POEMS

Looking Back
Come take a journey with me
we’ll go in my time machine
I don’t know how old you will be
but I will be eighteen!

You wear your poodle skirt
there’s brylcreem in my hair
the collar’s turned up on my shirt
in the blink of an eye we’ll be there

Together we’ll cruise the main street
the radio turned up loud
the music will have a jive beat
and we’ll spot some old friends in the crowd

I know Jimmy Rodgers will be there
I’m pretty sure Elvis will too
he can be your teddy bear
and love you tender and true

Buddy Holly, Gale Storm, Sonny James
we’ll see Don and Phil and Pat Boone
there will be lots of other great names
but Frankie won’t come till High Noon

We’ll pack them all in the car
were going to see jailhouse rock
the drive-in is not very far
movies start at darkish o’clock

Close your eyes - set your mind free - remember
return to those days of pure gold
in our life we may be December
but our souls never have to grow old.


Remembrance Day 2011

Impressions of Remembrance Day Service 2011



Brilliant golden leaves still clinging

halo the trees in the November morning sun

and cast into shade the cadet sentries

at each side of the cenotaph

rifle butts to the ground

heads bowed

in reverence and remembrance.

Clouds roll in bringing brisk winds

the flags snap and stand out stiffly

the wind noise

picked up by the sound system

rumbles behind it all

creating ghostly echoes of the sounds

of war

The crowd stands silent,

Civilians, veterans, cadets

berets, medals and poppies everywhere

the troops march in to the open square

an eloquent and moving tribute

to the quick and to the dead

The Last Post once again issues

from the bell of the bugle

and dissipates into the heavens

tears fall, hats and caps are

held over hearts, and memories

flood those who have served

and gratitude those who have not.

Orders are given and rifles fire

Their sounds driving lumps into our throats

While the wind, now icy

and with hints of snow

creeps into hands and feet and souls

and whispers “this is how it was for Them”.

Chaplains pray for the souls of those lost

Politicians speeches are carefully worded

subtle pleas for votes

A torrent of leaves is stripped from the trees

And hurtled violently toward the ground

in my mind, they become

the countless and faceless dead

Blown away by the evil

of mainly forgotten wars

Familiar words “They shall not grow old …”

are recited

A familiar hymn is sung “Abide with me

fast falls the eventide…”

Some of us know the words!

************************************

Beth was going to a an Umbrella theme tea - What follows here is the silly little piece I wrote for her to read

THE BROLLY

I had a lovely brolly long ago

It was a very pretty little thing

The top was red with flowers white as snow

Just perfect for those showers in the spring

I took it with me when I went out walking

It made me feel quite jaunty and in style

I hung it on my arm if I was talking

To a friend I hadn’t seen in quite a while

I carried it through many days of bright sun

I always hoped that it might start to rain

Sometimes I wore my wellies just to have fun

But every day the sun came out again

Then one dark day there was a giant rain cloud

I grabbed my brolly, thought this is the day

When people see my brolly I will feel proud

And everyone will look at me and say

“That is the cutest brolly I have ever seen

How smart you are to have it here today

My own old brolly’s just a simple drab green

I didn’t bring it – it gets in the way”

Then suddenly with force down came the rain

And with it came a very gusty breeze

I ducked into a doorway in the lane

I pushed the button – up it sprang with ease.

But then – oh no – the top just kept on going

It’s inside out, and broken in my hand

And then instead of rain it started snowing

and my nice brolly’s in the rubbish can!

**********************************

His Father’s Image

I met a man I had not seen in many years. I was surprised by how old and worn he looked and how closely he resembled his father. I imagined his thoughts. Then I realized (with horror) that this might very well be autobiographical!

His Father’s Image

Liar, he screamed!

This man, this creature,

this caricature you show me

Is not, cannot be my father

He was never so old

The lines in his face

never so deeply chiseled

His eyes never so dull

His hair never so snowy and sparse

Liar!

