I DONE GOT THERE!

January 18, 2003

Mary, do you remember Dad's old poem...

"Be the task great or small,
Do it well or not at all."

Well here is my line:

Be the task great or small;
When we daily trip and fall;
When cows butt us into their stall.
We're too old to do it all;

Then we'd best to step aside,
Before we lose too much hide!
There to rest, write, reside
And enjoy life's changing tide.

I done got there!

TO MY SISTER

December 24, 2002

Hi, purty lady with the injured paw!
How's our usually fast movin' maw?
First she puts a patch on her eye,
Lookin' mightily like ol' Captain Bly;
And then before she can set down and rock,
Ol' Sawbone's got 'er agin on the block!
What a way to rest through this Season;
Want me to give ya a much better reason?

Take me, fer instance at age eighty two,
And little better off than Robert and you!
My heart sez, "Git"; but my legs sez, "No!"
It gits harder and harder to git up and go!
So I do what I can, then set down and rest;
I reckon after all that plan is the best'
But, Honey, you know that I'm only teasin'
"Cause I really aint got no suggestible reason.

'Cept that wise men rest at a livestock stall
When it cradles a king born to rule over all!
I reckon that He never meant us to worry,
To chase the loose ends and be in a hurry,
So maybe a slit wrist and a patch on yer eye
Will give ya some time to gaze at the sky
And praise the Good Lord fer all that He's done;
What better to do with our race so near run?

BE SURE WE SEE YOUR SERIOUS SIDE

Our world needs the jokester with his laughter and his bluff;
With the greatest sense of humor life is serious enough.
Facial muscles need the workout that a sense of humor brings;
So, in the midst of trouble let’s be sure our soul still sings1
The world will quickly turn away from him who never laughs,
Who never sees the funny side but simply grieves or chafes;
But if the words we speak to men are to abide;
We must be sure the world can see we have a serious side.

Great thoughts are often given us right behind a funny word,
For laughter gains attention through which our thoughts are heard,
And though we think the speaker is simply blowing smoke,
He may well be quite serious by telling us his joke!
He may be roasting or be toasting concepts he lightly chides,
But either way what we say eternally abides;
So help us, Lord, as we speak, always to reside
In a balanced sense of humor that sees the serious side.

WHEN THE GREAT MOMENT HAS GONE

December 14, 2002

When the Star of Bethlehem is packed in its tray,
Just waiting there ‘til next Christmas day;
When angels are folded in soft paper wraps,
Not to be touched for a whole year perhaps;
When candles, re-pointed, are placed in their box
Beside a sheep, a donkey an ox,
Our thoughts then start to fasten upon
“What do we do when this Moment is gone?”

When the wedding is over and the guests gone away,
And fatigue has set in to end our great day;
When the honeymoon passes and we’ve come back home,
And life is without it’s bubbles and foam;
When the house is in order and we’ve gone back to work
There’s a question that comes with a strange little quirk.
And sits on our hearts like a huge old stone,
“What do we do when this Moment is gone?”

When Christ fills us with love’s dominion,
As he did in the life of Simeon;
When God’s Spirit turns us about
And life now takes a whole new route;
When others are more than simply friends
Employed toward our own personal ends,
Again we come to ponder upon
“What do we do when this Moment is gone?”

When love moves our lives toward days with less sin
And we feel all renewed and cleansed from within;
When joy and peace abide in the heart
As the Holy Spirit does His great part
By letting us know that Jesus is Lord,
Not kings, or queens, or the modern day sword1
Then there is an answer we count upon;
For we know what to do when the Moment is gone.

GOOSE GRACE II

December 6, 2002

Sixteen degrees and still as a mouse!
A perfect day to stay in the house,
But animals are calling and that quite loudly,
So I walk on out with shoulders back proudly.

Milk in the buckets to feed baby calves,
Each gallon divided exactly in halves,
Nurse bays opened and the babies shoved in;
They'll climb up your back without a nurse pen!

Plastic buckets with nipples in a row;
Stand back and watch those little calves go!
Slurping and sucking 'til no milk left,
Then they look at me as a calf bereft!

Feed mama ewe with her tiny little lamb,
Then ewes in waiting and the big old ram;
Two buckets for steers and one for the cows,
And then with icy fingers I head for the house.

