February 4, 1999
In years long gone
I could run a mile,
And from five minutes
Give back a while.
For years I’ve weighed
One-eighty-five,
And I still weigh that;
And still “look alive?”
But now that age
Has changed my paces,
Many good muscles
Have exchanged places.
Muscles that once made me strong,
Around my middle, have gotten long.
Once they made a good strong belly,
But now they let it shake like jelly.
Belts that once just filled the bill,
Now, when fastened, make me ill;
Once they fit exactly right,
But now they make me feel “up tight”.
My doctor said she wanted me,
Each day or two, to walk a mile,
But goodness sake, five plus three,
And then I have to have a while.
Me, Oh My! What must I do?
I must be honest; I must be true;
I walk most places that I go;
But that’s just walking to and fro.
So tighten that belt, and walk, Old Man,
Keep puffing on, until you can
Walk four miles every day,
And shorten that belt the proper way.
Thursday, February 04, 1999
A WORD TO MYSELF
February 4, 1999
Again arrives that time of year,
A time we people truly fear,
A time to settle down to facts:
IT’S TIME TO DO OUR INCOME TAX!!
I much prefer to write a rhyme,
Or ride a horse, to fill my time;
Or read some mail, or send a fax;
But Oh, Gee Whiz, Income Tax?
How much of this? What cost for that?
There are more ways “To skin a cat”
But listen, friend, don’t get too lax
When working out your income tax.
Though burdened with the weight of proof,
IRS can catch our “goof’,
And can still ask for facts,
That support our report for Income Tax.
So buckle down, take new heart,
Lay out those bills and make your start;
In early spring, we can relax,
And brag, “I’VE FINISHED UP MY INCOME TAX!”
Again arrives that time of year,
A time we people truly fear,
A time to settle down to facts:
IT’S TIME TO DO OUR INCOME TAX!!
I much prefer to write a rhyme,
Or ride a horse, to fill my time;
Or read some mail, or send a fax;
But Oh, Gee Whiz, Income Tax?
How much of this? What cost for that?
There are more ways “To skin a cat”
But listen, friend, don’t get too lax
When working out your income tax.
Though burdened with the weight of proof,
IRS can catch our “goof’,
And can still ask for facts,
That support our report for Income Tax.
So buckle down, take new heart,
Lay out those bills and make your start;
In early spring, we can relax,
And brag, “I’VE FINISHED UP MY INCOME TAX!”
Saturday, January 30, 1999
TEEN KISS
January 30, 1999
Wisdom asks a valid question:
“If one sheep sticks his head in a hole,
Should all sheep make the same their goal?"
The obvious answer is my suggestion.
Teen-age girls in a middle school
Saw on the mirror in the “little girl’s room”
Lipstick prints, and I presume
That they thought that was really cool.
The custodian soon left his note,
Not too harsh, and not too gentle,
Not naive, and not too mental;
And this is what he wrote:
“Please don’t kiss the rest-room glass.”
We were in the middle school;
We had somehow to break the rule,
If we the teen-age test would pass.
Red, purple, pink; yes, even black!
Large lips, small lips and in between,
On that rest-room glass were seen,
Where “mimic-maidens” left their smack.
The custodian came to his wit’s end,
Then called upon a favorite teacher,
A kindly, loving, much loved creature,
Whom all the girls called their friend.
She summoned him and all those lassies
To meet with her right at three-thirty,
To watch some one do something dirty,
Down at their favorite looking-glasses.
He slowly swirled a long brown brush
Round and round in the commode;
From there to mirror he slowly strode;
How loud the sound of their quiet hush!
He brushed that glass ‘til it was clean,
No word was said by her or him,
Nor exclamation from one of them:
But lipstick prints no more were seen.
Wisdom asks a valid question:
“If one sheep sticks his head in a hole,
Should all sheep make the same their goal?"
The obvious answer is my suggestion.
Teen-age girls in a middle school
Saw on the mirror in the “little girl’s room”
Lipstick prints, and I presume
That they thought that was really cool.
