This folder is labeled “More Poetry”. It’s work taken from the tall stack of journals. Work I feel is my strongest. Mostly poetry, some prose. Again, from the sublime to the ridiculous.
This first poem in this section was written as a gift for my sister Sandra on the occasion of her sixtieth birthday. Sandy is a good woman, even a great woman, I celebrate her here.
Ode to Sandra
Sandra, Ah yes Sandy,
The quest, the path, the star.
On this bright occasion,
We acknowledge who you are!
Looking on, and looking upward,
Letting in the light,
With each dawn a new beginning,
The star of hope so bright.
Oh, sister dear,
We celebrate your life.
In love let us embrace you,
Mother, daughter, sister wife.
Your spirit is the lioness,
Eve and mother force,
Provider and protector,
In union with the source.
The spark of life within.
A diamond’s made of dust.
Seeking the enduring,
As gold that cannot rust.
Your message is a life well lived.
A path of life and love.
With earth below, water, air,
And guiding stars above.
Happy birthday Sandra.
Let us bring you birthday cheer.
Love and wisdom, strength, and health,
All be yours this year.
Love and wisdom,
Strength and health,
All be yours this year.
Hunting the Brush
I got started as a hunter late in life. This is my ninth season. I’ll be fifty on my next birthday. I have attempted to learn as much about the sport as quickly as possible. I don’t just hunt, I study hunting. I’ve taken fifteen deer, including the button buck I took with a bow last week.
I’ve encountered more than twenty deer in the woods this year. I’ve had four close calls, and one kill. It’s still bow season here in New York. November eleventh. I dropped an arrow off the pin when a doe was ten yards away. I got busted by a deer following the one I was about to draw on. I chose not to take a frontal neck shot at eight yards. And last Saturday evening got caught with my squirrel gun, as a six pointer walked by at twenty yards.
Saturday I thought I’d hunt squirrel. In two hours, I killed only one. So I went and got my bow. Then the squirrels came out. They were everywhere. So I hiked back to the truck to get the squirrel gun. I was back at my little stand in the woods, and five minutes later a beautiful buck sauntered by. I was exasperated, and just left the woods.
I’d met another hunter out on the road, when I was switching weapons. An acquaintance I’d meant here at this parcel many times over the years. When I went back to the truck to go home, his truck was already gone. It was still an hour before dark. I fear I disturbed his peace. The animals were moving, he should have stayed.
Nine year ago, I took my first deer. It was the fourth morning of the season. Before I saw it, I heard its’footfalls in the dry leaves in the other side of a nearby ridge. I stood up and had the gun aimed. The deer walked into the line of fire. I merely pulled the trigger, and the doe dropped. It was a twenty foot shot. I took my second deer later in that season at twelve feet. All the deer I have taken have been inside of twenty five yards.
I hunt the brush, the thick cover. I let the deer come close. But one can let the deer get too close. Especially if your day dreaming. A deer surprising you at ten feet might as well be ten miles away. It will be in the next county before you raise your gun. A deer can cover twenty yards in a single bound. It’s important to learn not to daydream. Keep vigilant, look deep into the cover. No unnecessary bodily movement. Keep your spine erect. Keep your weapon at near ready. See the deer before it sees you. Raise your weapon as the deer’s head is behind a tree.
Ten yards is close enough. Inside of ten yards the deer can distinguish you, even if you are motionless in full camo. A ten yard shot a standing or walking deer is a slam dunk. Don’t try and wait for anything closer. They seem to be able to smell your breath, hear your heartbeat, or sense your body heat.
If milk products make you cough, don’t consume them for a day before you hunt. Carry cough drops.
Tie a thread to your weapon, so you can monitor the winds. Always work the winds.
In the bow hunter education course, we were told that the only ethical shot is a double lung. However I think a frontal neck shot inside of ten yards should be considered ethical. Especially if one is using a compound bow with good sights.
I’ve observed something about the turkeys this year as well. . If one listens, as well as watches, the turkeys will announce their arrival. You can be ready for them before they see you.
Sometimes the woods are active, sometimes the woods seem devoid of life. The last time the woods were alive for me, was the evening before a storm system blew in. Perhaps a hunter should monitor the weather forecasts, and try to hunt the fair weather before a storm. There is something to learn here.
I’m using a very old compound bow. It has very limited range. I cannot hit the pie plate beyond twenty yards. I would have more opportunities with a more modern, faster weapon. I know I’ve done okay, but a little more success would feel good. One should use the best equipment he can afford, to make the most out of that all too precious time in the woods. It’s important to practice with your gun and bow.