It is a trick

cheap theatrics

nothing more than

a little spirit gum

and wax

take them off and it will be him again

firm and strong

clear eyed and steady

take it off I say

I am weary of your lies

Show me the truth, liar

silence was the rebuke

The mirror gave

***************************************

2009 Choir Party

Our church choir, of which my wife is a long time member, are a wonderful group of people, but no longer teenagers. This little piece was written to give a rather tongue in cheek look at their summer party at our home in 2009.

It gives the term "wild and rowdy" a whole new meaning.

2009 Choir Party

The choir was in a party mood

They’d been singing hard all year

And so they came with lots of food

Summertime was here

Reverent Bob and Jan (his wife)

Were deeply sad to say

That though they loved the party life

They’d be on holiday

Don and Grace apologized

They had a graduation

And so while others fraternized

Theirs was a no win situation

Some others too could not partake

But most were promptly there

There even was a birthday cake

For Joan, but all could share

They ate and drank and talked till eight

Sang many a good old song

Then someone said it’s getting late

We’d better get along

Hold on, one said, I see a pool

And it looks really neat

I really think I’d be a fool

If I did not dunk my feet

So out they went and took a seat

Along the water’s edge

They took the shoes from off their feet

And sat them on the ledge

Well there they sat, eight maidens fair

In water to their knees

But only two men joined them there

Although the gals said please

Then like folies bergere (from France)

One leg went in the air

It was a sort of water dance

This is all true – I swear!

Oh what a wild and rowdy night

They stayed till almost ten

(it’s summer and it was still light)

when they went home again.

Perhaps when Christmas time is near

They’ll want another go

And I would think them all quite dear

If they helped me shovel snow!

************************************

Love Poem - My Life

Our 50th wedding anniversary is in June 2010.

50 years of life's struggles and joys.

50 years of change.

Some things however do not change!

Written for the love of my life (Beth) in June 1960

MY LIFE

My life is simply this

The smile in your eyes

The touch of your hand

The warmth of your kiss

The joys we share

The things we do

Your happiness

My love for you

********************************

VALENTINE'S DAY

(why February)

Should we move Valentine’s day?

Why does St. Valentine’s day have to fall in February?

I mean, someone had to choose to put it there.

didn’t they?

It’s not like it is his birthday or deathday

or even his wedding anniversary.

(besides, I think he was a monk,

and could even have been celibate)

Why February?

It could be in the summer!

We could lay by the pool,

naked flesh slathered with ointments

to keep from being fricaseed

and to drive off ravenous bugs

desiring to feast on our blood.

But no – it has to be in February.

A month when the grey naked trees

seem to be tiptoeing,

skirts lifted, across the horizon,

trying to keep their feet

out of the mud

and traces of grimy snow,

left in little ridges

where they were dumped by the plows.

Not a pretty sight.

It could be in the summer!

But then,

perhaps,

February needs Valentine’s day.

Perhaps putting it in February

was actually a stroke of genius,

causing the yukkies to disappear

under the warm glow of love remembered,

present, or hoped for.

Love is stronger than mud!

***********************************

Phillip 1967 -1975

I can think of nothing that hurts like the death of your child. This piece was written while still on the raw and bleeding edge of despair, and while the references in the piece may not be understood, I hope the acute agony of my soul is obvious.

I had a tremendous fear that I would stop hurting at some time. Thank God, I never have!

And I know that the same is true for Beth, Stephen, Kevin, and Alison.

The poem was published in a book called Reflections By Moonlight.

March 28, 2010 marks the 35th anniversary of our loss

PHILLIP

1967-1975

Untidy stacks of hockey cards

blessed

by grubby hands and

the insides of jeans pockets

wait

wait for the return of hands

that lift them

and the voice that says

“Daddy, want to see my cards

I’ve got four of Corneyer”

The robot, patiently, on his track

waits

and neato shoes

with a compass in the heel

now feeling only emptiness

wait

Treasures once, now remnants

all wait

but not alone

my heart

also shelved

waits

for grubby hands to bless it

waits

without hope

*************************************

Like Footprints in the snow

Seeing a set of footprints in a light dusting of snow under a full moon early one morning prompted this poem.

