As-life-goes-on
Author: Carol Welch
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

As Life Goes By

©2010 Carol Morfitt

Celebrate the Equinox
Fly Away
Hands
Destination
Day at a Time
Conversation
Read The Instructions 'First'
Old Glory
Lift or Drag
Interloper
Skipping Steps
Furry Battle
Jay Walking
Miffed
Confined Watcher
Quirky Blessing
Unlisted
Exercise
Rising to the challenge
Fond Travel
Pesky
Sonnet
A Good Laugh
Reading
The Solution
Morning Music
Morning Stars
Not a Victim
Ode to My Mechanic
I Haven't Arrived
Result Maker
Pith and Brevity
Unexpected Mirror
Christmas Across the Years
Mom Helen
How Much Our Interest Means
Magi as I See Them
Two Thousand Eleven
Villanelle about History
Dreaming With Daddy
Waiting in the Intensive Care Unit
Driving East in the Morning
The battle of the ruffles
Diamonds of the North
It Just Slipped My Mind
February Fooling Us
Blessings for the day
It's a Matter of Spelling
The Light of inspiration
A Possible 'Snownario''
Paradigm Shift
When Progress is Lacking
A Solution For Discord
How Do I Empathize With Thee
Wisconsin Climate
Ozhmagronzer's Plight
Kitty Cats
Planning for Flowers
A little rhyme of spring
St. Patrick's Day
Memories of a distant past
Anticipating Smiles
Uplifting Ideas
The Pirates Versus Creatures of the Deep
Dialog With My Muse
Be Jolly in a World Gone Wild
Shards Cast upon the Lord
The Toboggan Ride of Life
The Journey from old to new
Daylight Confusion Time
Deserts Blossom like Fields of Flowers
Our Librarian Champion of Truth
The Candlelight of Friendships
Nature's Grand Charismatic Time of Renewal
In Touch Across the Miles
Fearful Cries from the Shadows of Night
Old Man Winter resists Mother Spring's return
Heroine Bravely Suffers in Silence
Winter Batters Desolation's Land
The Glimmering Hope of Spring
Unveiling Life's Scroll of Remembrance
Let Love's Power Remove the Blinders
Pup at the House
Joy is where Good Neighbors abide
Who Is My Neighbor?
A Helping Hand, A Good Friend
Farm Grieves for Its Owner
A Joke, A Smile evokes
The Sands of Time Pass in Review
Spring Comes to the Land and the Soul
A Traveler's Guide down Misty Trails
The Bright Hour of Hope has Dawned
The Marvelous OverHaul of the Heart
An Open Door that can not be Close
A Pet's guide for Master Training
Transplanting Flowers
Spring's Restoration of Life Holiday
The Highway of Life
A Pure Heart's Playful Journey
The Sweet Victory of Gentleness
Its a Brand new day
The Flickering Flame of Life
The Caring Hands of Jehovah
The Harmonious Battle
The Senescent Frame
Nature's Conductor
The Elusive Answer
The Fleeting Moments of Dawn
The Ancient Celestial Guide
Begin each Day Anew
In Memory of all brave souls
Cleaning the Clutter, Freedom's door
A Daydreamer's hope
The Hidden Secret of Success
The Fragile Nature of Ideas
A Labyrinth Transversed
The Day of the Bluebird
An Angel in the Shadows
The Rustic Rough-hewn Lawn
An Epitaph to a Bluebird
When Geese fly north in Winter
A Road in the Wilderness
It's Child's Play
The Quiltworks of Life
God bless your sleep
Needlework
Electrical Interruption
The Sounds of Summer
Progress from the Simpler Times
Preparing for the Journey
Babbage's Torment
Celebrating Liberty
Life's Intricate Balance
Memories of the Perpetual generations
The Shining Hour of Graduation
Good morning, Lord
The Taming of the Troubled Troll
The Dance of the Mid-summer fairies
A Bridge over Life's dark Canyons
Villainous Snail Closes Beach
The Passageway of Wheels
Fair Time Again
Left, right, on sand or sod
Life's Chronic Discomforts
The Treasure of a picture's memories
Growing Up is not Easy
The Dance of the Nonagenarian
The imperfection of the oral voice
The Camaraderie of the Saints
Old Horses never Die, They just Fade Away
Tubing on the Apple River
Serendipity's Grand Design
Monarch of the Past
How to love the Majesty
Out There is Reality
The Ballot Choice
Affirmation's Positive Influence
Locator Contraption
Best Construction
Disastrous Dressing
The First Day of Learning's Journey
Contentment's Fragile Nature

Celebrate the Equinox

Smoldering burn as sumacs turn
Claret to deep port at the roadside,
Maples flare, fall declare,
Scarlet tresses lightly blow-dried.
Fragrant smoke, arise!
Bright fires, visualized, or burning;
Spiral high in blue skies,
Churning, turning, yearning.

Golden fields display their yields,
Pumpkin's orange color glowing.
Candles bright gleam at night,
Celebrate the year of growing.
On, starlight games!
Nighttime in wonder steeping,
Campfires call, dancing flames,
Star-struck, moonbeam keeping.

Frosty morn, ripened corn,
Geese are flying in formation,
Harvest moon, bright stars strewn
Attend this span of life's pulsation.
Chant, evening bird.
Voice the season's soft goodbye;
Echo, music, barely heard,
Tinkling, sprinkling the sky.

Fly Away

The soft blue-gray, buff-tinged fledglings
On our birdbath bring delight each day,
Time passes and they show their bluebird brilliance;
Seems to happen just before they fly away.

Monarchs complete their cycle on the milkweed,
God bids them their dazzling hues display;
Caterpillars and chrysalis forgotten;
Happens just before they fly away.

The leaves but lacy buds in springtime
Grow full in summer, rustle, flap, and sway.
They cling 'til fall, grow bright, delight the eyes,
More vivid just before they fly away.

The spirit of the one enriched by years,
Whose once-vibrant presence cannot stay,
May glow with God-given love and wisdom
Before the moment comes to fly away.

Each season brings its gifts of sight and feeling,
A time to work, a time to laugh and play.
Savor each one while it is present,
Value it, then let it fly away.

Hands

"Busy hands are happy hands,"
My mother used to say.
What a gift are any hands
To hold, to work or play.

It's when you put you hand in mine
I appreciate them best.
It's strength and warmth that they convey;
Mine there can safely nest.

Together, hands can build and do,
Provide, shield, patty-cake
With tots and also peek-a-boo,
Massage to soothe an ache.

Do surgery or sew a seam,
Paint a masterpiece,
Catch and throw and climb and swim;
God's wonders never cease.

Of muscles, sinews, bones and skin,
They are marvels in design;
I appreciate them best
When your hand is holding mine.

Destination

Little one with luminous, expressive eyes,
I think about you destined for the veil
Will a law of bondage tyrannize,
The captivity of customs then prevail?

No longer limited to desert climes,
Into new cultures you become a part.
Will you hold to mores of ancient times
Or grasp the light of liberty onto your heart?

Or, as you blend in, raise families and live,
Will my grandchildren lean toward the veil?
In a land where many nations flavor give,
We who love freedom pray it will prevail.

That, possessing liberties that we hold dear
You'll skip openly in freedom's light,
And my grandchildren, also, free of fear,
Together will dismiss repression's night.

As years go by, may you, too, give your voice;
May you share in the liberty we prize.
And in a better world for all rejoice,
Little one with luminous, expressive eyes.

Day at a Time

I've settled everything from yesterday;
However it turns out is up for grabs.
I'm ready now to live this day today
And leave tomorrow for what a new day has

Unless, sneaky, plans start to take hold.
Results leave with the One Who understands.
Just live not to mess up what can unfold;
I think I can by sitting on my hands.

Conversation

I pictured it with Christmas lights,
the scene that I held dear
and wanted to convey in words
the beauty and the cheer.

To reminisce of unique things,
the plans put underway,
the song and camaraderie
the site invokes today.

You share, open your thoughts to me
about past trials and deeds
and, recollecting vividly,
each thought to more thoughts leads.

The time grows short, still more to tell,
some thoughts, then, put on hold.
You notice that I want to share
the things I haven't told.

We both have words to share our thoughts
Eager to make them real'
Ideas and scenarios,
What pleasure to reveal.

It's hard to see what happens when
the thoughts don't intermix.
Attention to dear thoughts is lost,
conundrum, sticky fix.

We both treasure the other's thoughts;
how to make reason or rhyme
of two chatty dispositions,
seeking equal time.

Read The Instructions 'First'

Averse to reading guidelines,
I launch on my pursuit,
assembling will be just fine,
A 'piece of cake', 'duck soup'.

Every step, hopeful at first,
challenges ingenuity.
It may be difficult at worst,
but not a match for me.

"Experience the best teacher is".
I've read it all my life.
The outcome, mine, of trying this
is growing inner strife.

Reluctance gone, I start to read
step-at-a-time sustained
Although against my self-will need,
accomplishment is gained.

In order, assembly then takes place.
It works; just take a look.
I really isn't a disgrace
to read the crazy book

Old Glory

Through trials and gains, she's been held high,
Lifting hearts through blood and tears.
She's greeted many a tired eye,
Waving, valiant through the years.

Red, white and blue, with hand on heart,
We speak allegiance sure,
Grateful for those who've done their part
Our freedom to ensure.

We stand protected, free today,
Our homes and those we love,
Secure to grow and learn and pray;
The symbol flies above

At cradle side or battlefield,
She speaks of victories won.
So let her wave in loyalty sealed,
Billowing in the sun.

Lift or Drag

In later life, the ball and chain
Can seem such scary things,
Especially for guys and gals
Averse to clipping wings.

Companionship can be a draw,
Attractive person too,
Though holding back be equal
To wanting what is new.

The comfort of a loving arm,
A smile so special too
May break down the resistance,
Seeing 'we' in 'me and you'.

Whether feet are cold or dragging,
Holding each one back,
Sometimes love provides the wings
To overcome the lack.

Though rare, it well may happen;
One can receive the gift
Of love in later life if 'drag'
Is outstripped by the 'lift'.

Interloper

With breathless wonder, I open sleepy eyes;
the flaming maple is shrouded misty white.
Asters and mums stand stiff in shocked surprise;
pines, snow-bent, in still submission, greet the light.

Sumac strive to show their red along the path;
milkweed stems sport pods of pale whipped cream.
Deer tracks are black midst snowfall's aftermath;
rivulets in car tracks catch the sun's soft gleam.

Drooping yellow willows weep frozen tears
standing over grass all bent and frosted white.
The flame and gold of autumn disappears;
winter, early, masquerades triumphant fight.

But, look! The sunbeams still some fervor hold
bright leaves' recovery we're hard put to believe.
What a welcome break in the too-early cold.
brief victory, Indian Summer's warm reprieve.

Skipping Steps

Come on, we can take 'em,
Two at a time.
Tomorrow we may make
A more leisurely climb.

But, while spring's in the air,
And we're bursting with pep,
It won't hurt a thing
To just skip a step.

Should time find us weary,
Unable to climb.
Still today we can take 'em,
Two at a time.

Furry Battle

They're sitting in my trees looking too wise,
Their little furry heads in a whirl.
Trying to outsmart them, still I surmise
There's another trick in each squirrel.

It started when the bird feeders were hung,
Inviting our dear feathered neighbors
And saw that the furry ones, many, far-flung
Could make a big laugh of our labors.

Out of the woods, they came subtly scrambling,
Their numbers increasing each day.
On each of my new defenses I'm gambling
I can thwart their ingenious way.

They would empty the feeders before birds arrived;
I got one that was squirrel proof instead.
The weight of the squirrel would pull down the sides;
Covering feed holes; now birds would be fed.

They made naught of my efforts when in a tree hung
From a bracket, holding it out.
They could get a bite if with four paws they clung
To the tree and reach in with their mouth.

We put up and with smooth duct pipe surrounded
A new and formidable post.
Now it was hoped their attempts were confounded,
Defeating the vast, furry host.

When moved to the post where I now hoped the best,
From the birdbath, they leaped on with ease,
While I gritted my teeth over each little pest;
Their extermination would please.

Now the birdbath is moved a good distance away,
And I gloat with victorious glee
As they leap to the post, slide down all the way,
And go back to their homes in the trees.

So they just sit there, looking too wise,
Their little squirrel heads all a-whirl.
I'm keeping one step ahead, but surmise,
They're recruiting a smart flying squirrel.

Jay-walking

She was lovely, her form, her hair, her cheek,
Glowing in the sudden beam of my head light;
I saw her too few terrifying feet away,
Nonchalantly jaywalking in the night.

I don't know how she made her way across;
A wrench of panic within my heart rose.
For only an instant she was visible,
As I moved by her, perilously close.

The intersection lights
And approaching cars' bright glare
Made the black street in the center of the block
Virtual camouflage as she walked there.

Young lady, please acknowledge clear, bright lines,
Painted to protect all walkers such as you.
The law dictates with force that we stop there,
So, with confidence, you can pass safely through.

In dreams, I relived that panic one more time;
Not seeing you escape, this time, without a mark,
But your lovely form shattered in a crash.
Please, Dear, don't go jay-walking in the dark.

Miffed

When I shared what I thought was wit,
I was a little miffed.
Though I saw clarity in it,
You didn't catch the drift.

Your humor is such fun for me,
So I know it is your thing.
Inattention seems to have
Muted its intended ring.

There always is a lesson
In my feelings of chagrin;
I'll give my best attention
When you're sharing wit, again.

Confined Watcher

Sunrise, what you bring to light,
As you touch bare limbs and grasses
And fluff of goldenrod, now white,
Under screen of brush, what passes?

A movement there, what do I see
Among low brush, it weaves.
Then I see them, one, two, three,
Turkey hens scratch in the leaves,

Then more, and then the bearded Tom,
Light touching bronze wing"s edge.
All this revealed in morning"s calm,
Through nature"s lacy hedge.

A flap of wings and necks all craned,
They turn and gaze with ease,
Look, from foraging detained,
From outside, each turkey sees.

They contemplate the denizen,
Behind the window"s "jail"
And think with haughty confidence,
"How unprepared and frail,

You humans with no feathers warm
Must cover up with raiment
Or stay inside, avoid the storm,
And for fuel make the payment."

Spent goldenrods wave lazily;
The entourage moves on.
Tomorrow"s sun will hazily
See them elsewhere at dawn.

Upon the fence, beyond the brush,
How spryly squirrels play tag.
Tails flipping sassily, they rush:
A merry zig and zag.

Squirrels no worry ever heed,
No thought of clothes or shelter.
God providing for each need,
They frolic helter-skelter.

Bird or beast without a care
Live life free and cheerier,
While you and I plan and prepare,
They think our way inferior.

Quirky Blessing

He gives beauty for ashes
When turmoil clouds my day;
When desire with intent clashes,
He shows a better way.

When morning's faced with fear and doubt,
Dark as a thunder clap,
In a quirky way, there's a way out:
A pesky mouse caught in my trap.