I can’t tell you how many deer I’ve jumped on my way into the woods this year. Sometimes I think the smartest thing to do is to make a quick entry into the woods, get quiet, and get ready. At other times, it seems the smartest thing to do is to quietly still hunt your way into the woods , looking for an opportunity as you approach your stand.
Singularly, the greatest benefit of hunting is the great joy and peace one experiences in the quiet wilderness.
Success will come with time spent in the woods. Put the time in, the opportunities will arise.
And with opportunity will come success.
Let the woods elevate your mind, strengthen your body, and with a little luck, fill your freezer.
Let’s go hunting.
America
This land we call America,
“Land of the free”.
“Home of the brave”.
“Land of liberty”.
I love this land,
I can honestly say.
I am grateful to live here,
As I sit here today.
A measure of freedoms,
And liberties,
We have in America,
Between shining seas.
But we’ve grown accustomed to
To the freedoms we’re given.
And take for granted
The great privilege we live in.
So, we should probably change
In a few minor ways,
And redeem our great land,
As we redeem our days.
One thing we should do,
With each dawning day,
Is to thank Him who made us,
Take a moment to pray.
And work hard through the days,
An honest days work.
All work is honorable,
Whether doctor or clerk.
Love the person,
Who lives next door.
Black or white,
Rich or poor.
Then give just a little,
To charity,
Cause I’m grateful to live
In the Land of the Free.
Yes, God bless the America.
I love you my land.
Strong, right and good,
Free let us stand.
Yes, let us vow to be better,
With every new day.
Let goodness and honor,
Guide us on our way.
The path of truth,
Our lives to tell.
America,
God guide us well.
America,
God guide us well.
Goin’ Fishing
I’m going fishin’
No time to write a poem.
Got to get my fishin’ in,
‘cause too soon I’m going home.
Got to find out
What they’re hittin’ at,
Cause fishin’ days are too, too short,
For this fishin’cat.
No time to sit and write today,
Of thoughts and prayers and wishin’,
‘Cause sunrise comes awful soon,
And I’m a going fishin’.
Got to get my butt to bed,
Get ready for the morning.
‘Cause I’m going to catch a boatful,
And this is your fair warning.
No time to write a pretty poem,
There’s fishin’ to be done.
Tomorrow bright and early,
With the risin’ of the sun.
No time to write a pretty poem.
It’s time for fishin’ fun.
For tomorrow dawns a fishin’ day,
At the rising of the sun.
Epiphany
Wise men the beckoning light still see.
Bright shining from afar.
Seeking the light that sets men free,
Beneath Bethlehem’s bright star.
Wisdom’s children still walk the way,
Toward Israel’s shining light.
Wise folk seek Him yet today,
Bright star over life’s dark night.
Yea, in lowly stable born,
The Christ, Emmanuel .
With praise your Godhead I adorn,
My life, my love, my will.
Toward this light, His own sojourn,
Through all eternity,
From this light we wisdom learn.
This star that sets us free.
As wise men sought so long ago,
This light of Bethlehem,
Wisdom in this light to know,
‘neath this shining gem.
Oh bright star over stable low.
To wisdom guide us now.
On our pilgrimage here below,
On our knees we bow.
We bring you praises as our treasures.
Oh Lord we humbly pray,
With this my life, may you find pleasure,
Upon this Christmas day.
With this my life, may you find pleasure,
Upon this Christmas day.
The Ballad of Leroy Stone
Leroy Stone stood six foot four.
Arms like beams, and legs like trees.
Shoulders wide as the bar room door.
Snake skin boots up to his knees.
Buckskin shirt, leather, jeans.
Eyes and fists of black stone cold.
The wind blows the way that Leroy leans,
Or this I what I’m told.
Leroy always took the rocky road.
He used his brawn and back.
A man of strength he rode,
On his horse named Kodiak.
Leroy Stone, had the strength of ten.
Never spoke a careless word.
Big Leroy, feared of men.
Deep within him something stirred.
One night upon his faithful steed,
As the moon shone bright on high,
The stallions galloping with speed.
A voice spoke from inside.
,
Now Leroy owned a gold mine.
A man of strength and brawn.
Out riding under star shine,
Within him something dawned.
Leroy earned his way in life,
Digging deep for gold.