Like Footprints in the snow

A lonely path and powdered snow

Brightened by a winter moon

Footprints falling in a row

Sunrise coming very soon

Someone walked this lane alone

And left their mark of passage there

Etched in ice upon the stone

Crystals glitter everywhere

“I was here, just look and see

I made a difference, you should know

See the tracks I left behind me

Showing others how to go”

How short a time until the daylight

then how briefly do they stay

traces still are there at twilight

Tomorrow they’ll be gone away

We live and work to leave some sign

A little light, a candle’s glow

But in the end, your life and mine

are like those footprints in the snow

A toast to those who’ve gone before us

Hold close those we love today

And sing another rousing chorus

Before our footprints fade away

***********************************

Missing Notes

There are lots of jokes made about seniors who read the obituaries in the newspaper first. It becomes not quite so funny when you lose close friends and realize that you will inevitably lose more.

Too late we discover just how important is the role that friends play in our lives, and that when we lose one they leave an empty aching void.

This poem tries to express the grief these losses bring.

Missing Notes

Friends are the notes my life song plays

But the keyboard’s no longer complete

Still the music goes on

with an uneven beat

and the melody colours my days

Too busy to listen, we don’t have a clue

That the music is made up of parts

When some come up missing

It yanks at our hearts

and the tune becomes shocking and new

faint echos of lost notes are all that I hold

and I know now that each one was dear

and I yearn for the past

draw the memories near

and let the sweet music unfold

now I listen for each note and chord as they sound

I savor the tune as a whole

notes present and missing

are part of my soul

the music of love is profound

************************************

JUST FOLKS

I often find myself making judgements about people based on superficial things - how they look, how they act, what they say. I do this knowing that these kinds of indicators generally do not reveal the true person, and I make a conscious effort to keep an open mind.

The majority of human beings we encounter are simply trying to find a way to get some happiness from life.

JUST FOLKS

We’re always making judgements

About the other guy

This one thinks he’s really smart

That one’s very sly

Another thinks she’s really hot

One has too much to say

But in the end we’re all just folks

Trying to find our way.

You think she’s superficial

And he is just a bum

That one with the fancy car

Came right out of the slum

And little miss propriety

May not be what she seems

But we will likely never know

The stuff that makes their dreams

We’ll never know the way they feel

When they’re alone at night

Or how they really see themselves

With no one else in sight

The fronts that people show to you

are seldom who they are

Its just the mask they show the world

To cover up their scars

I don’t know the way I’m seen

I can’t guess your thoughts on me

Do I appear as cold as ice

Or do I seem too free

Do you think I’m way too bold

Or am I seen as stone

I only know that down inside

We’re each of us alone

Some wear that mask to hide the hurt

Of failures large or small

To show to everyone around

That they don’t care at all

Some only crave a little warmth

Some love to make them strong

But how we see the face they wear

Is very often wrong

Each one of us, and all of us

The best of us, and worst

Those that are blessed among us

And those that are most cursed

All have one thing in common

As we struggle through each day

For in the end we’re all just folks

Trying to find our way.

**********************************

EMBERS

In a song, Iris Dement says "I think I'll just let the mystery be". She refers to the mystery of life, why are we here and where are we going. This poem deals with the same subject.

EMBERS

Softly,

softly steals the night across our lives

and robs us of the day

leaving in it’s place

a quiet darkening

before we are aware

Shadows,

shadows in our eyes and in our minds

we tiptoe through the gloom

needing to see

that which is unknown

and the why of it

Hoping,

hoping for a meaning to it all

a reason for our lives

beyond biology

can it all be chance

and we it’s product

Knowing,

knowing with a dawning clarity

that we have loved

that we are loved

and light will come

to see us through the dark

It is enough!

********************************

POOR OLD DAD

It seems that at some point in life, the child becomes the parent. I wrote this after hearing friends talking about their parents who were growing old, and it occured to me that it would likely be my fate (if I live long enough) to have my children thinking of me as "poor old dad" - HEAVEN FORBID!