The custodian soon left his note,
Not too harsh, and not too gentle,
Not naive, and not too mental;
And this is what he wrote:
“Please don’t kiss the rest-room glass.”
We were in the middle school;
We had somehow to break the rule,
If we the teen-age test would pass.
Red, purple, pink; yes, even black!
Large lips, small lips and in between,
On that rest-room glass were seen,
Where “mimic-maidens” left their smack.
The custodian came to his wit’s end,
Then called upon a favorite teacher,
A kindly, loving, much loved creature,
Whom all the girls called their friend.
She summoned him and all those lassies
To meet with her right at three-thirty,
To watch some one do something dirty,
Down at their favorite looking-glasses.
He slowly swirled a long brown brush
Round and round in the commode;
From there to mirror he slowly strode;
How loud the sound of their quiet hush!
He brushed that glass ‘til it was clean,
No word was said by her or him,
Nor exclamation from one of them:
But lipstick prints no more were seen.
Thursday, January 28, 1999
TATER TALK
January 28, 1999
The big potato; we’ll call him Dad;
Three little girls were all he had,
But came the time for them to wed,
So one by one, hear what they said:
“Mr. Russet wants me to marry,
A load of care I’m glad to carry.”
“Oh, Yes”, said Dad, “indeed that’s great;
With such a name - an ideal mate!”
The second loved an Idaho,
And Papa said, “The way to go!
This marriage indeed will do quite well,
The way Idahos are known to sell.”
Then spoke the third, a tiny child,
With trembling voice, so meek and mild,
“Dan Rather is the man I love;
I’m sure our love’s from God above!”
“Heaven, forbid,” the father cried,
“With such a thought, I’m horrified!
I’ll not agree, now or later;
Dan Rather is a common tater!”
Then quivering lips spoke words profound,
In phrases with a heavenly sound,
“Aren’t we all just common taters,
Trying to be God’s commentators?”
The big potato; we’ll call him Dad;
Three little girls were all he had,
But came the time for them to wed,
So one by one, hear what they said:
“Mr. Russet wants me to marry,
A load of care I’m glad to carry.”
“Oh, Yes”, said Dad, “indeed that’s great;
With such a name - an ideal mate!”
The second loved an Idaho,
And Papa said, “The way to go!
This marriage indeed will do quite well,
The way Idahos are known to sell.”
Then spoke the third, a tiny child,
With trembling voice, so meek and mild,
“Dan Rather is the man I love;
I’m sure our love’s from God above!”
“Heaven, forbid,” the father cried,
“With such a thought, I’m horrified!
I’ll not agree, now or later;
Dan Rather is a common tater!”
Then quivering lips spoke words profound,
In phrases with a heavenly sound,
“Aren’t we all just common taters,
Trying to be God’s commentators?”
Monday, January 11, 1999
I LOVE MYSELF WHEN I’M WITH YOU
January 11, 1999
I never really understood;
Perhaps no one actually could,
Why children say, out of the blue,
“I love myself when I’m with you!”
I wonder if she likes my gifts,
Such as, perhaps, enabling lifts,
When tasks I show her how to do
Become, for her, no longer new.
Could it be, after all,
When for some lad, we “take the fall”,
That he might think, “I love you too;
I love myself when I’m with you?”
If children know just how we feel;
When love for them is really real;
They just might say, out of the blue,
“I love myself when I’m with you!”
If we are loved, in our own eyes,
Then we're prepared always to rise
Above vain thrills that end in ills,
And works of love our schedule fills.
So parent, teacher, pastor, friend,
Let’s work together toward this end,
That every child may say, “It’s true,
I love myself when I’m with you!”
I never really understood;
Perhaps no one actually could,
Why children say, out of the blue,
“I love myself when I’m with you!”
I wonder if she likes my gifts,
Such as, perhaps, enabling lifts,
When tasks I show her how to do
Become, for her, no longer new.