Not always what I would suppose,
Brings comfort to my house;
The unthinkable thing that arose,
In my new home, a mouse.

While seeking for a remedy,
Other doubts of life increase.
Who would think the comedy
Of this solution would bring peace?

Beauty for ashes is so good,
Easing angst within my house.
God of humor and compassion would
Bless me with a dead mouse.

Unlisted

You're enumerating actions
That should take place today,
Adding with exaction,
A neat, complete array.

So you will not miss a beat
As you use up the time,
When crossing-off shows you complete
Each task, t'will be sublime.

Though consideration may not be
Given to interruption,
Just, to your list, take a look-see;
Ignore the darned disruption.

When list remains at day's end,
With many items still,
Try to philosophize, my friend;
Tomorrow's time it will fill.

Should you lose heart, remember this,
Before you should surrender;
Real organization you may miss
Or be a time miss-spender.

If you toss the list away,
Its rule no more insisted,
It might be whimsical to say,
"You have become unlisted."

Exercise

He sized me up, incredulous,
Suspicion in his eyes,
Too young to speak, watched quizzically,
Grandma's exercise.

This one's good for the neck my dear,
And this one's for the face.
This one makes the tummy flat,
And helps us move with grace.

Would you believe, that little lad,
Who makes me feel so proud,
Would witness Grandma's exercise,
And giggle right out loud?

Rising to the challenge

Start out your day all wild and chaotic;
it can only get better.
More effective than an antibiotic
is a big knee-slapping laugh-getter.

The disorder will not only decrease,
but improve by the extreme comparison,
and, though you progress may suddenly cease,
it doesn't have to be embarrassin'.

Though wacky and slapstick and all fairly futile,
and productive chances seem slim,
to explain a day that's turning out brutal,
don't give it a thought, just blame Jim.

Fond Travel

Some may choose to board a plane;

Others journey on a train,

Each one determined, sun or rain,

To go his chosen way

Some load up their suv's,

Make room for their families,

Drive on highways apt to freeze,

To travel, come what may.

From the sunny south to north,

From cities to the farms go forth,

To mountain homes or seaside ports,

The price they gladly pay.

Maybe see friends from the past,

Strengthen bonds that long will last,

Reminisce shared things, held fast,

They used to do and say

Through the woods and scenes of old,

Destinations treasures hold.

Into loving arms they'll fold,

Dear ones, too short the stay.

A friend or sibling hard to face

May slow us going to their place.

The season's here to have the grace

And mend the breach today.

The time has come to gladly start

Prepared affection to impart,

Stirring up each thankful heart

For blessings sent their way.

The gathering with gratitude,

Relationships affirmed, renewed,

Enjoying lots of luscious food,

When it's Thanksgiving Day.

Some will say, Y'all come back,"

Hide tears as others hit the track

The gathering filling many a lack,

Bless the farewell highway.

Some think twice, when they're alone,

Of loving seeds that were not sown.

I'd suggest, "Pick up the phone."

Affirm Thanksgiving Day.

Pesky

The mouse is alive; oh, yes, it's alive!
Now, what shall I ever do?
The fear that occurs, will I ever survive;
Could be that I'll learn something new.

It's not as frightening as I thought;
it's run by electric impulse.
It's doing its work just as it ought,
and does not make me convulse.

It enables me to convey to my friend
The thoughts which I bring to my mind.
And, so, little mouse, it isn't the end,
You're useful for me to find.

You're helping me get to the right place,
So that I can now type this poem.
Although I really can't see his face,
It's by his neat thoughts that I know him.
Wow!

Sonnet

My friend, who's both dear and fantastic,
incorporates rhymes with his thought.
Even more than I thought, how elastic,
the bounds of what can be wrought.

Though leaving the form universal,
where rhyme doesn't matter a whit,
he well may expand the dispersal,
of that from which new hope is knit.

The sunshine brought forth that is present,
may in a new form shed its light;
with new energy grow effervescent,
thereby further banishing night.

So, new thought and new effort combine,
to accomplish deeds kind and divine.

A Good Laugh

It's laughter comes to pick you up,
And not to let you down;
It perks with kindness in the cup,
Gives ease to any frown.

It takes the edge from weariness;
Our sadness runs and hides,
While the giggles make, with helplessness,
Us shake and hold our sides.

The kind of laughter tickles you,
Never leaves a sour taste,
Because of kindness that comes through,
Troubles are better faced.

Reading

He sat inconspicuously across the highway,
In his unadorned official automobile.
I briefly wondered why he chose to park there,
As I waited patiently behind the wheel.

The intersection was covered with frozen mud,
From long weeks of road construction, rough.
I edged into the familiar lane to enter,
As a space in traffic opened up enough.

I cautiously drove out onto the highway,
Looking carefully both to left and to the right,
When in my rearview mirror I saw with horror,
Coming behind, a frightful, flashing light.

I pulled over to the shoulder, no other choice,
Though my mind raced wildly, "Whatever can this be?"
The officer sternly stepped up to my window,
My driver's license he then asked to see.

I said, "What can it possibly be that's wrong?"
He pointedly asked, "Did you read that sign?"
I asked, unbelieving, "What sign could it be?
You see, I drive here all the time."

My small son and small daughter rode beside me,
Both in the attentive, early reader phase,
When all that was new was an adventurous challenge;
This was one of their achievement days.

Their faces glowed with unfolding mastery,
And their eyes sparkled with an eager shine
As they vied to be the first to say,
"Right back there, the 'do not enter" sign."

I felt the misery pulling at my face,
Asking, "Isn't there some other way,
Just to overlook this one mistake,
If the sign's only been there just one day?"

"Well, you see, Ma'am, now the law is the law."
He spoke the words with firm authority..
As he stood up taller, my hopes of a reprieve
Were absolutely nil, that I could see.

As he went to his car to write the ticket,
I wretchedly remarked in grim dismay,
"This is certainly all we need with Christmas
Such a very short, short time away."

A fine like this was sure to cost a lot.
I wracked my brain, what corners could we trim
And still have a reasonably cheery holiday?
It was sure to make the season slim.

I paid the fine; his arbitrary pound of flesh
Was sadly and grudgingly dispersed.
Had it not been for kind and loving words,
The incident would have seemed even worse.

Well, who do you suppose it was who offered hugs
And spoke to me with words of comfort sweet?
Those very same lips that said the unexpected words
I recently had found so indiscreet.

"Don't worry, Mommy, it will be all right;
We've saved our pennies and our nickels and our dimes.
And you can have them all, so we can still have
A very nice and happy Christmas time."

They didn't ever have to spend their savings,
And I don't know just what it was we missed,
But we were warmed to see how things can work out,
Partly helped by Grandmas' and Grandpas' Christmas lists.

So, just pack it away with all the Christmas trimmings,
And take the story out again next year.
What once was grimly humorous exasperation,
time and love have made immensely dear.

The Solution

The sleet and snow could be coming;
they say one hundred per cent.
Tomorrow, you know, is Thanksgiving,
and travel, snow could prevent.

Those gathering will be anxious,
to know their dear ones can be near,
and would struggle not to be thankless,
if loved ones cannot appear.

Mayhap, some could drive a day previous,
so obstacles won't stop the visit.
Through planning creative and devious,
they could enjoy a gathering exquisite.

So, thinking ahead, implementing,
and putting activities in order,
could defeat the day's bad portending,
fellowship undeterred by a border.

Morning Music

I marveled at the moving chords,
I skipped upon the melody;
How I could ever find the words,
or grasp it for the life of me?

It buzzed and thumped inside my head,
and sang and sailed within my soul,
what was so clear when in by bed,
eludes me though I coax, cajole.

And so I meditate and search,
the threads of memories or dreams,
An air once heard on street or church,
or was it dancing on moon beams?

I'll take the beat, the marvelous chords,
and act on them while there's the chance;
though I can't grasp the tune or words,
I'll rise and skip and twirl and dance

Morning Stars

When morning was an unmarked slate,
And life a map uncharted by the past,
I walked the dim-lit street of almost dawn,
and watched the lingering stars that faded last.

To my wonder, I saw a star blink out,
Another, then each one, snuffed out in turn;
the unmarked paths within my heart grew bright,
A lighter footstep marked my walk's return.

Today I walked again at early dawn,
and glimpsed the solitary morning star.
Whimsically, I thought, "I'll see if I can see,
the moment it blinks out in skies so far."

The groves of trees and those that lined the road,
stood before the star to block my view;
I hurried, then slowed down, walked backward,
more chance of seeing when it blinked adieu.

I dodged and then I rushed to miss the trees
and moved ahead into an open space.
There, I spotted it above again.
It may wink out at this very place.

My watch moved forward, time to go;
The star still lingered, obstinate.
I passed an interfering clump of trees;
I missed its passing; now I blinked too late.

When morning was an unmarked slate,
and life a map uncharted by the past,
a sign was needed in the almost-dawn,
not so much now, my way more clear at last.

Not a Victim

To accept today the things that are,
And in the light of this what I can do,
When I turn efforts to what I find real,
There's hope I can assess and see it through.

If I see the day all beaten and resigned
To what reality reveals to me,
How can I rise up and face the challenge,
Not seeing how a thing desired can be?

God give me grace to see reality,
Not as a victim of the circumstance,
To accept and grasp the possibility,
A place to gather strength or to advance.

Ode to My Mechanic

The starter's sluggish; oil is low.
The AC's getting warmer.
We need a help to make it go
and be a good performer.

He has a name that we revere,
when the vehicle in his hands
returns to the shape that we hold dear,
responding to our commands.

He makes my car dependable,
prevents my feeling panic.
No way is he expendable;
hurray for my mechanic!

I Haven't Arrived

I haven't arrived;
That's fine,

So I still can grow,
Find new hills to climb
See some struggle I've been trying
Succeed, realign,

Be something different
Than I ever thought,
See new meaning to something
I have been taught.

I'll see pain I have suffered
Make me stronger or see
A much different purpose
Than I thought there could be.

I haven't arrived,
And I never will,
But feeling myself closer
Makes me try the hill.

Then, when I backslide
Or take the wrong road,
Feel confusion and trouble,
Can't take the load.

There's help, may be unseen,
Waiting for me.
A little song, smile or flowers
On the way I can see.

So I can keep growing
From each lesson derived,
And find something better;
I haven't arrived.

Result Maker

We may know a dreamer,
A small, futile schemer,
Unable to make dreams come true.
But do you know who can
Perfect the plan,
And give this one dreams that are new?

We know, yes we know,
But one must let go
To see what that vision should be,
Then to walk hand in hand
With the One who has planned
Surprises each new day to see.

Pith and Brevity

The beautiful thoughts, insightful and true,
Solutions for problems facing mankind
Are found, like a gem, precious and new,
But , sadly, blocked ears often find.

Could it be appetites, dulled by work-a-day grind,
Can't embrace the change they would bring?
Or a fact overload, too much noise for the mind,
That reception takes a downswing?

Interest seems to wane with each repetition,
And zealousness renders apathy worse.
If ever there's hope to change that condition,
NOTE: repeats to attention = ratio inverse.

With limited exposure, curiosity tempted,
Bait tuned to the listeners' passion,
If their question asked, it may not be exempted,
Received , at least, in an accepting fashion?

Without plethora of peripheral data,
The target of ideas direct,
The listener, if not now, may reflect later
And with our ideas connect.

The bait may be key, elusive and subtle,
Explanation sparse, recounting, too, rare,
That won't engender turn-off or rebuttal,
But leave space to take in value there.

These ideas brought forth, both caring and humble,
Maybe aid for the day from the blue,
If on some helpful truth I may stumble,
I submit it, respectful, to you.

Unexpected Mirror

I looked at those around me,
Thought to see them clearer,
It began to astound me;
What I saw was a mirror.

The self-based, fear-based attitude
That made them miss the goal,
Seen with reluctant gratitude,
Was found, too, in my soul.

The bent to criticism
I hold in such disfavor,
Disguised in witticism,
My speech was found to flavor.

I look at those around me;
I find life a whole lot clearer.
As teachers they astound me,
Like looking in a mirror.

There's a Teacher who's far greater,
Taking what comes to light,
The loving, kind Creator,
Bringing love and growth, new sight.

Christmas Across the Years

The spirit of the Christmas past is in my heart tonight;
The holidays before join with the ones at hand,
A kaleidoscope of longing, of color and delight,
Hearts thankful for the Savior, joyous plenty planned.

Mama would tell how we were on Christmases before,
When we were little ones with eyes aglow,
'Til we weren't sure what we recalled and what was Christmas lore.
We celebrate the now, hold dear the long ago.

The winter held night vigils over many farm concerns,
Crop drying, carefully keeping even heat,
With Mama and Daddy on watch, wakefully taking turns,
While she did her magic-silk, wool, in pleats.

And her needlework 'made-over' jackets of blue plaid,
Nights passed slowly, and Christmas rolled around.
And packages and candles, a feast abundant made,
With happy folks the party would abound.

Today, the joyous season still holds all the charm,
Although it may be clothed with different trappings.
Not every family has daily chores done on the farm,
But we still prepare for glad surprise unwrappings.

It's still a time with thanks to share a meaning deep,
Among the merriment that we so treasure,
How the most precious gift came at the time of sleep,
With saving grace, free spirits without measure.

The Christmas tree, now, as then, twinkles merrily,
And gifts a bit more modern take their place..
Sleighs now are replaced by plane and SUV.
But loved-ones still are joining to say grace.

The anticipated joy of family Christmas,
Meeting with dear ones around the bright-lit tree,
The marvelous gifts of Heaven and home are with us,
A season of great joy for you and me.

Mom Helen

She didn't change our diapers
Or feed us baby food,
Or sign on our report cards
That said if we were good.

She didn't patch our skinned knees
Or send us off to proms.
She came to our life later
Than you might think of moms.

She'd been busy teaching young folks
Of the many skills she had.
Then she came into our family
And made a home for Dad.

She was grandma to our babies,
A helpmeet on the farm,
Working side-by-side with Dad
And keeping home fires warm..

Bustling around at Christmas,
She set spreads fit for kings,
After she'd helped milk and feed
And other farm chore things.

How our many children
Enjoyed her cordial ways,
Good-natured, down-to-earth,
She rates our well-earned praise.

Now, her journey's changed,
With the Father high above.
She's given of her best while here.
We say goodbye with love.

How Much Our Interest Means

They'll only care how much we know,
When they know how much we care.
In our acceptance, much will show,
Of the love in what we share.

Little kids say, " I know that."
They want to be acknowledged;
An arm around one, loving pat,
Mean more than years of college.

Listening, more than many words,
Grants meaning shared in facts.
Strange how they're much better heard,
Words outweighed by our acts.

To help, affirm, advise a friend,
Can we hope to give a lift?
When words with validation blend,
Encouragement is a gift.

Give thought to their opinion;
Others, too, unsureness bear.
Surprise, they may even listen,
When we show how much we care.