A shovel, pick, and bowie knife,
In the earth deep, dark and cold.
He saw the twinkling of the stars,
The moons soft silver light.
The coyote howling from afar.
Night birds song, delight.
A question rose from deep inside.
“How?” the question came,
From the nearby woods a big cat cried.
“Does life take breath and name?”
A shooting star shot across the sky.
A question came again.
“Why are all men born to die?”
Why sunshine and rain?”
An owl hooting from the trees.
The silver moon on high.
The cool and gentle night time breeze.
Fresh the forest sigh.
Now it’s after midnight,
Upon the trail ahead,
The sight of town, the lanterns light.
A saloon’s where Leroy’s led.
Flickering lamplight from inside.
Clamor, noise and cheer.
Swinging doors he opened wide.
Musty smell of smokes and beer.
He sidled up to the brown brass rail,
And ordered a barley brew.
Well, the way I heard this story,
He ordered another two.
On a barstool Leroy’s thinking,
With the beer now slightly high.
‘Round him all were drinking.
His mind then asked him “why”.
“There must be a Lord above”
This thought now filled his mind.
“ Light and darkness, hatred , love,
An answer do I find?”
Leroy’s just about to speak
About what he is thinking.
But the lamp flames flicker, the building creaks,
The barkeep nods, and winking.
Leroy laid his two bits down.
Through the door , and to the road,
On Kodiaks back he rode from town.
He’d found the mother lode.
Leroy didn’t go home that night.
Rather riding through the dark,
Still riding till dawn’s first light,
And the singing of the lark.
As daylight was breaking,
All the birds were singing.
And Leroy’s heart awakening,
New hopes within were ringing.
Heading eastward toward the morning sky,
He heard the rooster call.
A single tear fell from his eye.
He’d found the greatest gold of all.
For Leroy Stone, brave and bold,
A man of will and might,
Had found the greatest gold of all,
And seen the morning light.
For Leroy Stone, brave and bold,
A man of will and might,
Had found the greatest gold of all,
And seen the morning light.
Imaginary Camp in the Swamp
In the deep, deep swamp,
There’s a small, small camp.
With dark, dark nights,
In the damp, damp, damp.
I have a little cabin,
On stilts, logs and poles.
In the wet, wet wild,
Of the Seminoles.
Creatures shnuffa-shnuffling,
At the door at night.
I canna, notta, getta sleep.
A fright, fright, fright.
Growling alli-alligators,
Panther and a bear.
Wild pig and bobcat.
I’m a scare, scare, scare.
Arma, armadillos on the stairs,
Coons on the roof.
Possum on the window sill,
And deer on the hoof.
Clouds of no-see-ums.
Mosquitoes by the ton.
Storks a talking in the trees,
A fishing pole and gun.
Ratta- ratta- rattle snake,
Whatta water rat.
Crawdiddly crawdads,
Stinky old pole cat.
Frogs a croaking through the night.
Owls hoot and whoo.
The momma monster of the swamp,
Is gonna get you too.
Bones a boil on the stove,
Catta-catfish stew.
Living like a king of kings,
In the back bayou.
I have a ‘maginary hut,
Where the swamp moss grow.
Come, come a visit me.
Bring yo ban, banjo.
We willa sing-a through the night,
Sing-a-sing forever more.
Cella-cella-celebrate,
Cause that’s what life is for.
Come-come-a visit me,
In de back bayou.
Bring some food, and bring some drink,
And stay a night or two.
Or come with just a singing heart,
If that’s the way it breaks.
And I’ll fill you full with cooter pie,
and alligator steaks.
We’ll go a fishin’
And hunting with the gun.
Till we fill the frying pan,
And peace of mind is won.
I have a ‘maginary camp,
Hid-hid a way back in.
Come a-visit me, can you find me?
Lift the latch, come on in.
I have a ‘maginary camp,
Hid-hid a way back in.
Come a-visit me, can you find me?
Lift the latch, come on in.
Bees knees
On behalf
Of my beloved befriended,
I write to be heart free.
Bethink, beyond, beholden,
Bespeak, be truth to me.
Beacon, be bright, bedazzle.
Beget in brilliancy.
Beware, before beginning.
Be light to help me see.
Bequest, behest, bejewel,
Bestir, be full with glee,
Begone, befall, befoul,
Begun the symphony.
Bewitch, befog, befitting,
Besiege adversity.
Bewail, belittle, befuddle,
Beat down the enemy.