Could it be, after all,
When for some lad, we “take the fall”,
That he might think, “I love you too;
I love myself when I’m with you?”
If children know just how we feel;
When love for them is really real;
They just might say, out of the blue,
“I love myself when I’m with you!”
If we are loved, in our own eyes,
Then we're prepared always to rise
Above vain thrills that end in ills,
And works of love our schedule fills.
So parent, teacher, pastor, friend,
Let’s work together toward this end,
That every child may say, “It’s true,
I love myself when I’m with you!”
Friday, January 01, 1999
THE LORD'S SECOND MILE
January 1, 1999
It’s New Year's Day of Ninety-Nine,
And there is time to write a rhyme.
The earth is white with falling snow,
I can’t work out, so here I go:
The grain in bins, the hay in ricks,
The wood stacked straight in firewood sticks,
The pantry full of food we’ve canned,
It all makes New Year's simply grand!
The cows bunch up around their shed,
Waiting there until they’re fed,
The poultry sounds are not to beg,
But just to announce they’ve laid an egg.
Some would say that our life style
Is way behind; at least a mile!
We’re seldom seen down at the store,
But healthy food? Who has more?
The clothes we wear, we’ve worn a while;
They have to go that “second mile,”
But they are warm, and they look nice;
We tell ourselves that they’ll suffice.
Our car is old, but it is good;
It’ll last a while; or, I think it should.
We’re neither rich, nor look that way,
But give ear, 99, to what I say:
High dollar missiles don’t keep the peace;
Dollars we invest in the poor’s release,
To teach them to earn a better life style,
Will clothe us in the “Lord’s Second Mile”.
No nation rules the earth by force,
So God has portrayed another course:
Let’s deny ourselves and take up His Cross,
Before our pride turns us all into dross.
Of all God’s gifts, I’ve found not another
That thrills me like the love of a brother!
Let’s reach out as long as there’s life,
And by so reaching, decrease human strife!
When neighbors ask, “How goes 99?”
We don’t want to say, “The World is Mine,”
But “Heaven’s hosts behold with mirth,
And exclaim aloud, ‘PEACE ON EARTH’!”
It’s New Year's Day of Ninety-Nine,
And there is time to write a rhyme.
The earth is white with falling snow,
I can’t work out, so here I go:
The grain in bins, the hay in ricks,
The wood stacked straight in firewood sticks,
The pantry full of food we’ve canned,
It all makes New Year's simply grand!
The cows bunch up around their shed,
Waiting there until they’re fed,
The poultry sounds are not to beg,
But just to announce they’ve laid an egg.
Some would say that our life style
Is way behind; at least a mile!
We’re seldom seen down at the store,
But healthy food? Who has more?
The clothes we wear, we’ve worn a while;
They have to go that “second mile,”
But they are warm, and they look nice;
We tell ourselves that they’ll suffice.
Our car is old, but it is good;
It’ll last a while; or, I think it should.
We’re neither rich, nor look that way,
But give ear, 99, to what I say:
High dollar missiles don’t keep the peace;
Dollars we invest in the poor’s release,
To teach them to earn a better life style,
Will clothe us in the “Lord’s Second Mile”.
No nation rules the earth by force,
So God has portrayed another course:
Let’s deny ourselves and take up His Cross,
Before our pride turns us all into dross.
Of all God’s gifts, I’ve found not another
That thrills me like the love of a brother!
Let’s reach out as long as there’s life,
And by so reaching, decrease human strife!
When neighbors ask, “How goes 99?”
We don’t want to say, “The World is Mine,”
But “Heaven’s hosts behold with mirth,
And exclaim aloud, ‘PEACE ON EARTH’!”
Friday, December 25, 1998
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Christmas 1998
It’s December eight, Nineteen Ninety-eight,
So, lest I be late, Or thought an ingrate,
I must wake my bard, who's been in retard,
And though it seems hard, Send out this card.
Our kids were all here in the fall of this year,
Which brought enough cheer to make this year dear.