Magi as I See Them

Where does one start to name the ways
Giving hearts choose to show their love?
So poignant at the holidays
When the greatest Gift came from above.
Fine objects, reverently placed,
Given to Jesus, concrete praise.
The Magi

She hurries to cover every source,
Bring the possibility to pass,
Another chance for the one she loves,
Hope, much-postponed, renewed at last.
And, so she counts what she has saved,
Glad for the corners she has shaved.
The Magi

Preparing for the coming home,
Loved children for vacation
Push to complete long-held plans,
Midnight oil, firm concentration
Hoping they'll be gladly blessed
With efforts toward completion pressed.
The Magi

With burning of the midnight oil,
He makes a photo/sound array.
Through the result of skillful toil,
They may recall the special day.
To thrill the hearts of ones she holds
In high esteem, the gift unfolds.
The Magi

And she recalls a special time,
With over months, resources gleaned,
To celebrate a long life shared
Visual reminiscence seen,
And saw it with friends near and far
To relish things that were and are.
The Magi

She places a special Christmas scene,
Lovingly brought out each year,
Lavish expending of tiny means
Brought to parents teary-cheer.
Used what they tried to extend,
So she could have a bit to spend.
The Magi

And, so it is at Christmas time
Our hearts fill up with misty joy
As foolish efforts, though sublime,
Cut through appearance's alloy.
And love, received and kindly given
Gives us just a glimpse of Heaven.
The Magi.

Two Thousand Eleven

I'll just call it Twenty-Eleven;
you may say two, oh, one, one.
Let's hope yours is a bit like Heaven.

Happiness you're wished times seven,
less of pain and more of sun.
I'll just call it Twenty-Eleven.

Cheers may have been enough to deafen,
but welcoming the year was fun.
I hope yours is a bit like Heaven.

With bowl games on now with good reffin',
some moved forward, some are done.
I'll just call it Twenty-Eleven.

Tomorrow, they'll leave for school at seven;
Seemed Christmas break had just begun.
Hope yours was a bit like Heaven.

May good fortune grow like dough with leaven,
your life's battles bravely won.
While you spread a little Heaven,
Have a great Twenty-Eleven.

Villanelle about History

You're speaking of icons of fame;
I would not like you just like them.
The losers get the worsest name.

To tell of bad outcomes you came,
The history facts reveal no gem;
You're speaking of icons of fame.

The tales of tyrants would seem tame
With devious ways they victims hem,
The losers get the worsest name.

They did all to impress some dame
Or else some other fatale femme.
You're speaking of icons of fame.

The heroes of the past seem lame,
Like some Republican or Dem.
The losers get the worsest name.

And, so I think that it's a frame
That all the wrong is blamed on them.
The losers get the worsest name;
You're speaking of icons of fame.

Dreaming With Daddy

How Daddy laughed when his little girl
Sang "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend."
On her skinny little legs, she'd whirl,
Skipping lightly as she played pretend.

Time passed, and she knew it wasn't gems
Or wealth that her heart desired,
But to have as love her own best friend,
Her dreams and her hopes aspired.

"Daddy," she said, "If I want what's best,
Don't let greed and glitter hold sway,
Don't you think that love would stand the test,
In December as well as in May?"

He smiled as he ruffled her yellow mane,
"The future isn't always that clear;
Listen to your heart, but use your brain.
Be attentive God's message to hear."

Life with its bumps, as well as bright stars,
Does test truth and stamina too,
As we look at our laurels and scars,
We learn more of what really is true.

Though our desire may be for what's best,
Life promises us no guarantee.
Our Creator holds us in each test,
As we trust Him for what should be.

God said, "If you will first seek me,
All these things to you I will add."
He may open our eyes to see
An error in view we have had.

Whether for goods, for health, or friends,
It just isn't our sovereign right,
New priorities our course may amend.
New vistas may the come in sight.

" Daddy,"she sings, life moves along,
And jewels and friends take their role.
Nice that he smiled while she sang her song,
"Daddy, thanks for hearing my goal."

Waiting in the Intensive Care Unit

We wait:
The heart, the bones,
The chart, chime tones,
Some agitation and frustration,
Awaiting expert information.

When comfort brought,
With tension fraught,
As consciousness
Delays, and stress
Hovers; relieve pain:
See life again?

We wait
While forces vie
To lose, to gain,
Still, powerless, lie.
Hours long, emotions hard,
Willing to some change perceive
Acceptance of delaying word.
Projections form; improvement? Grief?

Hours early, selves preparing,
Weariness at hours late,
Drawing close, concern and caring,
So we wait.

Over all, a Power great
Sees and knows and ever cares,
While hoping, trusting at His gate,
He says, "I'm with you everywhere,
And love you while you wait."

Driving East in the Morning

A pale thread creeps along the skyline,
faint plumes of sheer light promising the day,
set out for the required destination,
dim light, I almost pray for a delay.

Pink and gold streaks, gently breaking dawn,
a promise, threat, if you must face the glare,
anticipated light, as it comes softly on,
how to face the brilliance to be there?

Sky lovely with pre-dawn fading stars,
the moon prepares to bid the night adieu.
Will sunglasses be equal to the glare,
when the sun's bold force emerges into view?

Glistening dew and brightening hue,
almost unnoticed amid apprehension,
begin then I must, try, trust and do,
and carry out what was my planned intention.

Go forward as the first beams play on haze,
"Oh, little clouds could you just briefly cover",
until I reach a turn, avoid direct bright rays,
or even until my morning trip is over.

A ridge, an angle of the road's ascent,
a fence row of trees provides a break,
between my shielded vision, hesitant,
and the emerging brilliance about to wake,

Now grateful for the easing of eye strain,
the miles behind me with so little angst,
the beauty of unfolding sky, brightening terrain,
turn the reluctant travel mode to thanks.

Why dread? This trip is quite routine,
this traveler, though accustomed, feeling tense,
the sky in panoramic glory seen,
and blessed with heaven sent magnificence.

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The battle of the ruffles

Snowflakes fall,
snowdrifts rise,
Lightness or pall,
accents the skies.

Traffic goes by,
Broad clear streets,
banks piled high,
like ruffles and pleats.

Shovels scuffle,
blowers send clouds,
reducing the ruffle,
enabling crowds.

by one or two,
to negotiate
the open way through,
and for the light wait.

Through mini canyons,
from sidewalk to street,
joining companions,
to bus or car meet.

Sweating and muscles
give evidence,
breakthrough of the ruffle
that obstructing fence.

Sit back and take rest;
the block neat and clean.
Snow falling, Oh no!
The snowplow again.

Snowflakes fall;
snowdrifts rise.
snow plowed up tall;
see that ruffle rise.

Like fanciful laces,
all rippled and bowed,
the ruffle now graces
the edge of the road

Diamonds of the North

Radiant ice, the diamonds of the north,
Exquisite, decorating twig and limb.
Frost crystals on dainty pixie feet march forth,
And leave their sparkling path at each capricious whim.

A macro star-rare this far south-across the sky,
Wavers, fades, and plays in sheer translucent shift,
Hinting at the glorious spectacle on high,
The aurora borealis lends its heavenly gift.

Oh, show us brilliant sun, who welcomes day
Like a glowing tapestry displayed by fingers deft,
Project every hue of spectrum in each ray,
The beauty of the gems the night has left.

It Just Slipped My Mind

The thought, the word, just flitted off, was lost.
In frustration, I try vainly to retrieve.
Are these particular words worth the cost?
Spend time? Could others serve as well? Why grieve?

Can we blame it on each passing year,
making the desired word remote, elusive?
Just when it's time to make an item clear,
Forgetfulness makes itself intrusive.

When the chance of bringing back the word is slim,
Relax ,some other word may mean the same,
substitute a familiar synonym.
Nice if that could work, too, with a name.

February Fooling Us

So, winter's winding down; we watch for signs.
Sun's rays warm the inside of the car.
Days a little longer, exchanged valentines,
Seed catalogs comprise our repertoire.

We begin to watch for robins, budding tree,
For spring, become as merry as a clown.
Anticipation trumps reality
As we imagine winter winding down.

The temperatures have dropped to record lows,
And heating fuel is gobbled in our town.
The warm-up forecast includes heavy snows,
It's remotely we see winter winding down.

We'll sit here by the fire with our valentine
And think how we don't have to mow the lawn.
Until spring's sun decides on us to shine,
We won't care if winter's hanging on.

Blessings for the day

Well, my dear friend, bless your heart;
May the new day bring wonder
In all the Father would impart,
Breaking gloom asunder.

May bright rays of hope spring forth,
That each effort.undertaken
May in His kingdom show its worth,
Direction seen unshaken.

Laughter bubble up within your heart,
Good results come like a tonic.
May the pace you set be part
Of results, fulfilled, harmonic.

That no sense of pressure, time's demand,
But goal and purpose blend,
On all that passes through your hand,
Bless your heart, my dear friend.

It's a Matter of Spelling

An explosive device is called a bomb;
A bombe is a dessert so sweet.
While one disturbs the peace and calm,
The other bids you, "Come, share, eat."

One, by hand with gauntlet gloved.
Threatens to oust the enemy.
The other, entreating the one loved,
Served with style by the maitre de

The bombe may accidentally tempt
The very one you see with fear.
The bomb may drive away, exempt
The one that you tend to hold dear.

In any case it's best discern,
Would you want to disturb the calm?
So think, when you "spell" out this turn,
Have you dropped a bomb or " bombe" ?

The Light of inspiration

Piercing,
A shaft of sunbeam through the morning mists,
An idea in the midst of rambling turmoil,
A clear direction in the swamp of notes and lists,
An indication of an outcome of my toil.

Piercing,
The call of a lone bird among the choirs,
Of singing frogs, rustling of reeds and ripple sounds,
The point of reference my path requires,
That clarifies, halts me, turns me around.

Piercing,
The sudden realization that an error is there,
The imperative to find a way to make it right,
The little spark that grows, new ways to bare,
bringing to a too long darkened place new light.

Piercing,
The Word that separates the truth from errors,
That brings the possibility of life to light,
And, instead of condemnation shares,
The power to make the wrong or chaos right.

A Possible "Snownario"

The snow advisory upset the day;
Plans were underway for something fun.
Forecasters' revised report wiped plans away;
A day ahead, predicted snow instead of sun.

A mood devoid of hope then followed this;
Anticipation was with uselessness replaced.
Nothing could measure up to what they'd miss.
The pleasure of the planning was erased.

A drive on slippery roads was seen forbidding,
And staying in seemed disappointing, drab.
The choice between the tense steering and skidding,
And 'suck it up' and don't act like a crab.

Too bad we hadn't thought to get the sled out,
To waste the lovely snow seems like a shame.
But we never thought to rise and get the lead out,
And missed out on enjoying snow that came.

Paradigm Shift

I sat in doubt at 'slow' or 'stop',
Others kindled by a rally.
They seemed to be on mountain top;
Was I unmoved in my valley?

I saw big reactions, mighty sweep,
With emotions blown away,
And moved to show great life and weep.
I was just trying to obey.

Alone, seeing that, from above,
His healing was for me,
I felt His kind, forgiving love,
A new way my life to see.

The Power that could let this be,
To both respond and do,
And faithfully, He touched me,
To follow my life through.

Then words I heard, and actions saw,
More than demand or letter,
When following, felt my heart thaw,
My motives change for better.

I wanted what I saw as light,
Wonderful responses viewing;
I began to see this guidance right,
Led to hearing and to doing.

When Progress is Lacking

When your "get up and go" gets up and goes,
Motivation not moved to momentum,
Tell the drag to go where the wind blows.
And lethargy back to who sent 'em.

When others comment on your lack of progress,
There's no need to explain your intent.
Lack of drive you don't need to confess:
"Get up and go" got up and went.

A Solution For Discord

The screech of chalk drawn down along a blackboard,
The shriek of tires on too sharp a turn,
Sarcastic words that lead us into discord,
Resistance causing circuitry to burn.

"Oh, help", I say, "these things are all displeasure."
Cacophony of irritants of life;
There must be for each one a better measure.
Can inner peace survive this outer strife?

We're wired this way, responding to sensations;
The plan for all embraces remedy.
In processes, attitudes, and our relations,
Learn the ways that lead to harmony.

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How Do I Empathize With Thee

Compassion shows
In many ways,
Besides a rose
On dreary days.

The clowning jest,
The shoulder nudge,
Sometimes, what's best:
Refuse to judge.

To just be there,
Instructions too,
Though nice if rare.
Opposed? What's new?

Supply a need
Timely repair,
Give special heed
And interests share.

A challenge thrown out
To heighten drive,
Divert from pout,
Urge grit alive.

To be received
Requires trust,
Intentions kind,
Believe a must.

With open eyes,
On trying days,
Cherish compassion's
Many ways.

Wisconsin Climate

Peaceful farm,
Rural charm,
Change in status brought alarm.

Factory,
Industry,
Production with prosperity,

Wills collide,
Take a side,
Opposition ranks deride.

Programs dear,
Losing, fear.
Alter while still keeping here?

Educate,
Compensate,
Resolve without promoting hate.

Bankruptcy,
Some foresee,
Debate the hoped-for remedy.

People's choice,
Giving voice,
Some protest and some rejoice.

Enforcement lax,
Fix with tax?
Finance programs on whose backs?

Clashing, bashing,
Trashing, gnashing,
Time now for some sane rehashing?

Some will pray,
Course will stay,
Most hope to resolve the fray.

Peaceful farm,
City charm,
May all be safe from hate's alarm.

Ozhmagronzer's Plight

A little tad once said to me,
"My friend's as fat as he can be."
Then I said, "You should not say that;
He doesn't like to be called fat."
"You don't say wide or even stout,
Or say that he has sure filled out."
For even from a little tad,
To be called fat can make him sad.

Well, he again brought up the fat,
Said "No one is as fat as that."
And, so to prove that wasn't right,
I told of Ozhmagronzer's plight.
You've heard of 'getting the big head';
He got big just this way instead.

Although I think his name was Fred,
In a haughty voice he said,
"Fred's too common; it's too plain.
Ozhmagronzer is my name."
His life was fine in every way,
And what was not, he didn't say.
His house was fine; his yard was neat;
He didn't track mud on his feet.

So things appeared just as they should;
Mr. Ozhmagronzer sure looked good.
He talked about his membership,.
In exclusive clubs, famed names let slip.
Instead of friends, "I'm best." He said.
It seemed he had a larger head.
He talked of always being right,
And soon his clothes got very tight.

As time passed his size still increased;
He would not admit he wasn't pleased.
His friends began to be afraid
To ask him home; such fuss he made.
When they mentioned size, he'd shout,
"You're wrong; you're foolish; just stay out!"
But it made him very sad;
His good things could not make him glad

Soon, he could not get out the door,
And still he puffed up more and more.
Through windows he began to swell.
He was so large, not feeling well.
It didn't seem he ate a lot;
He'd have to figure out just what
Made him like this; he had to think,
So crowded that he could not blink

A sudden thought came to his mind;
"I'll do a new thing to be kind."
As he began such things to think,
He felt thrilled,. "I've begun to shrink"
Then he thought how it would be fun
To do things just to get them done
He noticed then he shrunk still more;
Could possibly squeeze through the door.