Beset, bemoan, belabor.
Be blessed in amity.
Bespoke, beside, below, behave,
Be well, be true, be free.
Behead, bedevil, bedraggle.
Be not I, but we.
Beguile, bespangle, be noble.
Be joyous victory.
Before, betimes, begotton,
Be sunny simplicity.
Be beautiful, be happy,
Benign, and there just be!
Life on the Farm
Little tiny chicken,
On teeny little legs.
Little, little feet,
Lays little tiny eggs.
The morning sun is rising.
The dew is on the ground.
Farmer Will, and his wife named Jill,
Awake to the barking hound.
The hound, its name is Casey.
They feed it meat and bone.
It barks when geese fly overhead.
It’s a puppy, mostly grown.
They splash cold water on their faces.
Then jump into their clothes.
Then out the door to early chores,
As the teeny rooter crows.
Feed the horses grain and hay.
And let the cow go out.
Then slop the pig, its grown so big.
Curly tail and ugly snout.
The ewes and rams are bleating.
The lambs, they skip and play.
The goat, his name is Billy Too,
Another dawning day.
Back now to the farmhouse,
For cornbread, cakes and tea.
Bread and jam, coffee, ham.
For the farming family.
A boy named Roy, and a girl named Shirl,
Dress, eat and off to classes.
With lunch in a pack, and books on their back,
With other lads and lasses.
Now there’s fields for plowing in the spring.
Then plant and weed and pray,
Harvest time then in the fall,
And rest on the Seventh Day.
Milk the cows, and gather eggs.
Make butter, cream and cheese.
Smoke the hams, and can the beef.
And honey from the bees.
Of course a little hunting.
A rabbit for the stew.
And fishing too, out on the lake,
If your luck is running true.
And cold, cold water from the well.
A pump out in the yard.
Drink, drink up, from an old tin cup.
The handle works so hard.
A fire hot, in the old black stove,
Split wood by the cord.
The cat named Mittens just had kittens.
In the room where the kindling is stored.
On Saturdays, when suppers done,
There’s a gathering in town,
Talk and dance, and find romance.
An old time, town hoe down.
The evening sun is setting.
The western sky is red.
Horse in the barn, and sheep in the pasture,
It’s time to go bed.
The seasons come, the seasons go.
Plant in spring, harvest moon.
Early to bed, early to rise.
For mornings come so soon.
And the teeny, tiny rooster
Will wake us with his call.
Times they come, and time they go.
Spring, summer, winter, fall.
The morning sun is rising.
The dew is on the ground.
Farmer Will, and his wife named Jill,
Awake to the barking hound.
The morning sun is rising.
The dew is on the ground.
Farmer Will, and his wife named Jill,
Awake to the barking hound.
Realization
I have found that if I work quickly and quietly, I can often have the job done before they tell me it’s impossible.
The Secret Place
I’ve found my way into a place,
A place where no one knows,
I’ve found a place, a secret place,
A place where no one goes.
The sun is softly shining,
The breeze is gently blowing.
Alas, a place, a special place,
A place of quiet knowing.
Looking past these clothes I wear,
Beyond these eyes that see.
I am not cloth, nor am flesh I,
‘tis spirit that I be.
Its only cloth I borrow,
And clay that’s lent to me.
Life is spirit, spirit’s truth.
And truth is all that’s free.
Yes, shades of death encircle.
And trial is never far.
I flee to light, with all my might.
The glimmering hopeful star.
In peace, upon this lofty hill,
I understand and see.
Peace and hope and joy and love,
And what it means to be.
Though darkness is never distant.
And death is always near,
See that life is life within,
There is no need to fear.
Yes, peace upon this lofty mount.
I see and understand.
It’s not the hand that guides us,
But the movement of that hand.
Yes, there’s a place, a special place.
Kind sun and breezes blowing.
Look beyond , and see within,
A place of quiet knowing.
I’ve found a place, a special place.
A place where no one goes.
I’ve found a place, a secret place,
A place where no one knows.
I’ve found a place, a special place.
A place where no one goes.
I’ve found a place, a secret place,
A place where no one knows.
Christmas Poem 1996
I lived in poverty for decades, without being aware I was poor. My folks were well to do. They had a house in the suburbs, and vacation homes. They took cruises and travelled the world.
I was totally consumed with mental illness. Lost in prayer, my art and writing, and the labors of providing cleaning and gardening service to a host of clients.