Tho Mom has been ailin', and Pop has been wailin’.
And some things are failin’, it’s mostly smooth sailin’.
Three meals on the table for all who are able
To eat food with no label, that keeps us quite stable.
We limp when we walk, forget when we talk,
But still we don’t balk when the Lord says “Walk”.
For all these good things that Love to us brings,
In symphony ring as God’s angels sing
Of that time by close by, when a Babe’s low cry,
Says Christmas is nigh, SO WE SAY, 'HI'
It’s December eight, Nineteen Ninety-eight,
So, lest I be late, Or thought an ingrate,
I must wake my bard, who's been in retard,
And though it seems hard, Send out this card.
Our kids were all here in the fall of this year,
Which brought enough cheer to make this year dear.
Tho Mom has been ailin', and Pop has been wailin’.
And some things are failin’, it’s mostly smooth sailin’.
Three meals on the table for all who are able
To eat food with no label, that keeps us quite stable.
We limp when we walk, forget when we talk,
But still we don’t balk when the Lord says “Walk”.
For all these good things that Love to us brings,
In symphony ring as God’s angels sing
Of that time by close by, when a Babe’s low cry,
Says Christmas is nigh, SO WE SAY, 'HI'
Sunday, June 21, 1998
WE DO DECIDE WHICH
Unknown Date in 1998
As I lay sleeping on the couch,
The Angel, Gabriel, shoved me Heaven.
The banquet table, I’m here to vouch,
Had to spring from Heaven’s leaven.
Every dish was true perfection;
Not a thing was left undone.
Cheery souls, in my reflection,
Sat round the table, having fun.
But this one circumstance I saw:
Their arms were splinted, straight and strapped.
The thought that made me stand in awe
Was, ‘Why so cheery when handicapped?’
But then the angel changed the scene,
And suddenly we stood in Hell.
A banquet set, just like we’d seen,
Drove home the truth I have to tell.
Sad souls sat in dire dejection,
Hollow-eyed, mal-nourished, all unfed,
Which brought to mind one more reflection:
‘Why sit they here, as though they’re dead?’
The omniscient angel read my mind:
‘Heaven’s souls,’ the angel said,
‘Feed each other because they’re kind.’
And waking with a start, I thought,
"Here lies the key to happy life:
A key, which by her deeds she’s taught,
Throughout life by my kind and loving wife.
Our lives do change and so do we,
For change is growth, and growth is change.
Abundant life, the selfless see,
When through their love they rearrange
Those urgencies that deal with ‘me’
And feed others as they learn each other’s need
Through loving word and thoughtful deed.
As I lay sleeping on the couch,
The Angel, Gabriel, shoved me Heaven.
The banquet table, I’m here to vouch,
Had to spring from Heaven’s leaven.
Every dish was true perfection;
Not a thing was left undone.
Cheery souls, in my reflection,
Sat round the table, having fun.
But this one circumstance I saw:
Their arms were splinted, straight and strapped.
The thought that made me stand in awe
Was, ‘Why so cheery when handicapped?’
But then the angel changed the scene,
And suddenly we stood in Hell.
A banquet set, just like we’d seen,
Drove home the truth I have to tell.
Sad souls sat in dire dejection,
Hollow-eyed, mal-nourished, all unfed,
Which brought to mind one more reflection:
‘Why sit they here, as though they’re dead?’
The omniscient angel read my mind:
‘Heaven’s souls,’ the angel said,
‘Feed each other because they’re kind.’
And waking with a start, I thought,
"Here lies the key to happy life:
A key, which by her deeds she’s taught,
Throughout life by my kind and loving wife.
Our lives do change and so do we,
For change is growth, and growth is change.
Abundant life, the selfless see,
When through their love they rearrange
Those urgencies that deal with ‘me’
And feed others as they learn each other’s need
Through loving word and thoughtful deed.
Saturday, June 20, 1998
MY FIRST LADY
June 20, 1998
When I became a Reynolds in Nineteen Forty-Two
There were some subtle changes I’d like to share with you.