The thoughts came fast, and thinking through it,
To do things because it was fun just to do it.
It may look weird and may look strange,
To do a kindness for a change.
Is how it just looks worth an ounce?
No, it's the good it does that counts.
His size went down; he could unbend,
Then saw, "There's room here for a friend."

He'd find what that friend would enjoy,
To share with him, the girl or boy.
They might not care if he looked good,
If he was kind and understood.
Soon it was joy; it wasn't hard.
He'd feed the birds out in the yard.
His parents, too, were pleased as punch;
His size had not been caused by lunch.

It wasn't food nor fat, but pride,
Made Ozhmagronzer get so wide.
So, now we won't call people names,
Try to look best in stuff or games.
Besides all I've told, there is a quirk,
And that's just this, pride doesn't work.
So learn from Ozhmagronzer's ways;
It's doing good, not looks, that pays.

Kitty Cats

A teddy bear once entertained
A little kitty-cat,
He rattled playfully her chain,
Looking for laughs, not spat.

The teddy bear looked tough and strong,
All cuddly and warm.
The cat said "phfft, phfft, phfft,"so wrong.
Her hissing like a storm..

So then, the cuddly teddy bear,
Backed off and teased much less.
The little cat thought," I could swear.
I miss the playfulness."

The little cat knows better now,
That kindness is the aim ,
Of teddy bears who tease somehow,
A fun and flirty game.

So, entertain a teddy bear,
Understand his style.
A really cuddly teddy bear,
Just wants to make cats smile.

Planning for Flowers

Seed catalogs lie on the coffee table;
The thermometer outside says six below.
Those not of northern climes might doubt we're able,
"What kind of hope foresees it all will grow?"

Again, faith seasons bring continuation,
Though knowing we can live only today,
Our plans and preparations lay foundation,
And make possible to see results come May.

And, so let's dream and plan and labor,
Fall in with rhythm as the seasons turn,
Rubbing elbows with our friends and neighbors,
Day by day to live and grow and learn.

All right, we all depend upon God's power,
For anything to happen in man or soil,
To bring together each minute and hour,
And give lasting meaning to our toil.

We all desire progress and abundance,
And only through His providence, we can
Live out His will with the assurance,
That a future and a hope are in His plan.

A little rhyme of spring

I'll write for you a little rhyme of spring;
a villanelle will serve to tell it well,
of birds not ready to return or sing.

Oh, to the charms of winter do we cling,
when every other day schneeflochen fell?
Oh, yes, I'll write a little rhyme of spring.

Thoughts of spring house cleaning it can bring,
Of vacuum, mop, and paintbrush it may tell,
or birds not ready to return or sing.

Exciting thoughts of snow balls just take wing,
and, anyway, they weren't received too well.
So I'll keep writing fantasies of spring.

Soon we'll see old winter taken out as king,
and hear reported now how much rain fell.
And birds are ready to return and sing.

When I get charged up to go bicycling,
a villanelle will serve to tell it well.
Then to the picture, cheers I'll surely bring,
and, like the birds, I will rejoice and sing.

St. Patrick's Day

And, aye, 'tis good St. Patrick hailed
with the wearing of the green,
in city, farm, and hamlet,
signs of celebration seen.

Parades, the jig, the revelry,
and good old Irish stew,
if there's a trifle of excess,
it's with good will in view.

"Kiss me, I'm Irish," blazed on pins,
snakes, it's said, he dismissed,
with many pagan practices
included in that list.

A boy, kidnapped to slavery,
a hero of faith became.
Through wisdom, goodness, bravery,
he spread the good Lord's name.

With shillelagh, shamrock, leprechaun,
traditions are celebrated,
though not superstition, but Christian faith,
through his life he instated.

So, sparkling, sing an Irish air;
dance a jig if you've learned the art.
And hail the good St. Patrick;
wear green with a happy heart.

Memories of a distant past

It was just after World War II,
When things were still quite tight,
A dear family's day went all askew
When a car pulled into sight.

The local pastor seemed to come
At mealtime when he'd visit.
"He's a bachelor, "chuckled some,
Their answer to, "Why is it?"

This precious Midwest family
Would always welcome him,
For the meal if satisfactory,
A worry if too slim.

Well, groceries were used up this day,
Leftovers, even, meager.
Add a few spuds; make it okay,
Sparse lunch, but all were eager.

The steaming bit of food in bowls,
Time to set the table.
Into the driveway that car rolls;
To feed Pastor, they weren't able.

"Quick, the cupboard," Mother said;
Brother set away the food.
Father sat and shook his head;
Sister's giggles were subdued.

Pastor was cordially asked in,
Sat to visit, when in horror,
Mother saw steam from within
Curling out from the cupboard door.

They solemnly listened, attentive eyes,
Hoped the visit soon would end.
The message shared was compromised,
As for their lunch they yenned.

As he closed his book, picked up his hat,
Little sister piped a question.
More conversation? Oh, not that.
"How about later?" was Dad's suggestion.

The pastor was warmly bid, "Come back."
With smiles and wishes, they waved.
"Should we eat it cold, for all its lack,
Or just warm up what we've saved?"

Mother praised their self control,
Politeness to their guest.
Although scanty, on the whole,
Their dinner had been blessed.

Anticipating Smiles

The pale sun gently kisses snowy hills,
coaxing them to wake and greet the day.
Gradually the motivation fills
one not eager to be underway.

Smoke from a nearby chimney curls around.
Squirrels and chickadees vie for their meal,
Don't seem to care if winter gives no ground,
give no sign of impatience that I feel.

So, my heart wakes up, anticipating smiles,
like Gods creatures I can see and feel and hear.
It's a joy to know that across the miles,
this pale morning is shared by someone dear.

Uplifting Ideas

You send some words that make me smile,
told in a way that makes me laugh.
Your effort and engaging style
add joy and sever gloom in half.

It's more than gift; it's attitude
uplifting ideas to share.
And to my day bring something good,
makes bummer times a snap to bear.

The Pirates Versus Creatures of the Deep

It's a rollicking tale of the boisterous sea,
The kind of things very young folks like to see.
Though it came at a regular, commonplace time,
Cast with creatures of notable weirdness and slime.

We were stalking the silky, sailbearing slicks,
Who become flat and filmy, subtle, smart hiding tricks.
They would hide in this special ingenious style,
Slipping sideways sedately, not seen for a while

They were flanked by a flock of spiked spider fish,
With eight prickly pincers, they'd pinch what they wish
A scurrilous, skillful schemer, a scrog,
Tempted their pincers from under a log.

Wondrous woozles with wispy, willowy waists,
Were pasting the creatures together with pastes.
Eight awkward octopi, tentacles tangled,
A fright to the eye, left our minds all jangles.

Then well-behaved fish with no pinches or glue,
Found they were entrapped by these antics too.
The octopi winced, sharing their grief,
Avoiding the points of a bright coral reef.

The scene was enlivened by crayfish and eel,
Who wound in and out, however they'd feel
With rambunctious roiling, they stirred up the sea,
In a way seldom seen in polite company.

The pinching and pasting slowed up the hunt,
For the wily slicks; we were stuck for a stunt.
Then in this sticky and tangled up scene,
A band of pirates appeared, fast, greedy, and mean.

Searching for wealth unlawfully gained,
They didn't suppose they were in for such pain.
Besides the sea being all tangled and sticky,
They were about to meet the termites most tricky.

Who didn't like peglegs or parrots or pikes,
Or pirate ships nailed together with spikes.
With clandestine capers and sly, skillful hearts,
The termites took to tearing the timbers apart.

So, taken aback by the tangle and glue,
The pirates looked about to see what to do.
Then, noticing timbers fast falling apart,
Their hopes for the riches were far from their heart.

"It's a touch too tangled for thieves such as we,
Who deviously delve dark deposits at sea."
The pirates were looking for even a plank,
To save themselves on, before the ship sank.

They demanded all crabs and the eels, with a roar,
To form a raft so they could float to the shore.
The octopi watched, all tangled and caught,
To see if crayfish and eels could do aught.

But, though you demand, or though you cajole,
Crayfish and eels will not stand for control.
So the pirates, left flailing out in the sea,
Only made the slick-hunting confused as can be.

Then, a slick spoke up and said, "If you'll agree,
To cancel your hunting, I'll try and help see,
A way out of this sticky and pinching mess;"
To all of the creatures he gave this address.

"Let's turn this around, take away the pinches,"
The woozles began to scrape glue off by inches'
The termites then offered the pirates a deal,
They'd give back some boards with a word not to steal.

So with those words that showed they repent,
The pirates swam back on the boards they were lent.
Like Jonah in the tummy of the fish, being treats,
Was released with good riddance by tickling its feets,

The slicks, spiderfish, woozles, and octopi too,
Made friends with the crayfish and eels, wouldn't you?
Wild, chaotic, strange creatures may mix in the sea,
But not get neurotic if they find harmony.

The bottom line and almost the end,
Treat him nice though you may not think he's your friend.
So, all of these creatures were happy and free,
To enjoy each other and swim in the sea.

Dialog With My Muse

"Will you ever have a serious thought?"
My muse is prone to ask,
"Inviting and mysterious, wrought,
For a literary task?"

Well, I'll show you, I'll think some thing,
You never thought I'd think,
About shopping and wearing bling,
Enough to make you blink.

I'll think of shopping, sight-seeing too;
I'll take a chartered bus.
With a group go to the zoo,
With driving left to "us."

I think perhaps I'm winding down,
To think, access my heart,
And very soon, words will come 'round,
And meaningful thought will start.

But, now I ask you, my dear muse,
Before you cast a pall,
If it were not nonsense I'd choose,
Would there be sense at all?

Be Jolly in a World Gone Wild

It's time to announce,
The world's going wild,
Each folly denounce,
Beyond being a child.

Obey, well, I'll try,
Is simply a must;
Tell worries good-bye,
and happily trust.

snarls send away,
and cursing dismiss.
hurts of the day,
being healed by a kiss.

Delete from the earth,
then, crime, hoods, and thugs.
and point to the worth
of skipping and hugs.

Through puddles we'll run,
with caution, in case,
nobody finds fun,
being splashed in the face.

We'll try to take turns
and share, too, our chalk;
That's what a child learns,
and hear when you talk

Not jump off the teeter
when you're in the air,
and not be a cheater,
friends should be fair.

Remember, be silly,
and laugh a whole bunch,
cuddle when it's chilly;
with buddies share lunch.

Let the sun warm our hair
as we run in the breeze,
fluffy clouds in the air,
flowers up to our knees.

We'll try to recall
the things we've been told;
Keep our eye on the ball,
and our friend's hand hold.

We don't need the folly,
past being a child.
Then we can be jolly
in a world that's gone wild.

Shards Cast upon the Lord

Dear buddy, with shards in your heart.
I'll not presume to heal,
Or say I know in every part
Or fathom what you feel.

Because you're like my flesh and blood,
You'll explain, I know, away.
Your mind will cover with the good,
Times intent has gone astray.

It does no good to rationalize,
Make believe I just don't know;
I share a bit of seeing eyes,
Of all beings here below.

We look and see the other's deeds;
We only see our own intent.
The burden carried far exceeds
What we think may have been meant.

The threads so tangled on this side
Have order that is not yet known.
The Artist will the truth provide,
even through our errors shown.

So it seems we can't excuse,
or wrong somehow repay,
and futile, too, to go recluse,
Best trust, "It's just this way."

The once expectant, sprouting seed,
grows into green and beauteous yards,
but out of place becomes a weed,
Just so with random shards.

So, untangled, cast upon the Lord,
shards well arranged can make,
with light revealed, His hand restored,
a beautiful mosaic.

The Toboggan Ride of Life

I've no illusion I can make things happen;
I'll proceed if obstacles should move aside.
I'm afraid to give up my route and mapping,
And say, Lord, I'm along here for the ride.

With a toboggan high up on the hill,
Looking down the shimmering path of snow,
You can't hold back and still enjoy the thrill;
The ride comes only when you just let go.

Oh, think what exciting paths await us,
With the mighty Lord God in the driver's seat,
To challenge and mystify us and elate us,
When our trust in Him becomes complete.

Well, will I take the ride, give up the steering,
Believe He'll guide me into just what's best?
I'll start today with modulated cheering,
And hope His influence will do the rest.

The Journey from old to new

I'll make better use of time as it rolls,
the days be more full and complete.
In a new style, embracing new goals,
My attempts will no longer defeat.

The mornings I'll set the moment I rise
a schedule to make my day hum.
A small interruption, a simple surprise,
will not rattle assured momentum.

I'm resolving to gain a new set of skills,
many habits and shortfalls to fix.
With trepidation, my poor psyche fills;
I'm teaching an old me new tricks.

Daylight Confusion Time

Folks seeing through rose-colored glass
call seventy the new fifty.
Less slowing down as the years pass,
imagination sees as nifty.

Kind of like at seven today,
I woke up in the night.
Last week, long nights eased away,
seven A.M. was fairly light.

Is it wrong time on my clock appears,
or is my mind playing tricks.
Like those recalculated years,
Could seven be the new six?

Deserts Blossom like Fields of Flowers

I shake a thought loose from the webs of night,
like something hidden under snow, revealed by sun.
Under the warmth it's bearing down, with light,
and the emerging of a clear form has begun.

Oh, light and warmth, you were thin these days,
of winter's chill white filling every trough and ridge.
Now, like the thoughts that clear from slumber's murky haze,
from yesterday to now appears a bridge.

Things that were tucked away--or not--in fall
take concrete form as snow becomes a slush.
The bare vines clinging to the rocky wall,
and spectral flower stalks salute the dripping brush.

Dreamy amorphous impressions now take form
things vaguely imagined, visualized, reward my hours.
a result, may be concrete, from my brainstorm.
That dead patch, with time and care, a bed of flowers.

Our Librarian Champion of Truth

Would you seek knowledge, pastime, art,
In your culture to take part?
Who has the expertise and heart
To help you meet these needs?

The man or lady that you seek
To find out how to make or speak,
Learn of aesthetics or technique,
Growth, entertaining reads.

The treasure that is kept on hand
To meet the public needs is planned,
By a warm, well-versed team leader manned,
Serving community.

To education needs enhance
With knowledge of the world's expanse,
Background to increase the chance
Thoughts emerge materially.

One who small ones can motivate
To find fun and appreciate
Ideas and sounds and-a bit-wait,
Helping them to grow.

A big order for this personnel,
A leader who presents, as well,
Of nature and man's products tell,
Whets the desire to know.

Needs of elderly and homebound,
Civil information found
Authors and patrons gather round,
Fiction, folk, agrarian.

To keep a balance in resources,
Music, spiritual, cars, horses,
Keep pace with cybernetic forces.
Hats off, Librarian!

The Candlelight of Friendships

Gather around; we've all been there,
not just the same but quite close.
Everyone cares and has things to share;
that's how it works as one grows.