The holidays were very important to Mom and Dad. Family and friends would come from far and wide to celebrate with us.
They were good about making sure I always nice clothe to wear.
My living arrangements were modest, to say the least. But I always spent the holidays with Mom and Dad. They would ask me to come and help with the festive preparations, and spend the holiday.
The holiday would arrive, and the house would fill with joyful expectations. And joyful company. I had clothes, I had family and friends. There was a feast prepared. It was glorious. I had joy. I had no idea that I was living on the cusp of desperation.
See the brightly shining stars.
On this wintry Christmas night.
And in this darkest time of year,
We celebrate great light.
In every crystal flake of snow,
In every hearth’s warm flame,
In the last flocks winging southward,
God’s presence we acclaim.
We worship Christ Creator,
And humbly hold Him near,
As we ponder myths of Yuletide.
Good Santa and reindeer.
The gifts beneath the Christmas tree,
And stockings filled as well.
Sweet sung carols fill the air.
And the bells chime out “Noel”.
We’ll steal a kiss ‘neath mistletoe.
And toast at table spread,
To health and cheer, this coming year.
Decorations green and red.
The church adorned at midnight mass.
The altar bright we see.
May the celebration of this day
Draw us close to thee.
Let bells chime out across the land.
In joyous thanks we pray.
“Jesus please draw near to us,
On this our Christmas day.
Jesus please draw near to us,
On this our Christmas day.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo
( Friend of the King of Zanzibar)
Don’t you think this one would make a good children’s book?
I am the great and terrible,
Awful and unscarable.
You’ll never, never ,never guess who,
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
“ I’m known from Hell to Heaven”,
Yea, rolling up a seven.
He settles for eleven.
Drinking Kool aid from a shoe,
The Pashamagooley, Kalamazoo.
Sometimes a fortune teller.
Play the heart and ring the beller.
Give ‘em hope, and give ‘em heller.
He never did a deed untrue.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
Known to be a Buddhist.
Thought to be a nudist.
Without doubt the rudest,
Stirring up a witches brew,
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
Living high up in the trees,
Greasing up his nose and knees.
Scratching at his ticks and fleas.
Throwing kicks, and doing kung fu,
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
Looking sharp, doing fine.
Clinging and swinging from his vine.
Signing on the dotted line.
Hanging with the well to do.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
For dinner he eats oatmeal mush.
Shoves it down, he’s in a rush.
Then cleans his moustache with a brush.
He caught the cuckoo ‘fore it flew.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
They unscrewed his cranium.
Put in a new brainium.
One made of uranium, and titanium.
Jumping like a jackeroo,
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
Deplorable and horrible.
Yes utterly adorable.
Trust him now to keep the scorable.
Ready now to step in queue.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
His nose grows green,
Like a big string bean.
Looking lean and mean and clean.
Cooking up a barbeque,
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
His sitting on his nest of eggs.
Getting crampy in his legs.
Send it now, he often begs.
Up the creek in a cracked canoe.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
“Yes”, he says, the world is mine”.
“I’ve got it all, I’m doing just fine”.
“See me smile, see me shine”.
He spread his wings, and off he flew.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
“Yes”, he says, the world is mine”.
“I’ve got it all, I’m doing just fine”.
“See me smile, see me shine”.
He spread his wings, and off he flew.
The Pashamagooley Kalamazoo.
The Guggenheim Queen
The Guggenheim Queen,
The Guggenheim Queen.
The prettiest lady
You’ve ever seen.
She twirls through the air,
With her arms out to there.
Taking care not to get
Sparks in her hair.
Twirling and leaping,
Floating and sweeping.
Butterfly dancing,
Completely entrancing.
Laughing and grinning,
Light hearted spinning.
Many affections,
Flowering, winning.
Dancing reflection,
A shadow’s inflection.
For the Guggenheim King,
Joy’s resurrection.
She twirls on the wing,
Beginning to sing.
The Guggenheim Queen,
She pleases her King.
La, la, la, sing.
Sa, la, la long.
The Guggenheim Queen
Singing her song.
The Guggenheim Queen.
The Guggenheim Queen.
The prettiest Lady
That I’ve ever seen.
The Guggenheim Queen.
The Guggenheim Queen.
The prettiest Lady
That I’ve ever seen.
My Wish – A Wilderness Hideaway
If I could wish,
Have any wish,
Wish for anything.
I’d have a piece
Of forest deep
Where peace is reigning king.