But wait, there are chickens and rabbits to feed;
In sixteen degrees they too are in need;
But goodness! These fingers and the tips of my toes!
I think they are colder than the end of my nose!

And just as I walk away from the barn,
Mother goose calls out, "I'm ready for corn!"
She slept all night on the ice-covered pond,
And with that poor goose I feel such a bond!

Last Spring she and gander led goslings around,
But the goslings are gone and no gander is found.
She is Canadian with black and white head,
Still stately and strong though "Daddy" is dead.

So as I sprinkled her corn on the ice,
It seemed that my God gave me advice:
"Stand stately and strong though cold and alone,
For I'm planning to bring you again to your own."

MOM’S WHISTLE

November 21, 2002

In the kitchen or the store, or in the pasture’s wood,
That whistle of my Darling brought me running if I could,
It was always soft and gentle, so enticing in its sound;
But best of all it let me know that love was close around.

How I’ve missed that loving whistle throughout this slow paced year,
So I know you can imagine when I waked today to hear
That whistle in the kitchen; How it bounced me out of bed!
Not for breakfast that was ready, but to feed my soul instead.

No dreams for several months to cheer me on my way,
Though I ask for them as often as I daily kneel to pray;
But this one was a charmer my soul cannot forget,
That tells me that my Sweetheart has not forgotten yet.

The sky in crimson beauty announces this new day;
With Dorothy’s loving whistle I go happy on my way;
And in that Eastern brightness I see a whole new sky
Which says that man is born to live, and not to tire and die.

A MAJOR GIFT

Christmas Time, Two Thousand Two,
Time again for greeting you
With words of love and Christmas Cheer
As we close yet another year.

Long have been my days this year,
Without my Living Dorothy Dear,
But they have passed in song and praise
As God blessed me in many ways:

Memories of our years three score,
So rich and full they seemed much more;
Children so alike my wife
That they, like she, enrich my life.

Friends in church and those next door
Give me courage more and more
To press ahead with work in hand
To spread God’s love throughout the land.

It is not I that foils my grief;
Friends, family, faith - sweet relief;
And I know my wife must smile
As God helps me to reconcile.

As I receive this perfect gift,
God give me grace that I may lift
Those who have not eyes to see
The vision You have granted me.

Your Son came down to cancel death;
This he said with every breath;
So let us shout throughout the earth
That death is life through His sweet birth.

A MAJOR GIFT

October 30, 2002

Christmas Time, Two Thousand Two,
Time again for greeting you
With words of love and Christmas Cheer
As we close another year.

Long have been my days this year,
Without my Living Dorothy Dear,
But they have passed in song and praise
As God blessed me in many ways.

Memories of our years three score,
So rich and full they seemed much more;
Children so alike my wife
That they, like she, enrich my life.

Friends in church and those next door
Give me courage more and more
To press ahead with work in hand
To spread God's love throughout the land.

It is not I that foils my grief;
Friends, family, faith - sweet relief;
And I know my wife must smile
As God helps me to reconcile.

As I receive this perfect gift,
God give me grace that I may lift
Those who have not eyes to see
The vision You have granted me.

Your Son came down to cancel death;
This he said with every breath;
So let us shout throughout the earth
That death is life through His sweet birth.

ACROSTICS

Acrostic poems, it is said
Convey a message as they’re read
Reading leading letters of each line
Of the poem to divine
Some name or word we’re wished to know
To let the poet try to show
In his or her acrostic way
Completely what he wants to say.

GLOSSAL TONGUES

August 23, 2002

Tongues of poets, like tongues of frogs,
Often go awry,
And get them into social bogs
A great deal more than meets the eye.
The frog looks up and sees a bug
And lashes out with slingshot tongue,
And sometimes finds he is too smug
To check the bugs who he’s among.

The frog begins to blink his eyes
As foreign bugs inflict their sting;
This frog is met with rank surprise
As now his ears begin to ring
Yes, poets tune their ear to words,
And sometimes write a potent verse;
But then, their dish becomes potsherds
Of glossal words unrehearsed!

So help me, Lord, to weigh my word
Upon the scales of other’s ears,
Realizing it may seem absurd
To those of more or lesser years;
To those you’ve dealt a different hand,
Who’ve never walked along my trail,
Lest those who’ve lived in different land
Find my poem of no avail.