If it's tears that you share, tears are okay;
laughter is most welcome too.
That others see things this or that way,
becomes part of growing as you.

Sharing our hearts, not judging or might,
find reflected in somebody's ways,
the answer we needed to get something right,
peace of mind, living purposeful days.

Our hands reach out with the help we receive,
risk applying what new wisdom bids.
Sharing together, we've come to believe,
it's how God uses His kids.

Nature's Grand Charismatic Time of Renewal

With dainty steps on tiny tippy-toe,
through bare saplings, gracefully they pass,
alert, deer navigate through melting snow,
visual display of nature's class.

Turkey tracks and those of birds and mice,
leave marks on alternating mud and snow.
unaffected, no illusion or device,
give evidence of seasons' faithful flow.

And is that green? Pressed Under snowy load,
grass, with sudden winter cover, never brown,
prepared to tint the meadow, fringe the road,
the rolling seasons' verdant springtime gown.

Like the time of rainbow promise sealed
the earth spreads emerald carpet at our feet.
Newborn fawn in thicket, lamb in field
bounce and skip, reminding us that life is sweet.

In Touch Across the Miles

Through the ages, sweethearts, far apart,
have gazed upon the moon at given times,
knowing that the one dear to their heart
views it, too, as in night's sky it climbs.

The celestial dipper, North Star, or Orion
provide a touchpoint for their sharing thought,
and miles seem less between the spots they lie on,
as through the sky the view of it is caught.

Still, miles apart for sweethearts are a hindrance,
and, still, it's through the realms of space they look,
and find a touchpoint more easily distinguished,
meeting on My Space, Twitter, or Facebook.

Fearful Cries from the Shadows of Night

The moon its fullest, brightest phase has passed
Coyotes uttered bone-chilling howls for nights
Quiet, sodden mist supplants its glowing cast,
and seems, has lulled those voices on the heights.

A fire built on the hearth feels good once more,
industrious mood as spring speaks of new things
brings weariness to muscles, mildly sore,
makes warmth and rest the luxury of kings.

A soft chair and a steaming cup of tea,
accompany the plans for coming days,
The pillow bids us from our cares be free
until that chilling howl again they raise.

Remember, they are more afraid than you,
and if your pets are brought in for the night,
a peaceful rest is still your right and due,
so, bless you, sleep secure until day light.

Old Man Winter resists Mother Spring's return

Guided wheels in gathering snow,
eyes guided through wind-driven veil,
shelter though the wind may blow,
trust, following the obscured trail.

This is winter out of sync,
returning just as spring seems real,
ever, becoming what we think,
obstruction or good time's appeal.

Snow to shovel from the drive,
snow to make a place for skis.
It's really good to be alive,
when focusing on both of these.

Heroine Bravely Suffers in Silence

Though self-pity is tempting, I'm loath to complain.
Sacra-iliac is tedious to repeat again.
The symptoms are worse in that very same way,
sciatic nerve trying to spell or to say.

Would a one-syllable ailment cause less distress?
If you ask, "Does that hurt?" I'll simply say "yes."
My friends may be favored because it's this way,
not bored with the symptoms I'd otherwise say.

I hope it will pass; the subject's no fun,
I'll just hold my tongue and be glad when it's done.
(Yeah, right.)

Winter Batters Desolation's Land

"Another inch or two," they say, " by noon,"
And we've already gotten three or four.
We'll have to go out and shovel soon,
Or the exertion will be even more.

It struck us with a vengeance in November,
And icy sleet then followed in its track.
The shovels scraped and scooped throughout December,
No January thaw, wind chill, no lack.

In February when the heart is glowing,
And moderating temperatures the norm,
Oh, look!, Fifteen white inches and gales blowing.
We cynically recall a famed March storm.

But smile, the kids can get their sled out,
And track in forty pounds of soggy snow.
It won't be long, and we'll see winter's fled out,
And spring rains come and balmy breezes blow.

We enjoy the winter, just get a little weary,
And can't help feeling we will be more cheery,
Happy, then, in mansion or in hovel,
In spring when we can put away the shovel.

The Glimmering Hope of Spring

Tulips stand in startled indignation,
Encased in a quarter inch of sleet and snow
When yesterday, it seemed, was spring's elation,
In grim dismay, the daffodils bend low.

The lily pond affronted with ice-crusted bank;
The weeping willow leaves are tears of ice.
The grasses march along the path, stiff rank,
Frozen glitter, brittle cadence, spring's demise.

In contrast to last night's soft leaves, a prickle
Of frozen spears, pseudo winter's cold assault,
Should not surprise; we know April is fickle,
Hiding the darts of winter's armory vault.

What should appear at the eleventh hour,
But a beaming ally of the new, sweet spring,
Championing every herb and flower,
With warmth that bids the chilliness take wing.

Bright rays of sun demand,"Be gone, imposter.
The time of color and of warmth is here.
The newness and the growth that spring would foster,
Declares her crowning for another year."

Unveiling Life's Scroll of Remembrance

Go to the file and please locate year one,
Review what every passing year has brought.
What percent rated, "sorrow," what part rated, "fun?"
Which years in "black" or "red," what lessons taught?

A history document or balance sheet,
And is what received equaled by that given?
Was guidance received by the flighty feet,
Enough to follow paths of kindly living?

And did we learn to laugh as well as cry,
With those who life brings across our way?
A graph that shows the tendency to try.
may register a plus or minus day by day.

It seems,in hindsight, less business than school,
The graphics saved, some pleasing to the eye,
And some, of seeing living cold and cruel,
The options chosen, what we see imply.

The file is tinted by a thing called grace,
The ledger marked , "receipts of loving acts,"
Red overridden by many a smiling face,
And shared lives more valuable than facts.

So, from year one right up until the present,
There seems to be a lot to celebrate.
Declare that as double issued statement of content,
No--strike that--please declare it triplicate.

Let Love's Power Remove the Blinders

As we look at one another,
We can use a lot of slack.
A sister or a brother
Doesn't need fault painted black.

We're deprived by wearing blinders,
Casting into stereotypes,
Giving negative reminders,
When we need some clean slate wipes.

Like the ancient Scandinavians'
Wicked trolls and helpful gnomes,
We tend to presuppose which hands,
Good or harm bring to our homes.

We might beseech our God above,
Clear our biased, narrow eyes,
See reason to look on with love,
Each person, every size.

To quote that, "There is so much good,
In the worst, and bad in best,"
It seems that one would think we could,
Put judgment thoughts to rest.

Besides the good that it may do
For all that I may see,
This policy improves the view,
When others look at me

Pup at the House

She's left every litter mate,
And mournful cries ensouled;
We believe she'll acclimate,
And soon will be consoled.

Although she fills the atmosphere,
With sad, unnerving howls.
Think, how much worse it would appear
If they were vicious growls.

Cheer up, although it takes control,
To endure each plaintive wail.
At the other end, sweet soul,
There's a friendly, wagging tail.

Joy is where Good Neighbors abide

Though life has its shortfalls, what blessings abound;
It plays out in its time through the day,
When we have good friends and good neighbors around,
Roadblocks much less hinder our way.
Warm and solid, the essence holds sway.

Our surroundings a sense of security hold,
Good will supports each others' side,
Fences are places where friendships unfold.
How blest where good neighbors abide.
A condition to cheer far and wide.

Who Is My Neighbor?

Like the oil and the wine that were poured
To relieve the traveler's hurt,
Some don't even know they're serving the Lord
Simply doing what their hearts assert.

As the man saw the cow in the pit
And did not walk by unconcerned,
But made every effort to save it,
Not expecting reward to be earned.

The kindly and warm, friendly smile,
That says it's no trouble at all,
Is a sign of true class and respectable style,
that makes a good neighbor stand tall.

Needs and meeting them seem ongoing
Helping hand, thoughtful mind are a gift.
The milk of human kindness keeps flowing,
Diverse people are given a lift.

The helpers are simply following their heart,
Don't always know they're serving the Lord.
And to many a traveler comfort impart,
When the oil and the wine are outpoured.

A Helping Hand, A Good Friend

What's as precious as a friend,
Who will critique your work
When you have labored hours on end,
Searching for a quirk?

Perhaps it's a figure of speech
You've seldom heard before?
Or could it be just to beseech,
Let's not go to war?

This is too silly, just too late,
To even quite be sane,
So I'll not try to concentrate
'Til morning comes again.

Farm Grieves for Its Owner

My latest laird has flown away,
Gone home, left my expanse,
Beyond the heights where eagles play,
Where winds and spirits dance.

Who will come to oversee?
Await the husbandman,
Who will manage usefully,
As a man of farming can.

Where once grazed the dairy cows,
Their paths the hills criss-crossed.
The fields tamed by fence and plows,
Is worth and purpose lost?

My latest laird has flown away,
His lady at loose ends.
Who will plant the fields in May,
Be neighbors, then, and friends?

Life moves on, while eagles fly;
Land bears if left or kept,
A stream still ripples calmly by,
Like love's tears softly wept.

A Joke, A Smile evokes

I don't see nothing like a joke,
nothing to a smile evoke.
Is your mind in another place?
Hope there's a smile upon your face.

In the absence of all that,
I'll just tuck into my hat.
the smile I 'd smile, the chuckle, chuckle,
and just make it with white knuckle.

The Sands of Time Pass in Review

As we see Saturday is winding down,
the busy-ness of the week reviewed,
Does accomplishment our efforts crown?
Can we close the week with gratitude?

Was a child's giggle shared in fun,
or a friend's good news received with joy?
It could be, when all is said and done,
their shared warmth was our "atta boy."

I think Father God smiled at our jest,
if in kindness and good humor shared.
My time with Him seems the very best,
when I think of ways that He has cared.

The moon and star bid Sunday, "Now arise."
For us children waiting for the dawn.
May we honor Father God without disguise,
as through His special day we carry on.

Spring Comes to the Land and the Soul

It's a trickle;
subtly flowing as it thaws,
presumptuously, season-change's sickle
cuts off the winter's chilling cause.

It's a stream;
channeling an icy liquid gate,
pursuing its persistent, annual theme,
watery welcome to the verdure we await.

It's a torrent;
little trickle that brought hope,
now rushing boisterously without warrant,
with which only Infinite Power can cope.

Is this the way;
to the green and golden goal,
where dreams and longings see the light of day,
and spring comes to the land or to the soul?

A Traveler's Guide down Misty Trails

The traveler again asks, "Help me find my way."
with trust the guide was given rightly in the past.
Anxiety ebbs, and to direction, hope gives way,
although ongoing snags are not forecast.

With the forking of the road ahead perceived,
even that, he'll realize, susceptible to change,
because he has been upheld when he believed,
some order in the outset will arrange.

Like that, you or I may start the trail,
Knowing only the guide, and not the end.
giving up fear that we be mocked or fail,
we venture forth in trust, our guide a faithful friend.

The Bright Hour of Hope has Dawned

Was it cold that dark, still, joyless morn,
Before the sun's first radiance would disclose,
The man who died in painful, wretched scorn,
In triumph that would change the world, arose?

In crushing grief and staggering, grim dismay,
His followers and loved ones sadly came,
Their champion of fulfillment gone away,
A decent, loving burial now their only aim.

What quiet stars and moon had seen at night,
Dynamic forces blasted bonds of evil power.
Guards, although forced to deny their plight,
Were struck as dead in resurrection's hour.

The angel's words that brought astonished joy,
"He has risen!" grown to hope, a fellowship of love,
Hard-won, and those that ardent flame employ,
Seek to bring more to faith in God above.

Though Easter eggs, and bunnies seem to share the stage,
The laughter of children is a pleasure to our Lord.
The joyous victory, proclaimed by every age,
Wherever people hear the gospel word.

Jesus, the Lord, is risen, oh Hallelujah,
Hope alive and free for one and all.
Sing and dance and share the love that's in you.
Those who will are ransomed from the fall.

The Marvelous OverHaul of the Heart

He promised to give me a heart of flesh,
Where my balky, stony heart resides,
To make this life of mine all new and fresh,
Not only outwardly but deep inside.

He touched my heart and mind with bright, new thoughts,
My old ways gently moving to unravel.
Breaking down my attitudes distraught,
Perhaps into a state like that of gravel.

His kind and wise persistence touches me;
I become willing, eager to discover,
The things His word declares He wills to be,
To make me a gladly bound God lover.

And, at times, growing receptiveness,
Lets inside His winning, gentle kindness,
Then, as He expands perceptiveness,
Loves away the balkiness and blindness.

So the moments of glad "Hallelu,"
Begin to trump that which within is stone,
And tenderness from Him to all of you,
Grows as my heart from rock to flesh is won.

An Open Door that can not be Closed

The lambs are out and hungry, just God knows.
Who will go and feed them for the master?
A door will be opened that no one can close.

How can they be supplied, wherever each goes?
When body and soul face disaster.
The lambs are out and hungry , the way, God knows.

Far afield and needing, what could we suppose
Would the word reach the world so much vaster?
A door will be opened that no one can close.

And, to the observer, this question pose.
Is it the shepherd, teacher, or the pastor?
The lambs are out and hungry, and God only knows.

A message inspired waited as the sun rose;
Unbeknownst, the scientific forecaster,
Announces an open door no one can close.

In the media of internet, soon everybody knows
A way to fill lambs' need and serve their Master.
For lambs are needy as God greatly knows.
So He's opened a door that can not be closed.

A Pet's guide for Master Training

You pet owners sure are strange,
and oh, so hard to train.
But, as long as you reward some change,
we'll respond again.

A wagging tail or floppy ears,
helps keep you on our side.
A meow and purr you find dear,
and keep you starry-eyed.

Intermittant reward, good technique,
that tasty reward forthcoming.
One response out of three you speak,
will keep the progress humming.

We birdies that may learn to talk
really have it made,
hints of verballizing in our squawk,
bring great attention paid.

A little change you see will soften,
if we puff throats and churr,
will bring you to the cage more often,
and bring a treat for sure.

Those whisperers are a real boon;
they're shaped into our ways.
Instead of penalties, their tune
is responding to our gaze.

With patience, we will get you trained,
fitting into our style.
with wagging tail and such maintain.
It's enough to make pets smile.

Transplanting Flowers

I'm looking for a better day
To set peonies and hollyhocks;
I want them planted before May.

And, still, late freezing to allay,
Although we've passed the equinox.
I'm hoping for a better day.

Excited visions on the way,
Of glorious flora among the rocks,
I want them planted before May.

Sunny spot in my yard seems okay.
Shade tree the other option blocks,
But I hope for a better day.

They'll be well leafed out some spring day,
Unless Jack Frost, untimely, knocks;
I want them planted before May.

Some rosy red, some pale as whey,
My peonies and hollyhocks,
I want them planted before May,
But I'll wait until a better day.

Spring's Restoration of Life Holiday

Here it comes, the first spring holiday.
If we were holding hope for warmth, we're wishing,
although some avid sportsman well might say,
if only it were season, they'd be fishing.

But we, commemorating deeper things,
display palms like those that were cast at the feet
of our true hero, Jesus, far above all kings,
as He rode, among praises on the street.