The peace of wooded mountainside,
By a cold clear lake.
Fell trees to build our cabin warm.
And for our garden’s sake.
We’d have four little buildings,
In our forest keep.
Bunk house, kitchen, chapel,
One for the geese and sheep.
I’d have a dog or two,
To keep me company.
Faithful, kind companions,
Frolic at my knee.
We’d dig a well.
Cold water pure.
Split and stack our wood.
Thank the Lord unceasingly.
For this life hard and good.
The iron stove,
Glowing warm.
Food to keep us strong.
Hunt and fish in solitude,
And in the evenings, song.
Tune the guitar and the fiddle.
Rosin up the bow.
Warm up the harmonica.
Let the feelings flow.
Sketch the blossoms, tree and ferns.
Draw the laughing streams.
Write down the forests’ whispers,
It’s secret hopes and dreams.
I’d have a shelf
of special books.
By healers, farmers,
Priests and cooks.
A keg of salt and flower.
Oats, barley, rice and beans.
Wash tubs, kettles, pot and pans.
Trunk filled with all our dreams.
Oil lamps and candles.
Our precious night time light.
Winter’s dark brings courage.
Springs promise brings new life.
The hooting of the owls.
The crying of the loons.
Heron on the night time sky.
Clouds drift across the moon.
The Milky Way, the northern lights.
The brilliant shooting stars.
The white tail, coon and black bear,
Polaris, Venus, Mars.
A forest hide away.
To share as guide and friend.
Show the path of joy and peace
And the trails warm end.
Changing with the seasons.
Growing with each day.
One with God and nature.
The wooded path, our way.
Yes,
If I could wish,
have any wish,
wish for anything,
I’d have a piece
of forest deep,
where peace is reigning king.
I’d have a piece
of forest keep,
where peace is reigning king.
I Am the Greater Koodoo
I am the Greater Koodoo.
I do not care what you do.
Hold your breath and turn blue.
I am the Greater koodoo.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
One of the chosen few few.
Pigs go oink, and cows go moo.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
The baby has a boo boo,
They tied his shoe askew, skew.
The busy bee he flew flew.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
Daddy told a story.
Boy, was it a loo- loo.
The fish he caught, it grew and grew.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
Now, I’ll build you a castle,
A castle tall and new new.
On puffy clouds of pink and blue,
I am the Greater Koodoo.
A song of knights and dragons,
Let me sing to you you.
Of princes, ponies, swords, and spells.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
We slayed the monster in the mirror.
A story oh so true true.
And the troll under the bed.
I am the greater Koodoo.
I caught a bear when hunting,
When hunting at the zoo zoo.
And set it free across the sea,
‘cause I am the Greater Koodoo.
Sitting high upon my hill.
Such a wonderful view view.
I see you walking, hear you talking.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
I know all about you you.
You better be good, like you know you should.
I am the Greater Koodoo.
I’m walking with the giants.
I do what giants do do.
Be strong, be good, be brave and kind.
‘cause I am the Greater Koodoo.
Be strong, be good, and brave and kind.
‘cause I am the greater Kooodoo.
I Have a Little Starship
I have a little secret,
Something I must hide.
In my cubby there’s a starship.
Want to come now for a ride?
My starship’s made of twinkling eyes.
And merry hearts unbroken.
Now come aboard, your boarding pass,
A smile as your token.
A universe, unbroken love,
Faith and joy and laughter.
Gentle love unending.
Goodness ever after.
Then off to distant galaxies,
Of dragons, heroes, horses.
My light ship’s name is Cheerful Heart.
Beyond the stars she courses.
Come now sail away with me.
We leave tomorrow dawn.
And brighter be our guiding stars.
If you be along.
So meet me in my cubby,
Tomorrow to take flight.
The sun shall rise, and so shall we.
Tomorrow at first light.
The sun shall rise, and so shall we.
Tomorrow at first light.
Horse
Looks like I’m a horse today.
So pass the corn, the oats, and the hay.
Looks like I’m a horse to stay.
Wouldn’t have it any other way.
Peanut Butter and Jelly
Peanut butter and jelly.
Morning, noon or night.
So tasty in my tummy.
An absolute delight.
Grape or peach, or berries.
Apricot or pear.
Peanut butter marries jelly,
The perfect lunchtime fare.
Peanut butter, smooth or crunchy.
On bread of white or wheat.
Favorite lunchy munchy.
Just the perfect treat.
