

whenever his grandchildren were near.

Preston Lloyd Judd - October 21, 2006

Why do I worry?

Why do I try?

When all I really want to do

is sit down and cry.

Everything I do,

the visions I see

blow up in my face

I guess, just not meant to be.

I work hard

by night and by day

just to sit and watch

others enjoy my pay.

Everything that I do,

Everything that I make

It seems there's no end

to what they will take.

I know that there is a light

at the end of the road

but the tunnel is so long

and so heavy, the load.

Every day I grow more weary

but still I press on

In the hopes that someday

my debts will be gone.

And then maybe, just maybe

I will be able to buy

something I want,

not just something to get by.

Preston Lloyd Judd - 11/18/2006

As the sun breaks over the trees

this crisp December morn,

A man opens tear filled eyes

his heart is torn.

He knows that his little angel

will soon come downstairs

and run for the tree,

looking for presents that aren't there.

Money was tight

this yuletide season,

Not enough work and

too many bills, the reason.

As he puts on his slippers,

and walks slowly across the room,

he thinks to himself,

"This day has come far too soon."

As he reaches for the knob,

he can hear her stir,

then down the stairs,

nothing but a blur.

He closes his eyes,

wondering what he'll say

To the questions that he knows

will cut him this day

He expects to hear sobbing

and maybe "Santa forgot!"

but instead, he hears giggles

and "look what I got!"

His gaze now widens,

he can't believe the sight!

There are presents everywhere,

can this be right?

Where did they come from?

Who brought them here?

How did this happen?

The answer not clear.

His eyes are filled

with tears once again,

but this time with joy

where sadness had been.

As he looked at the tree,

something seemed ajar.

There is a plain white envelope

near the top, by the star.

He opens it slowly,

takes out the note.

Gently unfolds it,

then reads what they wrote.

The words that were written

were simple and few,

All the notes said was

"Merry Christmas to you!"

Preston Lloyd Judd - 12/17/2006

He sits all alone,

and stares into space.

So many memories

he has of this place.

It was here that he brought

his new wife to live.

This would be home,

it was all he could give.

The walls were unfinished,

the roof leaked a bit,

the porch, unsteady,

the lights barely lit.

As the days passed,

and turned into years,

the little house grew,

through blood, sweat and tears.

When the children came,

it was here that they played...

where they laughed and cried,

where they knelt and prayed.

It was through this window,

over by the gate,

that his son would sneak in,

when he got home too late.

And over there, by the pines,

his daughter was married...

and through the arbor of roses,

by her new husband, was carried.

With the children both grown,

they would sit and dream,

and watch the sunsets,

on this bench by the stream.

He looks at the flowerbed,

now withered and dry,

and remembers the day,

with a tear in his eye.

She had been working this garden,

pulling weeds and such,

with all she was doing,

for her heart, it was too much.

He held her close,

even the clouds cried that day...

when the angels came,

to take her away.

Through the years after,

He stayed there alone,

His children often visit,

with children of their own.

Now, sitting on the bench,

He remembers all,

and waits for the day,

that his name, too, is called.

Preston L. Judd - 12/26/2006

He walks through the dark streets,

wondering, "Where can they be?"

"I've seen no one for hours,

Is no one out save me?"

He trudges on,

holding walking stick tight,

down the lonely alleys,

and into the night.

Earlier, just today,

the street was aflutter,

with merchants and goods,

and all of the clutter.

Now, no one near,

not a soul around,

everything is gone,

not a cart on the ground.

Far up ahead,

a dim light he can see,

"Where is it coming from?

What can it be?"

As he gets closer,

the light grows intense,

"I don't understand,

this doesn't make sense!"

The light is coming,

from inside a stable,

with a brilliant white star,

far above its gable.

There are people everywhere,

on their knees, they pray,

even the animals, it seems,

are calm on this day.

He thinks to himself,

"What can cause such a stir?"

"Why would these people,

bring gold and myrrh?"

As he nears, he can sense,

that there is no danger,

he can finally see,

the babe in the manger.

This is the one,

that has been foretold,

to shepherds and wise men,

to all, young and old.

He knows now as he kneels,

to pray for this little one,

that the Savior is born,

this is God's son!

He will walk this earth,

in human form,

He will heal the sick,

He will calm the storm.

Nailed to a cross,

He will die for our sins,

then in three days,

He will rise again.

Today, we will kneel,

and to Jesus, we pray,

for He is the real reason,

we celebrate Christmas Day!

Preston L. Judd - 12/26/2006

as the camera zooms in,