How much like life, after the jubilation,
came darkness, shameful suffering untold.
But, looking forward, was the great salvation,
more precious far than highest fame or gold.

Well, here we are, remembering these things of the Lord
while hoping for a spring day warm and bright.
The treasure we have found within the word,
has brought the true day out of darkest night.

The joy that glows from each child's shining face,
as then, they skip and whirl and branches wave,
and shout as Heavenly Father gives them grace,.
Their childish praise for everything He gave.

The Highway of Life

This is a tale of the highway,
the freeway to be exact.
It speeds up the progress of my day,
but its little vexations are fact.

The broad road up ahead may mean freedom,
convenient access to my goal,
but the way it works out bothers me some,
although for the best, on the whole.

Don't you think that the chap on the left hand
should maintain speed when he pulls in?
Not causing my slow down, should be banned;
Not only my wish---it's a sin!

When the keepers of law on the highway,
are visiting with red and blue lights,
someone who transgressed--now in my way,
and I should pull left, 'cause it's right.

Then the car in the passing lane dawdles,
causing me to kick mine out of cruise,
and I feel awkward as a duck waddles;
So, again, I sing the freeway blues.

Well, this telling is done, but the trip's not,
because I still have to return.
I wish for no ice or no rain drop,
and no drivers to cause a slow burn.

These freeway blues are, of course, not
of any fault that is mine.
Although I don't drive them a real lot,
I think that my driving is fine.

A Pure Heart's Playful Journey

I feel these little sassy ways
springing up in me.
I don't want to see rebellion, raise
a wall, Lord, 'tween You and me.

Just, please, give wisdom to discern
what's playful, joyous fun
and what offends or tends to turn
from You, beloved One.

Your humor, I elect to see,
Your love for mirthsome ways.
I hope that playfulness and glee
will add, not hinder praise.

And, so I ask, a heart that's pure.
May it still jaunty be?
So, by Your grace, I may secure,
Your presence, close, with me.

The Sweet Victory of Gentleness

A kind reply to angry words?
Outrageous to suggest,
when insult and abuse you've heard
toward what you prize the best.

Well, should his scowl and talk so rude
cause harshness to your soul?
With restraint and gentle attitude,
you've avoided his control.

The very thing that would seem strength
may defeat our hoped-for goal,
while a calm and friendly air, at length,
wins the day and revives the soul.

Its a Brand new day

It's a busy day;
take some time and breathe,
Everything's ok,
Let no pressures seethe.

April raindrops fall;
one thing at a time.
We'll accomplish all;
with no frantic climb.

Unseen by our eyes,
pristine flowers appear,
charm us and surprise,
when we see they're here.

Raindrops trickle wet;
breath comes easily.
Each thing will be met,
just when it should be.

The Flickering Flame of Life

Just a reluctant flicker in a wad of last week's news,
some scraps of kindling and a lighter or a match,
morning comes with potential, to gain or lose.
Like that flicker, it may or may not catch.

Friend, I hope the fire you're igniting,
with the dreams and plans that you commence,
blossom into flame, result delighting,
tangible and satisfying evidence.

So, when the flame of toil ebbs into embers,
and the task at hand closes the day,
the toiler, the fascination rapt, remembers,
a worthwhile step in the progress of life's way.

The Caring Hands of Jehovah

Great Jehovah, Father of all fathers,
Whose Son was sent to all our burdens bear,
You've known the mighty grief of giving
And, with the world, Your only son to share.

For every father who to son or daughter
Shared, or could not share their joys and woes,
May memory be healed or esteemed greater;
Jehovah cares, dear friend; Jehovah knows.

The Harmonious Battle

He may be ardent, she be subtle;
Another might prefer the very frank.
Agreeable or more prone to rebuttal,
One rates by aesthetics, one by rank.

Some will favor action quite direct,
Others who allow the flow to steer.
Minds may process singly and reflect,
Others more inspired as they hear.

Values, temperament, experience
Affect how we perceive and interact.
One may close in on the theme and essence,
Another analyze each evident fact.

Minds and hearts to reach a sound conclusion
Need to be accepting, clear, and kind
For progress, and for finding a solution.
It's amazing how we can make up our mind.

The Senescent Frame

The aging agents in our frame,
chemistry that alters with the years,
may each have properties and names,
their reversal would bring cheers.

They come in bottles, buildings, books,
use it, not lose it, walk and gym.
bicycle paths through woodsy nooks,
adherents maintain and grow trim.

Though aging agents wear the frame,
it's not required they wear the soul,
the body's health a worthwhile aim
when joined with spirit to be whole.

We'll study to promote good health;
let age be spiced with purpose, mirth.
And more than our material wealth,
our days fulfilled while here on earth.

Nature's Conductor

Lambs and fawns and little kid goats,
Flowers that pop up among dead leaves,
Fields with rows of emerging oats,
So springtime its tapestry weaves.

Children on their bikes and trikes,
Laughter, games and friendship shared,
Acquaint with nature on their hikes,
Scenes of the season, now premiered.

Rain comes and brings a greener hue,
Through lightning flash and thunder's peal.
While the waiting air and earth renew.
Our hearts in awe of God's work kneel.

Author of the season's ambiance
Sets a rainbow pledge on high,
Like flocks of lambs that skip and dance,
He herds the clouds across the sky.

The Elusive Answer

Just something, I ask,
that would handle the task,
A thing-a-ma-bob
that would deal with the job.
Let's find just what will
artfully fill the bill.
Look it up, research it, and read it.
The handy-dandiest deal
That will do it for real,
Before we forget why we need it.

The Fleeting Moments of Dawn

I woke in dark, the hours long.
How would time pass until the day?
Suddenly, light bright and strong,
Shines on tasks that direct my day.

The day was bright; the night had passed,
Like a bolt out of the blue.
A blink, a doze, it went so fast,
The hours short, so much to do.

The Ancient Celestial Guide

To know the glorious will of the Lord;
How can a mortal on earth such as I,
Beyond what He seems to spell out in His word,
Any more than reaching the bounds of the sky?

I address You as Father as I walk forward,
In what I know, progress through the day,
Sensing Your presence, I navigate shoreward;
My paths directed, acknowledge Your way.

As with the north star, I'll practice the process,
Learn more about you and ways that You guide,
Be observant, following, trusting no less,
Becoming confident, You at my side.

Remembering times You have guided before,
When the visibility was no more than now,
And I found myself safe on the shore,
Led by Your will and marveling how.

Begin each Day Anew

Let's gladly greet the morning bright,
with cobwebs of sleep brushed away,
and images so vague at night
give place to things to do today.

Address our Father, who has kept
us safe through angels close at hand,
with peace and gradual growth we slept;
now take our place in action's land.

Speak that our loved ones well may fare,
or entertain a timely laugh,
remembering joys are doubled shared
and sorrows are reduced to half.

And, so a work I try to do,
I'll preview and prepare to send,
and later forward it to you,
with hope it says what I intend.

In Memory of all brave souls

We reverently stand where sun-bathed breezes blow,
Flags flying high in honor and salute,
For countless troops we knew or did not know,
Gave their lives for our land in war's dispute.

For those who, day by day stood in the ranks,
And learned the discipline of military life,
Who bravely stepped out, we give our thanks,
On land, on sea, in air, they faced the strife.

The fresh-faced boys and girls who said, "We'll do our part."
And faced danger, dirt, and dire circumstance,
Who yearned over letters, photos, keepsakes of the heart,
While those at home kept watch, prayed more than chance.

With stealth, some through enemy lines made their way,
Though at every turn, danger lurked in store,
Ferreting out crucial facts to save the day,
And some, seeing jaws of death agape, ran to the roar.

Corpsmen, seeing wounded comrades, braved the fray,
Struggling forward to bring them safety and to aid,
Who tended wounded, under fire, night or day,
And carried them through deadly weapons, mine or blade.

The strategists who bore the yoke of safety and success,
Of men and women carrying out orders of strategy,
The outcome for whom was life or death,
The larger hope, to keep the liberty.

In mountains, jungle, sand and grit of desert bleak,
They dreamed about the day when war would cease,
Their effort counted, time would come to speak,
And hear the gently whispered words of peace.

Chaplains and comrades bringing words and act of faith,
To rescue souls, secure should battle take them home.
Today, we remember how they protected life and breath,
And now, the praises due, love, honor, come.

A cadence of angel songs that shake the very ground
Above the blood and din of bomb and gun,
A fanfare, grant, of light and trumpet sound,
That says, "Hail you, daughter, son . Well done. Well done."

Cleaning the Clutter, Freedom's door

The day is coming--just mark my words,
when each pen that skips or won't write,
will take its place in the garbage interred,
and be banished from my very sight.

The staples that don't fit the present device,
receipts from things not tax exempt,
old lists and coupons,expired, half-price,
all keeping my work space unkempt.

Paper clips, bent out of shape and unusable,
along with the trashing of spent pad and pen,
self-sealing envelopes no loner fusible;
I'll be master of my desk again.

A Daydreamer's hope

Why would a person linger past the news at ten o'clock,
daydreaming of the days yet to be blessed?
savoring the day just spent, while the tick-tock
says, "Tomorrow will go better with some rest."

And, knowing that today's the best there is;
if not enjoyed, the future's rendered empty too.
And, so, step by step, let each mr. or ms.
live now, plan with allowance for the new.

Pick up a fact and learn and ponder,
and see how it may serve to build design,
that brings joy today, fulfillment yonder,
The mentioned rest right now would do just fine.

The Hidden Secret of Success

My buddy Jim was oh, so slim;
He had no extra poundage
He avoided gain, no fat for him,
No longer under bondage.

And now I'll tell another tale
That bodes well for his success,
And, actually he will not fail,
To frig have no access..

I hope that he won't fix the scale
In ways that are deceptive,
And tell a silly little tale,
Fool those who aren't perceptive.

The Fragile Nature of Ideas

They overlap, the thoughts that greet the day,
And pen or keyboard cannot seize them fast enough,
To put in order before they slip away
Like random, blown-from-dandelions fluff.

The duties of the day impose control
Can anything not imperative abide?
To recapture or shed the wispy whim of soul
That tempted duty to be thrown aside.

To put in order vague ideas and dreams
Does not need to lead to twinge of guilt.
How many accomplishments have themes:
Of what the dreams devised, the builder built.

A Labyrinth Transversed

Just a line, a random thought,
among the ideas in the universe,
and suddenly my eagerness is caught,
an urge rises to form it into verse.

With each word the concept then fills out,
imagination embellishes the frame,
vague ideas emerge from working out,
they begin to take on form and name.

A little like fixing a special meal,
limited to the ingredients on hand,
how will the taste and color make us feel,
a sauce, a little spice, a setting planned.

Or like a room that's unadorned and bare;
what will it take to give it life and form?
With color and the needs of users giving care
to strike a balance of airiness and warm.

All endeavors seem to start with random thought,
some trained to follow certain sequence that is set,
and others prone to snatch things never taught,
or rearrange them without care or fret.

While some take words acceptable on sight
and complicate them with a labyrinth transversed,
until, in order at all to see the light,
you throw away all but what's there at first.

The Day of the Bluebird

The bluebird home with bright hope was supplied;
Their cheery presence would please the eye and heart.
They missed it when wrens earlier arrived
And used the house before bluebirds could start.

Now the entrance for tiny wrens is small;
Their accommodations kept bluebirds away.
Another year, just bow to protocol
Of birds; switch houses, hope bluebirds would stay.

Next spring, the bluebirds only briefly glanced;
For my efforts, an empty house the sum.
Although their winsome presence I'd romanced,
My hopes were still let down bluebirds would come.

This year, I cleaned the houses doggedly,
With outlook seeming just about the same.
Then I looked out, surprised, that on my tree,
They sat on the little house. The bluebirds came!

As I observe their lovely color and ways,
Though tedium sometimes on heartstrings strums,
And delight to know on unanticipated days,
Sometimes, unheralded, a bluebird comes.

An Angel in the Shadows

Sometimes an angel comes into view,
When small hopes have departed and left empty space.
And you just walk on, wryly thinking, "What's new?"
What a blessing, a kind angel's face.

When you set your jaw, resolved not to feel,
You've torched a small dream; your heart will not move,
And you just hunker down, face what passes for real,
He suggests gently and doesn't reprove.

You've passed on the beauty to put sorrow behind
Tried to think, "Small thing; no one should care;"
Hardened your heart in resolving your mind,
Then the touch of an angel is there.

To restore and make better, the way things are viewed,
He sends an angel, and something of life is renewed.

The Rustic Rough-hewn Lawn

My lawnmower is on the fritz,
the lawn all scraped and choppy.
We've tried adjusting it in bits,
must be the blade is floppy.

Avert our eyes, and just walk past,
its bad appearance flout
Like a bad haircut can't forever last,
it looks better when it grows out.

An Epitaph to a Bluebird

Oh Bluebird, with your cheery air,
Depicting hope and happy days,
A nest in hollow tree your lair,
Birdhouse, if liking human ways,

A quality, both boon and bane,
You choose an opening akin
To what trees, hollow, would contain;
And like swifts, chimneys may enter in.

And, also admirable, you will
Aid mate or fellow in distress.
Hearing its cry, the need to fill,
Fly in the perilous ingress.

Bluebirds, for which I waited long,
Prepared, delighted, at your sight,
Transported by your cheerful song,
Confused, dismayed, shocked at your plight.

My little stove held sad remains
Of planned companions' coming cheer.
Too late, I learned of bluebird ways;
Away slipped hope of something dear.

So, now I know how brave and true,
Hearing your mate's urgent call,
Confirming the old saying "true blue,"
You entered in and gave your all.

When Geese fly north in Winter

I'm going to find the remedy. Yes!
The very thing got you into this mess.
You'll cheer, and you'll praise
The savvy I show.
It will not take days;
You'll see, and you'll know.
I'll find you the gadget,
The thing-a-ma-jig.
As sure as my name is
Mahalia McFig.

I'll chop it down, build it up,
Say what you need.
I'll get you a Band aid
Before you can bleed.
If someone does you wrong,
I'll bring him to court
Before he can protest,
Grumble or snort.
Through miles of mudballs
And acres of sludge,
He'll come dragging his sorry
Feet to the judge.

I'll get you a lawyer,
A hot shot one sure,
And every complaint that
You have, he'll adjure.
I'll bring over my car,
Take you everywhere,
Get you all kinds of do-dads
To frizzle your hair.

If you want to skydive,
I'll call pilots too,
Who'll let you stay alive,
Drifting down in the blue.
Take you to sandy beaches,
Where you'll warm your toes,
Steer you clear of leeches,
Gift you with a rose.

If that's not enough,
I'll come mow your lawn,
Make your bed, pillows fluff,
Watch your house when you're gone.

What's that? You're asking
Me to do something?
When geese fly north in winter
And south in the spring.

A Road in the Wilderness

The road ahead is still an open page,
Although the plans are made, appointments set.
Every morning brings its version of wage
for efforts put forth, expectations met.

