I made a list of books to read,
I made a list of things I need,
I made a list of chores to do,
I think lists are great, don’t you?
Lists are very useful things,
For who knows what the future brings,
And if intentions are declared,
Then I will always be prepared.
I can plan the days ahead,
I’ll be well clad, I’ll be well fed,
I’ll work and play in harmony,
A master of efficiency.
But there’s a problem, there’s a cost,
What if all my lists are lost?
Confused and hapless I will be,
So I’ll just sit and watch TV.
Monday, October 11, 2010
A New Angel
It rained the day my mother died,
With all her children gathered ‘round,
It seemed that all of heaven cried,
With teardrops puddled on the ground,
But later on the sun came through,
And beamed upon our reveries,
Thus, all our lives began anew,
So grateful for our memories,
It was no time for grief or shrouds,
The angels love a gentle soul,
I know she’s up above the clouds,
Throughout her life she paid the toll,
I see her standing by the Gates,
And smiling down, as one who waits.
Pebbles
In the spring of life I had a plan,
I wished the world to cheer,
I wanted future folks to know,
That I had once been here.
I dreamed of great accomplishments,
Of glories in the field,
I’d outdo all my rivals and,
I simply would not yield.
Today I’m in my autumn years,
And I’ve achieved no fame,
No statue has my visage, nor
A plaque that bears my name.
But through the years my views have changed,
I’ve found a better way,
That simple kindness to someone,
Can build a better day.
The average person has his woes,
And own internal strife,
A kindness will improve his day,
And a day can change a life.
Like a pebble dropped into a pond,
And you watch the ripples flow,
So kindnesses repeat themselves,
And cause good will to grow.
I find great satisfaction now,
In recognizing worth,
And helping other folks to see,
Their value here on earth.
When winter comes, and I am gone,
I hope I’ve sown the seed,
I wish them to remember,
Not the doer, but the deed
I wished the world to cheer,
I wanted future folks to know,
That I had once been here.
I dreamed of great accomplishments,
Of glories in the field,
I’d outdo all my rivals and,
I simply would not yield.
Today I’m in my autumn years,
And I’ve achieved no fame,
No statue has my visage, nor
A plaque that bears my name.
But through the years my views have changed,
I’ve found a better way,
That simple kindness to someone,
Can build a better day.
The average person has his woes,
And own internal strife,
A kindness will improve his day,
And a day can change a life.
Like a pebble dropped into a pond,
And you watch the ripples flow,
So kindnesses repeat themselves,
And cause good will to grow.
I find great satisfaction now,
In recognizing worth,
And helping other folks to see,
Their value here on earth.
When winter comes, and I am gone,
I hope I’ve sown the seed,
I wish them to remember,
Not the doer, but the deed
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Him or Her
God, according to the Bible,
Is considered “Him” or “He,”
He is masculine in nature,
Never called a “Her” or “She.”
This is true throughout the scriptures,
Both the Testaments agree,
Lord’s Prayer doesn’t say “Our Mother,”
Therefore God must be a “He.”
But modern Women’s Liberation,
Want’s to change collective minds,
They say God must be a woman,
They have reasons of all kinds.
They say God is full of nurture,
Treats us all with loving care,
That is feminine in nature,
I can see some logic there.
But I believe that God’s no woman,
I’ll explain why this is true,
He’ll forgive us for our failings,
Something women never do.
Is considered “Him” or “He,”
He is masculine in nature,
Never called a “Her” or “She.”
This is true throughout the scriptures,
Both the Testaments agree,
Lord’s Prayer doesn’t say “Our Mother,”
Therefore God must be a “He.”
But modern Women’s Liberation,
Want’s to change collective minds,
They say God must be a woman,
They have reasons of all kinds.
They say God is full of nurture,
Treats us all with loving care,
That is feminine in nature,
I can see some logic there.
But I believe that God’s no woman,
I’ll explain why this is true,
He’ll forgive us for our failings,
Something women never do.
What Happened???
We’re gathered here after fifty years, there’s been a lot of laughs, been a few tears,
As we near the time out where the sidewalk ends,
All of us are moving slower, parts of us are hanging lower,
But we love the time with our oldest dearest friends.
In fifty years a lot has changed, our bodies now are rearranged,
And everything seems slightly out of place,
We suffer from our aches and pains, we have our stresses and our strains,
And we have to buy our Ben Gay by the case.
Our body changes don’t seem fair, our hair is gray or isn’t there,
We spend our leisure cursing at our fate,
When we arise each early morn we sound like we are popping corn,
And when did we collect this extra weight?
In youth we had a single fashion, our lives revolved around our passion,
The opposite sex was a lovely thing to see,
We still can have romantic thrills, but now we need those little blue pills,
Our love lives now depend on the pharmacy.
Aging brings out one sad fact, we’re obsessed with our digestive tract,
And we take care of it as the best we can,
We’re finding now as we grow old, working bowels are worth pure gold,
So we breakfast on our prunes and Raisin Bran.
So now we spend our evening here with old school spirit and good cheer,
We have so many memories to share,
There’s changes on the outer side but not much on the inner side,
Those teenage kids are still down deep in there.
This was written for my fiftieth high school class reunion held in my home town Moab, Utah. It was a magical weekend full of laughs and puzzzling recognitions.
Abeline
We just rode in to old Abeline town,
Drove a herd up the Chisholm Trail,
Got ‘em calmed down in the cattle pens,
And ready for the east-bound rail.
Me and the boys were struttin’ real tall,
Each one of us a man of means,
We’d got our pay for the long, long drive,
There was jingling in our jeans.
We were all feelin’ pretty randy and rowdy,
Every one of us about to go bust,
We headed on over to the Trail End Saloon,
For some liquid that would cut the dust.