As Parsonage first lady, referred to by my name,
My wife was Reynolds through and through, and acted like the same.
Details were her thing; she never missed a shot,
And when it came to cleaning, she never missed a spot.
People were her purpose; she always saw their need
From wiping children’s noses to teaching them to read.
Violence she detested; she always worked toward peace;
And in trouble calmly moved us, all toward sweet release.
She suffered very quietly, in body, or in soul.
Somehow knowing calmly that faith would make her whole.
I could not live with this, without a change of heart,
And so I studied her to learn to play my part.
And in these years of study, proclaiming God’s great Word,
This self in me has cratered, for now my heart has heard.
In newness I rejoice; from oldness I am free
My old ways disappear, nor does this credit me;
But rather must the credit go to one I truly love;
One who held me up to God, our Father up above.
When I became a Reynolds in Nineteen Forty-Two
There were some subtle changes I’d like to share with you.
As Parsonage first lady, referred to by my name,
My wife was Reynolds through and through, and acted like the same.
Details were her thing; she never missed a shot,
And when it came to cleaning, she never missed a spot.
People were her purpose; she always saw their need
From wiping children’s noses to teaching them to read.
Violence she detested; she always worked toward peace;
And in trouble calmly moved us, all toward sweet release.
She suffered very quietly, in body, or in soul.
Somehow knowing calmly that faith would make her whole.
I could not live with this, without a change of heart,
And so I studied her to learn to play my part.
And in these years of study, proclaiming God’s great Word,
This self in me has cratered, for now my heart has heard.
In newness I rejoice; from oldness I am free
My old ways disappear, nor does this credit me;
But rather must the credit go to one I truly love;
One who held me up to God, our Father up above.
Sunday, March 08, 1998
TO ZACK, GLENDA AND ANTHONY
March 8, 1998
Just a cool, cuddly time with you sweet three,
Around the table with Mother and me.
A healthy portion of calm conversation
On daily doings throughout the nation.
But just being here to love each other
To touch finger-tips or hold one another;
Was more than enough to make the day good,
As the cold day warmed with love and firewood.
So Zack, your ship is about to sail
As soon as the summons comes in the mail?
You’ll be off to lands to accomplish God’s ends;
Your white sails billow now in the winds.
For long years now you have worked on this ship,
And all in all, it’s been a good trip.
She’s polished and waxed and all battened down,
Your degree in hand, dressed in cap and gown.
The seas you’ll sail we don’t know now,
But we know your Captain, and He’ll show you how
To move that craft to where it should be,
Toward whatever land, o’er whatever sea.
But on land or sea, or wherever you are,
With present technologies, you won’t be far;
So keep in touch, whether far or near,
For from 01’ Zack we just gotta hear.
But in that harbor where you set the keel
There’s a lighthouse burning a light that’s real;
And it beckons you home as oft as you can,
For you’re still our child, although a man.
Just a cool, cuddly time with you sweet three,
Around the table with Mother and me.
A healthy portion of calm conversation
On daily doings throughout the nation.
But just being here to love each other
To touch finger-tips or hold one another;
Was more than enough to make the day good,
As the cold day warmed with love and firewood.
So Zack, your ship is about to sail
As soon as the summons comes in the mail?
You’ll be off to lands to accomplish God’s ends;
Your white sails billow now in the winds.
For long years now you have worked on this ship,
And all in all, it’s been a good trip.
She’s polished and waxed and all battened down,
Your degree in hand, dressed in cap and gown.
The seas you’ll sail we don’t know now,
But we know your Captain, and He’ll show you how
To move that craft to where it should be,
Toward whatever land, o’er whatever sea.
But on land or sea, or wherever you are,
With present technologies, you won’t be far;
So keep in touch, whether far or near,
For from 01’ Zack we just gotta hear.
But in that harbor where you set the keel
There’s a lighthouse burning a light that’s real;
And it beckons you home as oft as you can,
For you’re still our child, although a man.
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