POOR OLD DAD

I heard them whisper in the hall

one said out loud "he had a fall"

then glances, guilty, looking up

saw me, and sipped from empty cup.

My kids!

though 40 years now separates

them from the time of teenage dates

it seems as though they’re now the dad

and somehow I’m their little lad.

I once heard one of them relate

the story of the backyard gate

at midnight she had seen me lie

beside the gate, below the sky.

And when she spoke and took my hand

it seemed I didn’t understand

just who she was, or what to do

she really didn’t think I knew.

Gate at midnight, brilliant sky

contemplate these works on high

leave the world and fly in space

past and future in one place.

Surprising that it takes some time

to come back from that world sublime?

to claw back to the earthly place

to recognize a daughter’s face?

Its love I guess that makes them care

and worry that I’m "not all there"

they think that time has not been kind

and things are fuzzy in my mind.

Fuzzy in my mind? Not True!

crystal clear and sparkling new

insights, brilliant, clear, defined

leaving lesser things behind.

As for the fall, she’s right, I did

but had it happened to a kid

no one would even spare a thought

my years are making them distraught.

They judge my acts by their own gauge

but I’m now on a different stage

how can they see that all has changed

priorities have rearranged.

I’m looking now at better things

while they still reach for golden rings

they’re planning how to live, and I

I’ve lived, and now I wait to die.

*********************************

HENPECKED

Every body needs one of these people in their lives.This one has become --

My Nagger in Chief -- My Conscience --My Political Advisor -- My Dear Friend

HENPECKED

In the 50’s in The County

all the women in my life

picked on me and pointed out my flaws

your hair’s too long you drive too fast

you’ll never get a wife

where there’s trouble you are generally the cause!

Don’t smoke cigars

don’t drink that booze

don’t get into a fight

cut your hair

slow your speed

stop staying up all night

I had enough and moved away

to where I was not known

away from all those nagging dames

so I could be alone

(That didn’t work out either – I got married!

but that’s another story)

Now having reached this mellow time of life

when I’m a model of diplomacy

you’d think I would be free of stress and strife

with no one ever taking shots at me

----But it ain’t so----

cause my mother, aunties, cousins

have been rolled up into one

she’s like my conscience, at me all the time

but like them, it’s cause she loves me

at least I hope that’s true

and Carole, you know that

I MEAN YOU!

**********************************

CONVENTIONAL WISDOM

I suppose it is a sign of age that I worry about how and what today's children are learning. I think their academic education is likely okay, but what about the other aspects of learning that traditionally came from their elders - both family and friends?

CONVENTIONAL WISDOM

Where did the knowledge come from

It was passed on from father to son

Cause when those old geezers

Were talkin bout sin

There were kids just like me

Listnin in.

Conventional wisdom

The way we learned to be men

Conventional wisdom

Over and over again

some men just outside the feed store

to look you would think they were poor

with overhalls sagging

and dust on their boots

they told some tall tales

those old coots.

The boys were allowed to stand near

And the menfolk all knew we could hear

But you kept your mouth shut

About all that you heard

And you don’t tell your mom

Not a word.

They talked about women and war

And field crops and weather and more

We learned all about heiffers

And barns that burned down

And the best vet’nary

In the town

A Fargo was what one guy had

Some men drove a Chev like my dad

There were old Ford flat v8s

A few stake trucks with racks

And one rig was converted

Ran on tracks

It was there that we learned how to cuss

But a much bigger lesson for us

Was to keep our tongues civil

Where there’s women to hear

Lest you want a good box

On the ear

Looking back at that long ago day

How the men showed the youngsters the way

Today I just wonder

If the kids that I see

Learn only from friends

And tv

And if they hang ‘round with some men

Are the topics they hear teaching them

Whats right and whats wrong

The good and the bad

And what will they learn

From their dad

Where did the knowledge come from

It was passed on from father to son

Cause when those old geezers

Were talkin bout sin

There were kids just like me

Listnin in.

Conventional wisdom

The way we learned to be men

Conventional wisdom

**********************************

I GOTTA GET OUT!