We’d just got settled with our bellies to the bar,
When in walked a giant to be feared,
You just had the feelin’ when you gazed in his eyes,
That his heart was just as black as his beard.
He glared at the room with fire in his eyes,
As he spoke, the room cowered with fright,
“I’m Bushrod Brimstone, King of the World,
And boys, I’m here spoilin’ for a fight.
Better look out fellas, better step aside,
I’m feelin’ pretty ornery today,
And if any man wants to see the sun go down,
Then you oughta get outa my way.
I’m a hard freebooter and a dead straight shooter,
I don’t cotton to the weak and the meek,
Why the further up the river, the meaner they come,
And I am from the head of the creek.
I’m part alligator, part snappin’ turtle,
Part buffalo and grizzly bear,
I’m quicker than a chicken on a big June bug,
And I’ll knock a fellow way beyond repair.
Any man who’s thinkin’ he’s as hard as a nail,
I’m the hammer that’ll give the nail a pound,
If I’m feelin’ sorta soft and sweet when I’m done,
I’ll leave him broken up, not in the ground.”
Well, not a man there had the courage to object,
And not a man would look him in the eyes,
We all backed off and let him have his space,
We knew no one could whip a man that size.
Then he sto mped to the bar and grabbed up a jug,
And he polished off the bottle with a glug,
Then he picked up a barrel and drank the beer down,
He didn’t want to bother with a mug.
He said, “Wall now boys, would you look at the time,
I guess I better get along my way,
There’s a rule that I follow, if I’m ever later for supper,
Then it’s hell is what I’m gonna have to pay.
I got me a woman, she’s a purty little thing,
But she treats me awful rotten, like a slave,
And if ever I’m a couple minutes late for a meal,
Then tomorrow there will be another grave.”
He barged through the door and mounted his horse,
And he stormed his way through the streets of town,
The saloon was silent, we were shocked to the core,
It didn’t seem a proper time for sound.
By dawn next morning we were headed back south,
To the safety of our home in San Antone,
We huddled as a group for security’s sake,
‘Cause none of us would dare to be alone.
We made fast tracks as we headed on our way,
For we knew survival chances would be slim,
If we ever crossed paths with the Brimstone woman,
Who was tough as hell, and meaner than him.
Drove a herd up the Chisholm Trail,
Got ‘em calmed down in the cattle pens,
And ready for the east-bound rail.
Me and the boys were struttin’ real tall,
Each one of us a man of means,
We’d got our pay for the long, long drive,
There was jingling in our jeans.
We were all feelin’ pretty randy and rowdy,
Every one of us about to go bust,
We headed on over to the Trail End Saloon,
For some liquid that would cut the dust.
We’d just got settled with our bellies to the bar,
When in walked a giant to be feared,
You just had the feelin’ when you gazed in his eyes,
That his heart was just as black as his beard.
He glared at the room with fire in his eyes,
As he spoke, the room cowered with fright,
“I’m Bushrod Brimstone, King of the World,
And boys, I’m here spoilin’ for a fight.
Better look out fellas, better step aside,
I’m feelin’ pretty ornery today,
And if any man wants to see the sun go down,
Then you oughta get outa my way.
I’m a hard freebooter and a dead straight shooter,
I don’t cotton to the weak and the meek,
Why the further up the river, the meaner they come,
And I am from the head of the creek.
I’m part alligator, part snappin’ turtle,
Part buffalo and grizzly bear,
I’m quicker than a chicken on a big June bug,
And I’ll knock a fellow way beyond repair.
Any man who’s thinkin’ he’s as hard as a nail,
I’m the hammer that’ll give the nail a pound,
If I’m feelin’ sorta soft and sweet when I’m done,
I’ll leave him broken up, not in the ground.”
Well, not a man there had the courage to object,
And not a man would look him in the eyes,
We all backed off and let him have his space,
We knew no one could whip a man that size.
Then he sto mped to the bar and grabbed up a jug,
And he polished off the bottle with a glug,
Then he picked up a barrel and drank the beer down,
He didn’t want to bother with a mug.
He said, “Wall now boys, would you look at the time,
I guess I better get along my way,
There’s a rule that I follow, if I’m ever later for supper,
Then it’s hell is what I’m gonna have to pay.
I got me a woman, she’s a purty little thing,
But she treats me awful rotten, like a slave,
And if ever I’m a couple minutes late for a meal,
Then tomorrow there will be another grave.”
He barged through the door and mounted his horse,
And he stormed his way through the streets of town,
The saloon was silent, we were shocked to the core,
It didn’t seem a proper time for sound.
By dawn next morning we were headed back south,
To the safety of our home in San Antone,
We huddled as a group for security’s sake,
‘Cause none of us would dare to be alone.
We made fast tracks as we headed on our way,
For we knew survival chances would be slim,
If we ever crossed paths with the Brimstone woman,
Who was tough as hell, and meaner than him.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
A Sonnet on My Baldness
In youth I had a mass of hair,
Every strand was in its place,
Then gradually it wasn’t there,
And every day I had more face,
Such a loss is filled with grief,
Now my head reflects a shine,
As I stare in disbelief,
This gleaming skull cannot be mine,
Stranger, as you pass me by,
Please don’t give a taunting jeer,
My hair has never said goodbye,
It’s in my nose and in my ear,
Every strand was in its place,
Then gradually it wasn’t there,
And every day I had more face,
Such a loss is filled with grief,
Now my head reflects a shine,
As I stare in disbelief,
This gleaming skull cannot be mine,
Stranger, as you pass me by,
Please don’t give a taunting jeer,
My hair has never said goodbye,
It’s in my nose and in my ear,
When pondering my pristine dome,
I long for use of brush and comb.
John Milton wrote a Sonnet on His Blindness. I thought I’d write one on my affliction.
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