What will it be, a face with smile or frown,
a hand of help, of others or of mine?
Will I find beauty in the land or town,
or pass by, preoccupied with past design?

The road ahead becomes the place of now,
I engage where rubber meets the road,
and come to grips concretely with the how
to operate in plans and efforts sowed.

The road began, though open, unexplored,
full of plans I had devised, put into play,
with input and instruction gleaned and stored,
it was the unexpected made my day.

Maybe a foible, pratfall, or a jest,
breaking the progression of the day,
or the surprise that may be the best,
a warm friend joining us along the way.

It's Child's Play

Children will play
With rattles, blocks, and fluffy bears;
They'll spend the day
With balls and dolls and glamour wear.

Children will play,
On teams, with dreams and make-believe;
And each new way
Develops, someday, what they'll achieve.

So, cowboy games,
And playing house and cars and planes,
With made up names,
Imagination grows and gains.

Then girl or boy,
In rollicking sport or neat array,
As they enjoy,
In their life's work, may some day say,
"It's child's play."

The Quiltworks of Life

They're recording life in strips and squares,
With hearts poured in and hands employed.
What's planned in solitude, she shares;
Planned in groups, in homes enjoyed.

The story is told in borders and blocks,
Ideas new or designs from the past,
The group to assemble, orderly flocks,
Bringing both kinds of warmth that last .

Some quilts are a treasure of their memoirs,
From a wedding garter's ruffled lace,
To a dress from that prom, enchanting hours,
Printed dress Mama wore everyplace.

Some were pieced through a babe's wakeful hours,
Some for the crib of one on the way
Blocks forming sailboats, dollies or flowers,
Welcome with love and bright appliqué.

The artist's eye and the seamstress's skill,
Eloquent as the fruit of the lips,
As with sociable sharing their hours fill,
They live the now in squares and in strips.

God bless your sleep

Through the mists, a treasury of memories drifts,
Sweet times recalled, softening loss's grim affliction,
And in the warmth and light, there emanates a lift,
Of benediction.

How streams of light buoy up the heart as from above,
Bring thoughts of comfort, loose from fear's restriction
Bestow a sense of over-sheltering love:
In benediction.

And, over all an aura of universal sharing,
Of birth, life, and death, all in sure prediction,
Over a common here-on-earth coat wearing;
A benediction.

Needlework

Knitting needles clicking and crochet hook,
Yarn and thread become apparel, unique.
Warmth and love are blended in a new look,
Saying volumes more than words can speak.

From young girls crocheting neck scarves for their boyfriends
To mother-to-be knitting booties for her child.
The beautiful, creative work at no time ends;
Needlework produces love gifts undefiled.

Someday, they'll say, "Great Grandma made this."
There will be some who will, and some not, care,
But the piece of needlework will, across the years, kiss
The one who chooses it to use or wear.

Electrical Interruption

When the lights went out, we all stopped short and wondered,
Not so much because we really couldn't see,
But curious, for, as far as we could tell, it hadn't thundered,
And the activity we'd started couldn't be.

Nobody told us why we sat in dimness,
And the computers couldn't do their thing;
Some did, but some did not, exhibit distress,
But, when they came on, we all said, "Whoopee ding!"

The Sounds of Summer

They pound,
The Harley's with their mufflers loud,
The muffled tread of running shoes.
Comes 'round,
The charcoal grill, the picnic crowd,
Baseball excitement, win or lose.
Summer sound.

They pound;
Hearts waiting for wedding in June,
The grouse in hidden forests deep,
We've found,
In haunting tremolo of loon.
Songs, words take the place of sleep,
Summer sound.

They sound,
The whirring of bicycle wheels,
The splash of casting in the lake.
Abound
The satisfaction hit ball feels,
As workers take a bit of break,
Summer's sound.

Progress from the Simpler Times

When, during a hot spell, you visit a warm state,
It may not work out just like you thought.
Although you may perspire both early and late,
Most likely in cold drafts you're caught.

Air conditioning brings cool when you want it,
A bit too cold when you'd rather not.
Though the thermostat has varied temps on it,
Those with you prefer cold or hot.

Those who like balmy climes bear the goose bumps,
And cold weather lovers get steamed.
Although the AC can ease temperature humps,
There's more conflict than you would have dreamed.

"I didn't come here to freeze my derriere."
One may say, while others complain,
"If we'd turn this thing down, I wouldn't frown;
Humid heat is too much of a pain."

Remember when, car windows down back then,
Our hair blew into tangles and knots;
But, thanks to this trend, we don't do that again,
AC in the car helps us lots.

The directional vent may discomfort prevent,
Such a help when traveling in cars,
But in a hotel or restaurant as well,
One temp is yours, mine and ours.

May I digress, the joys of progress
Serve us in so many spheres.
A small world is enjoyed; restraint is employed,
For AC, three (conditional)cheers.

Preparing for the Journey

Toothpaste, toothbrush, socks, and nightgown,
Robe and slippers, tuck in too,
Stationery, things you write down,
Extra slacks, a pair that's new.

Don't forget the facial tissue,
Moisturizer, liner, blush,
Deodorant, important issue,
Pack ahead, no frantic rush.

Take phone numbers you may call there,
Postage stamps and address book,
Messages, gifts, see they're all there;
One more time now, take a look.

Take your camera, memory card,
Grandchildren's pictures take for sure.
Make a list; check off, that's not hard.
Shirts, skirts, belts, you'll be secure.

Pack a very tiny hairspray,
To get through security;
Add extra change of lingerie,
If prolonged unexpectedly.

Photo batteries and phone charger;
Make sure ID proof is current;
Bottles take, three ounce, no larger;
Confiscated if they weren't.

It's a new leaf for you, and how!
Your friends will all be so surprised.
As you wipe your weary brow,
Glad that you got organized

Wait! Remember; mark your luggage;
It may go to Timbuktu.
Be prepared for kiss and huggage
As your loved ones welcome you.

Babbage's Torment

Aha! You're not a man; you're just a tool,
So I'm free to castigate your perverse way.
I won't be condemned for saying harshly, "Fool,"
Nor held accountable for taunts I say.

The sad part is that it does no good;
Inanimate, object. you don't react.
The best thing to do is think through, if I could,
How to cause you to operate or process fact.

I guess I'll eat the bitter words I said,
Not lower myself to 'dis' a dumb device,
That, with the right approach may not seem dead,
But be, as I've been told, help worth the price.

Celebrating Liberty

Here it comes again, praising, acknowledging the glory,
Forefathers brought us, striving, battling for liberty,
And we, the beneficiaries, well may carry on the story,
Message of sacrifices, giving choice to you and me.

What heroes, in cracked, blood-stained boots and muzzle-loading piece,
Bravely Held the flag through cannon fire's intense barrage.
Who, though staggering, refused to let determination cease,
And attained their sought after, precious goal more than mirage.

Men with courage to come forth, to take the podium and pen,
And, in the face of tyrants, once their leaders, drive their cause,
Reviving shattered hopes and staunchly holding on to gain,
Bringing forth glorious liberty, surviving private loss.

They held the truths to be self-evident, and now we live,
In the land they dared and bled, left families, gave lives,
To bring into reality. Again with hearts and acts, we give
Homage, gratitude, joy, that a nation of the people thrives.

Time comes to gather on a humid summer night,
And celebrate with rockets not as weapons but display,
Gladly recognize with laughter, music, bursting light ,
What was won for us through fortitude in bloody fray.

So we take our lawn chairs, blankets and mosquito spray
And celebrate what was won on bloody fields, in graves.
We stand and hear the grand and patriotic music play,
Yes, over this free country that Star Spangled Banner waves.

Life's Intricate Balance

Dear friend, enjoy the bitter with the sweet,
The high and low of life, unflinching savor.
Texture and interest heighten as they meet,
And one serves to highlight the other's flavor.

Cultivate the best of both serenity and boldness,
Adventurous imagination with the tame.
Self control needs not to smack of coldness;
Ice has its purpose, so, as well, has flame.

Though some may say derisively, "How tame."
Order and steadiness bring progress at length.
Forcefulness with patience fuel the same,
And true gentleness is born of inner strength.

And, so the joy of life with temperance is more,
The thrills without disaster there may be.
With seasoning, we may savor to the core,
Dear friend that I advise, it's you or me.

Memories of the Perpetual generations

Little one, you really look a lot
Like dear old Uncle Pete,
And like your great auntie, Dot,
You have such tiny feet.

The day is hot, the setting rural,
Or maybe a local park;
We reminisce about Ed and Earl,
Sharing memories until dark.

How many summers come and go,
While we are all around.
And, each more treasured, those we know
And share this common ground.

Grandpa and Grandma, who've gone home,
Live on in fond quotation,
And it's almost shocking we've become
The oldest generation.

The characteristics we hold dear,
In memories' fond pages,
We see repeated year by year,
In those of younger ages.

Joining in on the parades,
Recounting history's glories,
We find we're drawn into charades,
Hearing and sharing stories.

A vision of memory, that laughing face,
Of buddy or beauty queen,
Shows up in essence in jaunty grace
Of a casual, modern teen.

New memories at the river made,
Tubing , with its flow.
Feasting in the sheltering shade,
Then delaying, loathe to go.

How sweet the opportunity,
Terrestrial communion,
To savor the kindred unity,
Family reunion.

The Shining Hour of Graduation

The day: how long have we prepared?
And, even, long before, the efforts and the plans,
To launch a life, you dreamed of, purposed, cared,
Work that childhood, young adulthood spans.

We made the reservations, paid the fares,
Anticipated, bated breath and swelling hearts,
To see the culmination, answer to our prayers,
Now thrilled with thankfulness and taking part.

The day: may sun shine brightly on the life,
That planned and strove and staunchly followed through,
Self discipline, motivation, sacrifice,
Head and footwork, making dreams come true.

Our hats are off; you've made it as they say,
And, over all, we sense God's hand, and guiding power.
We pray the same for every future day,
And share the celebration of this shining hour.

Good morning, Lord

Good morning, Lord, thanks for the new day;
thanks for Your protection and your love.
For being Father, making me your child,
inviting me to seek Your throne above.

Good morning, Lord, thanks for my eyes to see
the beauty of the earth You made and keep.
Thanks for the ears to hear the songs of birds,
for sense of awe and feelings light that leap.

Good morning, Lord, thanks for confidence
to know that, through the day, You're always there.
for love to share with people in my life,
and for Your ear, inclined to hear my prayer.

The Taming of the Troubled Troll

Where are you going, little pixie, elf?
Lightly choosing, skipping through the day,
Fluid, varying, ever-changing self,
There is a direction for the way.

Now you're heavy, troubled, rueful troll,
Can it be the same presence that we've felt?
Do these qualities into one being roll,
And how, then, with life's incidences dealt?

Little or a lot, a bit like all,
Within each, a drift may take the fore.
On the surface, not a ripple breaks,
If there is steadfastness within the core.

So, little one, don't fret if tides within
Should ebb and flow unsteady at the shore
There is a Guide, Direction, if you choose,
Who has calmed many troubled seas before.

The Dance of the Mid-summer fairies

Brilliant, flaming orange and pastel pink,
Colors we were told not to combine:
Like poppies in a field, they boldly wink,
And flaunt their special colors, feeling fine.

Little girls with bouncy, flaxen curls,
Or those with shining locks of glossy black
Prance on in their un-troubled swirls,
And glory in the bounty, not the lack.

Oh, let them continue in this pleasure,
Unfeigned embracing of the joy of life.
Oh, let them not compare and parse and measure
And turn their precious innocence to strife.

Let them grow to be everything they can,
Unique in what they do and feel and think,
And find the present time piquant and grand,
Like brilliant poppies, lively orange and pink.

A Bridge over Life's dark Canyons

We're stepping out now on the new day we're living,
Finding fun in not counting the get in the giving.
A clean slate is available due to forgiving,
Trickling through us from Father of all.

Keeping what we've gained by timely reminders,
Gives out new joy like that of lost-finders,
Let go of what's been, but don't put on blinders,
Holding trusted hands may thwart a fall.

So using our gifts and those of companions,
We'll negotiate life's steeps and its canyons,
The result in God's hands, the action we plan on;
Better to build a bridge than a wall.

german

Villainous Snail Closes Beach

The long-closed beach reopened
A couple of years back;
For some who'd rued Its end,
Gladly filling a lack.

An insidious creature
Known as water itch
Became such a feature
Beach fun hit the ditch.

So it was proclaimed,
Other venues we'd find.
With compliance we aimed ,
With safety in mind.

So there sat the beach
By the shady, cool street,
Although welcoming each,
No one wet his feet.

The odious itch bug
Drove them all away.
They feared the bad thug,
Twenty years if a day.

That sunny, bright beach,
Where we swam, laughed, and learned,
Something only to reach,
In our memory turned.

Where Sam passed beginners,
Susie, toddlers with ease,
And Stan became lifeguard,
Moms were so pleased.

Who was the hero?
Snails that incubated
The bug, down to zero?
With the itch that we hated?

But, swimming and splashing,
Lads little and large,
Girls and ladies find dashing,
Glad summer recharged.

The Passageway of Wheels

Wheels could eat up the miles from you to me,
Digest them, and they'd disappear.
That's how they're turned into energy,
Though gasoline price interfere.

When all the miles are no more in the way,
How the hours we'll gobble and chew.
Hours have limits, but maybe someday,
Wheels will eat them up from me to you.

Fair Time Again

Can't you just see its fluffiness and taste it,
Cotton candy melting on your tongue?
The whir of Ferris wheel, the Tilt-a-whirl,
Enjoy it, time has come, for old and young.

The roadside intersections decorated,
With billboards, an exception to the norm,
Proclaiming spectacles of home grown produce
Displayed, colorful-come, enjoy, perform.

Set aside the mundane daily old routine;
See what the young and old of our own county,
Have produced, prepared, and now display,
Light-hearted fun and gladly flaunted bounty..

In no time now, arenas come alive with action;
Pavilions will display what has been wrought ,
Both creative effort and plain fun, combined attraction,
Hawkers proclaim what be naively bought.

See horse games, horse-pulling, demo derby
Again, it's, "Heigh-ho, come now to the fair."
Cattle like you've never seen, art, music.
A few more days, and we will see you there.

Left, right, on sand or sod

Left, right, on sand or sod,
The scrape of gravel beneath my feet,
I will for lightness, steady plod.

I would communicate with God;
In my trite thoughts, find words so sweet.
Left, right, on sand or sod.

In moments, humbled, I've been awed.
His gracious presence I entreat.
I will for lightness, steady plod.

Thoughts would light up my pathway broad;
In conscious contact, God I'd greet.
Left, right, on sand or sod.

I cover ground by yard or rod,
More eager for a touch receipt;
I will for lightness, steady plod.

I sense Him there, my Father God,
Who said, "My words, touch, taste, and eat.
Left, Right, on sand or sod,
I will for lightness, steady plod.