Occasionally we read about someone in a "fast lane" position who decides to chuck it in and return to a simpler and more soul satisfying life. This one attempts to put it in perspective.

I GOTTA GET OUT!

Now I know there are folks that will tell you

A city’s the best place to live

It’s crowded and noisy and vibrant and filled

With all kinds of pleasures to give

But I’m tired of the way that I’m living

And I’m sick of the way that I feel

I need to get out where there’s space all around

And back to where people are real

Many things that I once thought important

Those things that held me in thrall

Things like being accepted by the crowd that is in

And the clothes you cant buy at a mall

The air kisses I took for affection

The car that said I’ve got it made

Have been finally seen as just tinsel

But oh what a price has been paid

You don’t want bright lights in a nightclub

for the glitter is tired and sad

and the friends that you thought would stand by you always

leave when better prospects can be had

and the money you earn on that fast track

is all spent just to keep up some face

to impress all those people that don’t really care

you’re so easy to simply replace.

In the country you don’t need a name tag

People already know who you are

And you meet more friends in the general store

Than you do in a trendy wine bar

And when somebody says howrya doing

They will actually hear your reply

Cause the reason they asked was they wanted to know

And you talk over coffee and pie

Not everyone’s bad in the city

Not everyone’s good in a town

But the closer you get to the nature of things

There’s more friends that won’t let you down

And Gucci and Dior and YSL

Are not names that mean a whole lot

But Levi’s and John Deere and Stihl and Snap On

Are designers whose products are hot

Sooooo-

I’m trading in the city for a village

I’m trading in my beemer for a van

I’m trading in the fast life for a ride in the slow lane

And I’m getting back to who I really am

****************************************

HAS ANYBODY SEEN MY DREAMS

Sadly, most of us settle for something much less than we thought we would when we were young and the world was there for us to take!

HAS ANYBODY SEEN MY DREAMS

Has anybody seen my dreams

I’ve noticed that they’re gone

Somewhere along the path I took

I must have laid them down

I used to keep them bright and clean

And let them guide my way

So sure that if I followed them

I’d never go astray

Has anybody seen my dreams

I’ve noticed that they’re gone

I don’t remember when it was

That I went on alone

I knew that I could be the one

That I could be the light

That I could outshine every star

That I could set things right

Has anybody seen my dreams

I’ve noticed that they’re gone

And I can’t seem to find them now

And nothing’s getting done

I go to work and do my job

But life is just a bore

The more I get the less I have

Is this what life is for

Has anybody seen my dreams

The ones I let slip by

I sure could use them here today

Without them I can’t fly

Has anybody seen my dreams

I’ve noticed that they’re gone

Somewhere along the path I took

I must have laid them down

My dreams

I must have laid them down

******************************************

Light on a distant hill

While this is not exactly biographical, it is symbolic of those images from our early years, whatever they may be, that stick with us all our lives.