So satisfying,
And so quick to make.
Lordy, I’m so hungry,
For a snack, for goodness sake.
Love peanut butter on the bread,
Laud the jam and jelly.
With tasty joy, I spread the bread,
To fill a hungry belly.
With tasty joy I spread the bread,
To fill a hungry belly.
Now is the Time- Christmas poem 2006.
We learn to be kind,
by practicing prayer.
Prayer opens one’s mind,
and teaches us care.
Our auras,
Grow bright when we pray.
Providence, protection,
With prayer every day.
Know evil,
Blinds the mind.
In sin without knowing.
Dullness we find.
If we fall in sin,
This I believe,
Our protecting angels,
They leave.
While sinners assume
the life of the good.
Tobacco smoke rises,
A witch and a hood.
I slam my Bible,
And shout “this is the day!”
Get down on your knees,
Face God and pray.
Now is the time.
Build castles of light.
Before darkness falls,
The coming of night.
Our castle of light,
Furnish it well.
With comforts, devotion.
Ring the high bell.
Ring with kindness,
Ring gentle care.
Join us , worship,
Let love fill the air.
A castle of light,
In a world of dark sin.
Now is the time.
Let us begin.
Chords crescendo,
Dissonant chords.
Angels, demons,
Clashing swords.
A cup of tea,
A piece of pie.
Offer me something
When I pass by.
Let’s build a kingdom,
Of strength and might.
Walls high and wide,
Of Heavenly light.
Mothers, fathers,
Girls and boys.
Let us be safe
from one who destroys.
Now is the time,
This is the day.
Get down on your knees,
Face God and pray.
Yes, now is the time.
This is the day.
Get down on your knees,
With me and pray.
I have two questions for you. The first is, when was the last time you watched television for an hour or more in one day? The second question is, when was the last time you got down on your knees and prayed for an hour or more in one day? Or sat before your Bible in an hour of quiet meditation?
TWO CANDLES, INCENSE, A BOWL OF ICE, A CHAPTER, ALOUD, FROM THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS, THE BEATITUDES, ELEVEN BOWS AND SILENT MEDITATION. A WHITE PRAYER SHAWL. CLEANSING AND FORGIVENESS. SALVATION OF THE WORLD.
How Can This Be Done ?
Dear Lord,
how can this
be done?
They must pass
Through me to you.
You must pass
Through me to them.
They must pass
Through life to you.
You must pass
Through life to them.
Dear Lord,
How can this
Be done?
The Firefly, Campfire, and the Moon
One warm August night,
I gathered sticks,
And built a warm campfire.
As I sat by the fire,
Lost in thought,
The moon began to rise,
Full and bright.
And then I saw a firefly
flitting by.
“ Light” I thought,” Light”
“Which is the truest light”.
The campfire
Is bright and cheerful,
Warm and near,
Lit by human hands.
The moon,
A cool and distant comfort,
Breaking up the forest black.
The magical firefly,
Luminous through some
Internal mystery.
Light is light,
I pondered.
It matters not
How it comes into being.
The campfire
requires wood.
The moon
Reflects the sun.
The firefly
Needs food and water.
“The sun” ,
“Our sun”, I thought,
“ Is truly Lordly light”.
Our sun
Causes trees and plants to grow.
Our sun,
Lends it’s light to the moon
Our sun,
Ordains the rains and the winds.
And from where
Does our sun
Glean its weight and light
I pondered?
The word “ancient”
Came to me.
The Ancient One.
The Ancient of Days
God.
Campfire.
Moon.
Firefly.
Sun.
God.
Thoughts I Had While at Work
To do everything within one’s power to live a full, useful, meaningful life.
To worship fully, often.
To nurture one’s body as the temple of God’s spirit.
To serve and live, in love and gentle kindness.
To work well, with rigor and honesty.
To rise to the call of duty and service, when truth and justice call.
To enjoy life here and now, as a foretaste of his coming kingdom.
And be certain, that one day, all men and women will know we are one family, under God.
To a Woman I Knew
In the orange glow
of the salt lamp,
a curl of your brown hair,
fell across your cheek.
Your sheets were warm,
Your breath sweet,
And skin so soft.
In that moment you were so gorgeous.
My fifty year old body
Runs for the bus,
As it leaves the station.
My legs are not as fast,
Nor my back as strong,
As when I was young.
I console myself in saying,
“wisdom ages gracefully”.
I pray you understand.
.
cc