Life's Chronic Discomforts

You have a small discomfort?
Oh, I can bring you cheer.
I'll tell you of someone who had it,
Lasting near a year.

And, others I know with this ill
often find it chronic,
not likely to respond to any
Medicine or tonic.

You say that it's just nothing,
well, have your way, ignore it;
then, finding that it's terminal,
a remedy you'll want for it.

It doesn't pay to minimize
you might miss your dire plight,
I should have let you finish.
You say, "mosquito bite"?

The Treasure of a picture's memories

A picture worth a thousand words,
Captured when the moment's right,
Treasured things or things endured,
Giving memory clear sight.

The exultant instant of the win,
The flower graced by butterfly,
On shadowed path, a peek within,
And keep what might elude the eye.

So treasure the gift of camera,
The skill and sensitivity.
To catch for us the leaf or star,
Nature's amazing symmetry.

Our foot may never press the earth,
Of scenes we know and recognize,
We perceive their impact and their worth,
Seen for us through camera eyes.

The event we hold in memory,
Faces of dear ones, foliage, birds,
Through the lens in skillful hands we see,
A picture worth a thousand words.

Growing Up is not Easy

Like children, to point out the wrong, so willing,
Why was it we presumed to know,
To pick out the victim and the villain,
And rest assured our inference was so?

Enough to know our own success and shortfall,
And, even to determine which is which.
Shame-faced, learn not to be one who reports all,
A tiny step toward wisdom we grow rich.

How satisfying, avoiding, through experience,
Speaking out judgmental words we can't take back,
Blessed with grace from God and common sense,
Giving, as though our place to do, a little slack.

The Dance of the Nonagenarian

Her head was bent; her hair was gray,
her voice a forced near-whisper.
She'd worked and played in summer sun;
Now, winter's blast had kissed her.

She could walk only a halting step,
when helped from chair to chair
Her vision dimmed by age's ills,
social exchange now rare.

She'd held back when urged to gather
to hear music, but would relent,
and guided by an aide complied,
sat among the residents.

A musician who often played for dance
volunteered to entertain,
with nostalgic strains and old-time tunes.
he got toes to tap again.

The musician's wife came to her side,
helping her to join, and she
feebly forced a hint of smile that once
beamed hospitality.

The musicians wife took both her hands;
her smile warmed, revived, entranced.
And, as she moved her hands in time,
with her hands and heart--she danced.

The imperfection of the oral voice

Say, would you repeat that back?
I'm not sure you got it.
What you replied, though may be fact,
Was definitely not it.

And what you speak to me, as well
I sometimes hear as twitters.
Could it be our receptors tell,
Things not on our transmitters.

Could you propose a remedy,
So we'd get it correctly?
Though we enjoy the comedy,
We'd like the word directly.

Do you suppose a line of print,
Like phones for the non-hearing,
Would enable us without a hint
Understand the words unerring?

Guess we can stand to say it twice,
Spell, use i.e. word, whatever.
To talk with you is, oh, so nice.
Such fun, so dear, and clever.

The Camaraderie of the Saints

People falling down, rising again,
Sharing the joy, sharing the pain.
Change in what's perceived changes what is felt;
How they receive what has been dealt.

Experience is shared, the lessons learned,
Soundness built as wills are turned,
To One who can, as faith is applied,
By accepting the gift, they're qualified.

A life that's new, a hope that's real,
In surrendering, new might reveal.
Side by side, strong and free,
Their strength is gained on bended knee.

Old Horses never Die, They just Fade Away

So I stand and whinny at the gate now;
Although I have hay, and water in my tank,
The thing I long for seems so late now,
My stall is clean to keep from being dank.

Why is it you are not here in the saddle?
Why is my feed just a dull, daily act?
When I look for attention they skedaddle;
When children grow up, time alone is fact.

Remember days when time spent in the round pen
Brought either praise or a word to correct,
And, after, a ride through field or woodland,
A loosened rein light-hearted to expect.

I recall the time when the fit of the collar,
The harness, the wagon, training, work and fun,
The warning for those not used to us not to holler,
To avoid a runaway-I knew better-or their ride is done.

There was a time when these were for me;
My mane was combed, my coat brushed to a sheen.
Pride was expressed over ribbon and trophy.
Now, there is seldom a face to be seen.

Oh, hi! I see you've come to use me;
My eyes brighten up, ears forward perk.
You'll mount and pat me with reins handled loosely.
I'll forget I ever avoided this as work.

german

Tubing on the Apple River

The flowing current,
drooped willow boughs,
in distant fields,
black and white cows,
the company
of special friends,
the flowing river
never ends.

Until it flows
into the sea.
In our minds eyes,
just lazily,
we recall times
of floating past
when younger days
their magic cast.

The dragonflies,
gleamed red or blue,
sudden encounter
with stones out of view,
brought laughter
as a bottoms bump,
warned others, steer
around this hump.

Eagle majestic
commands the skies,
we share the awe,
the privilege to our eyes.
Seaweed, tress of myth,
tickles our feet,
and progress, slowed,
is near complete.

We tip our tubes,
reach toes to ground,
pick through stones,
some rough, some round.
A receptive shore,
climb sod or cleft
look back at ripples
we have left.

We'll look back
on this summer day,
when all our plans
just went our way.
and difficulties
seemed to fade,
in the shadow of
this gift God made.

Serendipity's Grand Design

You treasured words that I would say;
took pleasure in my smile,
affirmed my efforts although they
were less than grand in style.

I saw such wondrous things in you;
your eyes expressed so much.
I marveled at how much you knew,
your strong, yet gentle touch.

Surprising we would, side by side,
from different ways we came,
you'd be the groom and I the bride,
amazing last refrain.

Monarch of the Past

You regal ram with curly horn;
You look like an ancient monarch
Who leads the ewes and lambs they've born
To the fold when shadows turn dark.

A modern flock all clean and shorn,
They graze in well-fenced pastures.
Still I see you with lordly horn
Now ancient tales out last yours.

When shepherd sat on craggy steep,
The lambs and ewes around him,
And watched, enfolding them for sleep,
Come predator, confound him.

When elf and faerie walked abroad
In thoughts of man and maiden,
Your ancestors trudged rugged road
With strands of wool all laden.

And now, put tale and rhyme away;
We think you're window dressing.
Although for safety, we'll not stay.
Around those sharp horns messing.

How to love the Majesty

How to love the Majesty,
The power without bounds
Adoration though I cannot see
My ability confounds.

The lips you gave my love to tell,
The music in my heart
And knowledge of what you do well
Can I, some way impart?

The feet you gave me step and run
My eyes your world behold
I feel the touch of your warm sun
See sparkling signs of cold.

But your're beyond the senses' reach,
Help me extend to see,
I need you expand and teach
How to love my Majesty.

german

Out There is Reality

Disembodied unit, I,
Who or where,
Beneath the sky?
Initiate
Or think a thought,
Imagination,
Timely caught?
To be real,
Express or feel
What is now,
Or what I ought.

There is a concept
That is you.
But what to do?
My mirror answers of me,
"Who?"

Still, by His spirit
Amply shown,
I'm known.

The Ballot Choice

It isn't achieved with revolution,
Not a violent war to win or lose,
Change of office or redistribution,
We choose.

When all insulting satire songs are sung,
When battles waged sans bullet, bomb and bruise,
When verbal and pictorial mud is slung,
We choose.

When we lick our figurative wounds
Accepting, glad it doesn't come to blows,
Results, though we may face like mournful tunes
We chose.

When all is said and done, we're blessed;
To have this freedom; patriots paid their dues,
So, in the issues of citizen's interest,
We choose.

Affirmation's Positive Influence

How helpful, as we walk life's way,
In quandary or frustration,
A companion who hears what we say;
Listening is affirmation.

Decisions, quick, or slow to prove,
Require application.
The one who stands behind the move,
Staunchness is affirmation.

Our ways, be we old or young,
Can cause exasperation.
At times, it's just to hold the tongue;
Patience is affirmation.

Locator Contraption

The future electronic mastermind
will make our life a breeze.
A code identifying each thing,
we'll find them all with ease.

The master list upon the drive
of our computer aide
will make organizing come alive,
know where each thing is laid.

The "beep" of shirt and "ping" of pants,
guide to their whereabouts.
with "bzzt" for cooking pans or plants,
our house bring joyous shouts.

Just think, when we walk through the door,
with many batteries fading,
the chorus from ceiling to floor,
"beeps" and "boops" serenading.

With all that confusion, I can guess,
we may find we've had enough,
resort to our old and bumbling ways
to try to find our stuff.

Best Construction

Martin Luther had it right,
Explained "False Witness" sensibly,
Not only avoiding lies' dark blight,
But allow for the best graciously.

The words may have a dubious sound,
The act seem most unfitting,
But, if we should with grace abound,
To condemn them won't be flitting.

The remedy of attitude,
Look well at our deduction.
Before we label, "evil," "rude,"
Place on all the "best construction."

Disastrous Dressing

The dinner had an odd look to it,
Confusion about the dressing cruet.
To say chaos was surely valid.
When Auntie put dressing on her salad,

It splashed onto Uncle Charlie's tie,
Ricocheted back into her eye,
Blopped on the border of her skirt,
New designs on Papa's clean, white shirt

Stammering, helpless, Mama said,
"Shake it out with the cap on instead.
There's a hole in it to dispense,
Too late to hope to make some sense."

Within her heart, she felt a wrench.
Ranch would have caused less stains than French.

The First Day of Learning's Journey

Little one, you mean to say,
You're going to board the bus today
And let go of your mother's hand?
Let confidence equip your stand.

When that bus, yellow and black,
Rolls on up, in your backpack,
Take with your colors and your glue,
Words that help you see what's true.

Sunshine from a summer day,
Guiding hands along the way,
Wonder of the starry skies,
Inspiring your eager eyes.

When you step through that bus door,
What you've seen and done before,
Sets the stage for what is new.
Let it warmly welcome you.

May the one who shares your seat
Be a friend that's fun to meet.
The teacher, smiling, at the door,
Make you feel at home and more.

When the bus rolls up that day,
Hugs, good wishes go your way.
While new things you do and see,
How happy coming home will be.

Contentment's Fragile Nature

I think I'll quit saying, "Oh, well,"
When I look in the mirror,
And kinder things, myself I'll tell;
Let life become much clearer.

I think that I'll begin to show,
The kindness I show you;
As your good points I let you know,
Do so to myself too.

I have many better traits and gains,
Fostered by the years.
Accomplishment its place attains;
The truth trumps doubts and fears.

If I see each line with discontent,
My color on the wane,
No profit seen in effort spent,
New chances-down the drain.

Now, let my mirror say, "Hi, Babe!
What's in store for today?"
I'll give a smile and get some back;
It will go well this way.

Table of Contents

Celebrate the Equinox
Fly Away
Hands
Destination
Day at a Time
Conversation
Read The Instructions 'First'
Old Glory
Lift or Drag
Interloper
Skipping Steps
Furry Battle
Jay Walking
Miffed
Confined Watcher
Quirky Blessing
Unlisted
Exercise
Rising to the challenge
Fond Travel
Pesky
Sonnet
A Good Laugh
Reading
The Solution
Morning Music
Morning Stars
Not a Victim
Ode to My Mechanic
I Haven't Arrived
Result Maker
Pith and Brevity
Unexpected Mirror
Christmas Across the Years
Mom Helen
How Much Our Interest Means
Magi as I See Them
Two Thousand Eleven
Villanelle about History
Dreaming With Daddy
Waiting in the Intensive Care Unit
Driving East in the Morning
The battle of the ruffles
Diamonds of the North
It Just Slipped My Mind
February Fooling Us
Blessings for the day
It's a Matter of Spelling
The Light of inspiration
A Possible 'Snownario''
Paradigm Shift
When Progress is Lacking
A Solution For Discord
How Do I Empathize With Thee
Wisconsin Climate
Ozhmagronzer's Plight
Kitty Cats
Planning for Flowers
A little rhyme of spring
St. Patrick's Day
Memories of a distant past
Anticipating Smiles
Uplifting Ideas
The Pirates Versus Creatures of the Deep
Dialog With My Muse
Be Jolly in a World Gone Wild
Shards Cast upon the Lord
The Toboggan Ride of Life
The Journey from old to new
Daylight Confusion Time
Deserts Blossom like Fields of Flowers
Our Librarian Champion of Truth
The Candlelight of Friendships
Nature's Grand Charismatic Time of Renewal
In Touch Across the Miles
Fearful Cries from the Shadows of Night
Old Man Winter resists Mother Spring's return
Heroine Bravely Suffers in Silence
Winter Batters Desolation's Land
The Glimmering Hope of Spring
Unveiling Life's Scroll of Remembrance
Let Love's Power Remove the Blinders
Pup at the House
Joy is where Good Neighbors abide
Who Is My Neighbor?
A Helping Hand, A Good Friend
Farm Grieves for Its Owner
A Joke, A Smile evokes
The Sands of Time Pass in Review
Spring Comes to the Land and the Soul
A Traveler's Guide down Misty Trails
The Bright Hour of Hope has Dawned
The Marvelous OverHaul of the Heart
An Open Door that can not be Close
A Pet's guide for Master Training
Transplanting Flowers
Spring's Restoration of Life Holiday
The Highway of Life
A Pure Heart's Playful Journey
The Sweet Victory of Gentleness
Its a Brand new day
The Flickering Flame of Life
The Caring Hands of Jehovah
The Harmonious Battle
The Senescent Frame
Nature's Conductor
The Elusive Answer
The Fleeting Moments of Dawn
The Ancient Celestial Guide
Begin each Day Anew
In Memory of all brave souls
Cleaning the Clutter, Freedom's door
A Daydreamer's hope
The Hidden Secret of Success
The Fragile Nature of Ideas
A Labyrinth Transversed
The Day of the Bluebird
An Angel in the Shadows
The Rustic Rough-hewn Lawn
An Epitaph to a Bluebird
When Geese fly north in Winter
A Road in the Wilderness
It's Child's Play
The Quiltworks of Life
God bless your sleep
Needlework
Electrical Interruption
The Sounds of Summer
Progress from the Simpler Times
Preparing for the Journey
Babbage's Torment
Celebrating Liberty
Life's Intricate Balance
Memories of the Perpetual generations
The Shining Hour of Graduation
Good morning, Lord
The Taming of the Troubled Troll
The Dance of the Mid-summer fairies
A Bridge over Life's dark Canyons
Villainous Snail Closes Beach
The Passageway of Wheels
Fair Time Again
Left, right, on sand or sod
Life's Chronic Discomforts
The Treasure of a picture's memories
Growing Up is not Easy
The Dance of the Nonagenarian
The imperfection of the oral voice
The Camaraderie of the Saints
Old Horses never Die, They just Fade Away
Tubing on the Apple River
Serendipity's Grand Design
Monarch of the Past
How to love the Majesty
Out There is Reality
The Ballot Choice
Affirmation's Positive Influence
Locator Contraption
Best Construction
Disastrous Dressing
The First Day of Learning's Journey
Contentment's Fragile Nature