Light on a distant hill

A million miles, a million smiles

a million sorrows that knocked me down

home’s any place I just happen to stay

in another nowhere town

But deep in the mine of my memory

Lives a part of my long ago

And it springs to mind

When the day is unkind

Making me want to go

Faint but clear I see it still

one tiny light on a distant hill

An unpainted farmhouse,

poor stony ground

A barn that had seen its best day

Work worn hands on my mother

Dad ploughing the soil

Stopping on Sunday to pray

There was love in abundance

Despite those hard times

There was safety and warmth and content

But something inside

Drove me out of that place

And on to a road that was bent

As a child I recall coming back from the town

Sunday nights with the church service done

And as we turned on to that gray dusty road

Far ahead shone the light that meant home

It was always left burning

when we went away

In that weathered old house on the hill

And the world full of darkness

seemed brighter somehow

just because that small light was there still

As I grew older and started to roam

when I had no where else I could go

I could count on that light

That my mother kept lit

Just in case her loved boy

came back home

then it shone like a beacon

now it beckons me still

though my folks and the farm are long gone

a shopping mall stands

where our farm used to be

and ten thousand light bulbs are turned on

With each of the things that life dishes out

and the bad things we do on our own

we are all of us changed

at the end of the day

sometimes wearied of life to the bone

its never too late to make a new start

that’s what all the reformers would say

but there’s no going back

to undo things we’ve done

just tomorrow

and what’s left of today

A million miles, a million smiles

a million sorrows that knocked me down

home’s any place I just happen to stay

in one more nowhere town

But deep in the mine of my memory

Lives a part of my long ago

And it springs to mind

When the day is unkind

Making me want to go

Faint but clear I see it still

one tiny light on a distant hill

That long ago light on a faraway hill

************************************

THE DAILY NEWS

This was prompted by various newspaper stories. The murder of a young girl whose body was found at the lakeshore under rocks in garbage bags, a mother who was selling her young daughter, war orphans, etc. It intends to remind us just how easily the horrific can become "just another news item".

THE DAILY NEWS

They find the pieces covered up with stones

The garbage bags a shroud that she must wear

Her fragile flesh eroded from the bones

A victim of the crime whose guilt we share.

The smile so shy, the trust that all is right

Her innocence screams at you from the page

The little hand that needs to be held tight

The picture taken just before the rage.

She is dressed up in her princess dress today

Her eyes so dark, and little face so pale

With Mommy, who has told her what to say

Not knowing she’s a little girl for sale.

The children of the war, behind the wire

An empty bowl and gut, the empty eyes

The burning tropic sun their daily pyre

We’re glad we cannot hear their feeble cries.

She’s dressed in red and on the corner hooking

Her childhood gone when Uncle came to stay

Still innocent despite the way she’s looking

But God does not hear hookers when they pray.

Their faces in the papers every day

The children that we let them throw away

So common that it’s only daily news.

But haunted eyes stare out and say J’accuse.

And we are guilty

for we have thrown away the millstone!

***************************************

TOAST & JAVA

Written with the 50's as a fond but distant memory!

TOAST & JAVA

My old chevy ran the back roads

she raised a cloud of dust

Two primed up doors and masking tape

To cover up the rust

A set of skins that had no tread

A gallon in the tank

A mouse of rye under the seat

No money in the bank

But we were cookin

Man, were we cookin

And getting old was never in our plan

Hey waitress, could we get some toast

A cup of java too

We havent got much money

So this will have to do

We’d cruise main street till midnight

One hand upon the wheel

One shoulder hunched against the door

To sharpen our appeal

The furry dice and purple lights

And cats eyes did the trick

some brylcreem kept our hair real smooth

though straight rye made us sick

But we were cookin

Man were we cookin

And getting old was never in our plan

Hey waitress could we get some toast

A cup of java too

We havent got much money

So this will have to do

Those straight pipes blared our message

Ride with us if you dare

The king was on the radio

And lust was in the air

The bubble skirts just missed the road

Wire wheels and spinners shone

We’d go out to the drive in

If our money wasn’t gone

But we were cookin

Man were we cookin

And getting old was never in our plan

Hey waitress could we get some toast

A cup of java too

We havent got much money

So this will have to do

Well somewhere down the line we scored

So all that good stuff worked

My buddy’s now a union man

And I’m an office clerk

My ride’s a foreign compact bug

A charming shade of gray

I suppose I’m really happy

Since my freedom slipped away

And now I’m cookin

I’m really cookin

In my super duper teflon fryin pan

Hey waitress could I get some toast

A cup of java too

I haven’t got much money

So this will have to do

Yeah, this will have to do

Man, this will have to do

Damn, this will have to do

But getting old still isn’t in my plan!

***************************************

THE BIG G! (government)

I think my feelings about the government involvement in our lives is quite evident.

THE BIG G!

Thank goodness for our government

It’s lookin out for me

It gets most of my money

But the air I breathe is free

(so far)

The folks that we elected

Work hard for us you see

And they are so much wiser

Than we can ever be

They know ten million dollars

Is neither here nor there

Just numbers on some paper

There’s lots of it to spare

And if they keep a little bit

To sweeten up their day

There’s more where it has come from

Just dock it from our pay

Just look at how they understand

That industry must thrive

And if it spews pollution

To help it stay alive

So be it, but the rest of us

Will have to do our part

Don’t barbecue, don’t light a fire

And never ever fart

Yes, I am truly grateful that

They know what’s best for all

Imagine what would happen

If we had to make each call

About what happens in our lives

Who knows where that would end

We really need the government

To act as our best friend

There’s just one other thing to do

To make it better still

Lets get more levels working

We’d be glad to foot the bill

There’s other things that need control

They haven’t tackled yet

So we don’t have to think at all

That’s good as it can get

I’d like to think the pioneers

That came to this great land

Are looking down and smiling

At the success of their plan

They came to flee oppression

To set up democracy

And it has worked out really swell

Cause we are truly free

Thank goodness for our government

It’s lookin out for me

It gets most of my money

But the air I breathe is free

(so far)

The folks that we elected

Work hard for us you see

And they are so much wiser

Than we can ever be – ain’t they great!

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TEN REALLY OLD POEMS

These are some bits and pieces written when I was in my early teens. Most of the stuff I wrote way back then was lost (perhaps that is a good thing) but these ones somehow survived.
REMEMBER THE DAYS

I remember the school by the side of the road

And the fun that we had, you and I

I remember the houses we made when it snowed

How we played neath the deep blue sky

We really had fun

Though we often had fights

We walked home together

On most of the nights

We ate our lunch under

The stately old trees

And watched the leaves falling

On soft autumn breeze

We used the old woodhouse

For fortress so strong

Where we held off the indians

For hours so long

How we made that old house

Out of boards and of leaves

Where we sat and we talked

Just as long as we pleased

But now its all over

For I’m gone away

But you and the others

Still work and still play

Yes we walked in together

When they rang the bells

For you and I

were the best of good pals.

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THANKSGIVING

From the Mayflower to the Plymouth Rock

The pilgrim fathers strode

They saw the land before them

They saw their new abode.

They soon created cabins

They tilled the fertile earth

Under their careful prayerful hands

The new world had its birth

But also there were dangers

Which lay on every hand

Against the hostile Indians

They often had to stand

They often had to fight for life

They had no time for fun

But under steady toiling hands

Crops ripened in the sun

And then there came the harvest

Of all the golden grain

They now began to see the fruit

Of all their toil and pain

They gathered every golden blade

They gathered every ear

The frosts at night then told them plain

Winter was drawing near

After every crop was gathered

And every grain was stored

They bowed down and with simple words

They humbly thanked the Lord

They thanked the Lord for every good

They thanked him for their living

And there in midst of forest drear

They had their first thanksgiving.

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BEGINNING OF WISDOM

When I was young and not too smart

Movie queens took up my heart

But since I’ve reached this stately age

I’d rather have lions without the cage

For I have learned that a girl (or two)

Can sure put fellas in a stew

And I would rather fight and twirl

With lions than to face a girl

But I have also come to know

Without the gals there ain’t no show

So I have learned to tolerate

Them female critters

That I hate.

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A SOLILOQUY

I sit and think and think and try

To find each wherefore and each why

Still after hours and hours each day

The answer’s just as far away

The teachers pound and grit and swear

I’m getting dumber hair by hair

On a test I never pass

I’m dumber than a long eared ass

I don’t know, I may be dense

I may not have a grain of sense

It may be that my skull is thick

My head may be a dried out stick

But with these thoughts I don’t agree

I think they’re all to hard on me

I don’t think they’re really right

I think I’m out too late at night.

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THE STORM

Dark clouds hung low and swiftly flew

With menacing shrieks the north wind blew

The thunder rolled and lightning flashed

And tempest driven, the rain drops dashed

Wee birds flew home to welcome nest

And rabbits ran for a place to rest

A great oak tree from earth was torn

The sod was soaked – here was a storm

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SANTA

I remember this one well. It was in English class and we were to write a poem about Christmas. I had just finished one verse when I became aware of our teacher (Mr. Meany Murray) standing behind me reading what I had written. My next memory is of his knuckles on the side of my head while he encouraged me to take a different approach to the subject. Hence, only this one verse remains

SANTA

There were bags below his eyeballs

And his beard was dirty white

Where tobacco juice had spattered

As he chewed it through the night

This next one is the second attempt to satisfy the teacher with a poem about Christmas. I think after this one he gave up on trying to straighten out my head.

CHRISTMAS IN THE BARNYARD

T’was Christmas in the barnyard

All the chickens were in bed

But the old tomcat was waiting up

For a glimpse of brilliant red

‘Cause he had heard that Santa Claus

once yearly round did go

to all the country barnyards

with his reindeer o’er the snow

Now Tommy’s jeans were faded

His shirt was faded too

And in his shoe there was a hole

That went completely through

For the year had been a hard one

And there’d been no rats at all

Consequently many hungry nights

Had been spent in Tommy’s stall

Now Tommy wasn’t lazy

Anyone would tell you that

He simply did not like to work

Very natural in a cat

And so he wrote old Santa Claus

His woes minutely told

And he explicitly explained

The hunger and the cold

He said there’d been on rats at all

And mice too hard to capture

He’d sure appreciate some food

New clothes would bring him rapture

And so he did enumerate

Those things he thought he needed

And all he hoped and all he prayed

Was that old Santa heeded

Suddenly a tinkling noise

Was heard, and into space

There rose a sleight and reindeer

From atop his chimney place

Then Tommy turned and ran inside

His fortune to espy

Yet no gifts did he encounter

‘till a small box caught his eye

On the top, in writing quaint

It said Your Food and Vittles

Already Tommy Cat could smell

Hot cakes on steaming griddles

He ripped the outer tissue off

A breeze went through the barn

And Tommy shuddered when he saw

A mousetrap, needles, yarn.

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UNFINISHED

Have you heard the song the trees are singing

The rustling sound of sparrows winging

The wild cry of the lark

Have you reveled in the warm west breeze

The soft rain falling through the trees

The peace that comes with dark

Have you ever waked from thoughtless slumber

To hear God’s symphony of thunder

To see the lightning flash

Have you ever watched the white clouds rolling

or heard the distant church bells tolling

or watched the rain drops dash

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It is interesting (and embarassing) to recall the juvenile dreams that found their way to paper.

MY PARADISE

Bored with the dreary details of life

Tired of the commonplace things

Needing a refuge, a haven of rest

Desiring to live just like kings

Kings, not in glory

Or power, or name

Kings but in spirit

Not riches or fame

Wishing to live as the great eagles do

We purchased a vessel

And hired a crew

We set sail due south

Till we reached the warm streams

Our answer seemed near

The fullfillment of dreams

When off our port bow

Lying low, near the moon

Lay a tropical island

With a sleepy lagoon

Perhaps t’was the tropics

Just romance in the air

But we knew without doubt

We would find our dreams there

The palm trees that beckoned

Seemed to tug at our hearts

Here we’ll live

Here we’ll ove

Until death does us part.

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This next was written when I was 16. I suppose in retrospect I was in what today might be called a “Goth” stage! Pretty silly huh?

MY REWARD

The wind was low and mournful

Dark clouds filled the skies

When out of the night, and into the night

A man and horse went galloping by

One second he paused in the lamplight

And motion and time stood still

For his eyes were the eyes of a madman

And his hands were hands that could kill

Then he shrieked, t’was a cry of the haunted

It’s awfulness gave me a start

And I looked, from his breast there protruded

A knife that was struck through his heart

One second longer he tarried

And I knew he had come for me

His eyes grew bright, and in the dark night

His voice cried out ringingly

This night you shall reap the harvest

That long you have sown through the years

Your harvest is torture and terror and night

Your harvest is suffering and tears

Then he laughed with a sound that was awful

And he smirked with a maniac’s glee

And his hands reached out, and his face grew grim

And his fingers grasped hold of me

Then he took me to saddle behind him

And the misty wind lashed at my face

I tried to jump clear but I couldn’t

His horse continued it’s race

And on through the night we galloped

But I saw no morning light

And on the same steed I shall gallop ere more

Into darkness eternally night

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