RSS

Category Archives: Poetry

Happy Birthday Kate!

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I haven’t posted in quite a while, and I’m not going to apologize for it.  I’ve been busy with other things.  Last time I was away for a while it was not due to being busy, especially, it was more due to procrastination, but when I apologized for it I was told by a lot of my readers in comments, to not apologize and beat myself up, but to write when I felt the inspiration to do so.

 

Well, I felt inspired for several reasons today.  The first and foremost of those reasons is that today is my wife, Katrina’s, birthday.  She turns eighteen…again!  I’m amazed, truly, because I didn’t realize she was that young when I married her…

 

I also need to get a blog started for her.  As I mentioned before, she writes most of our missionary newsletters and updates, and up until recently, I was simply emailing those out to all our friends and supporters.  While on furlough a few months ago, I realized that a blog would be the perfect medium for her newsletters.  So keep an eye opened and we will be letting you know when and where you can begin to read those.

 

Without further ado, I’ll post my most recent poem.  It’s all mushy and such.  I just wanted to express some of my feelings toward her in verse.  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

 

Eighteen Again

 

Eighteen AGAIN?  How do you do it?

 

You look the part as always.

 

I’m afraid God might have blessed me too much,

 

with a wife that perpetually stays,

 

as young as a spring chick

 

in earliest May

 

with the spirit of a foal

 

in the meadow to play.

 

You revitalize me with your ever flowing fount

 

of energy, joy and grace,

 

and I give thanks to God for the heart that you have,

 

and I’ll do so for all of my days.

 

I wish you, this year, on the very first day,

 

that you’ll not falter in your pace.

 

But, I will be by your side should you wish to lean

 

on my arm or to seek my embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements
 
Comments Off on Happy Birthday Kate!

Posted by on May 22, 2013 in Blog Management, Blogs, Challenges, Christianity, Inspiration, Life, Poetry, Prompts, Religion, Social Media, Writing

 

Tags: , , ,

Sedentary Revolutionary

English: Revolutionary parade, ink drawing by ...

Image via Wikipedia

I’m twisted inside at what’s happening here.

We gave in to the mob though their cause was unclear.

As they’d hoped, we averted our eyes and went on

keeping time to the sound of their merciless drum.

Now we’re over that cliff.  Who knew lemmings could fly?

Oh, they can’t?  I guess that’s why we’re so contrite.

We hit bottom and turned to each other in hope.

Then we realize we’d given them all of our rope

thinking they’d make a noose for themselves.  They hung us

out to dry, on a limb, on a hook, or a truss.

Now here we swing while they dance down below

and they’ve brought us their broken ideals in tow.

“What shall we do?” we all scream in despair

as we dangle here just like a brace of march hares.

Well, we probably should learn to cooperate,

get ourselves off of this hook post-haste.

But we just throw blame.  You blame me.  I blame you.

We keep fighting.  There’s nothing at all we can do.

So the marchers go, pockets full of change.

“Your objections are bigoted” they will explain.

What’s the answer?  We know we should all just consent

to the plan of our forefathers’ first document.

Constitutional law, as you know does not fail

unless the balances tell you the check’s in the mail.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on March 11, 2012 in Poetry, Politics

 

Tags: , ,

Shrike

PoetryWell, Valentine’s Day is all over but the dancing, so now I can safely post this poem with its “anti-romance” theme without fearing the ruination of any lovers’ dreams for the holiday.  It’s written for the Poetry Challenge – Week 2 over at ClownRhymes’ wonderful poetry blog.  The challenge was to use the words “…last words…” as the title, the theme, or in the poem itself.  I hope you enjoy it.

Shrike

Last words are forever so easy to say,

And yet they’re so hard to receive.

How could a person with so little faith

Be so instantly and easily deceived?

I try to acknowledge it every day

But there never comes any reprieve,

from knowing that I was her patsy, her rube,

for not seeing what hid up her sleeve.

Now I sit mourning, and here I will stay.

What good reason do I have to leave?

It’s my best friend that now foolishly walks in her way

and I know one day he too will grieve.

The stiletto remains in my heart ever grey,

till the day it can finally be sheathed,

when she does it to him like an instant replay

and my suffering, to him I’ll bequeath.

“You’d take her back if you could get her to stay?”

He recently said. I said “Do I look that naive?

Trust me.  You dallied, and the devil you’ll pay.

Your comeuppance you’ll surely receive

and then we’ll drink wine with a perfect bouquet

and our mutual disturbance bereave.

Meanwhile I will just wait for the day

Her unfaithfulness makes you believe. ”

 
6 Comments

Posted by on February 14, 2012 in Contests, Poetry

 

Tags: , , , ,

The Speck

There’s a speck behind my lcd.  I see it all the time.

I’m not sure how it got there but it’s in my address line.

I tried to wipe it off but found it’s underneath the screen

And yet I see it as clearly as if it were a part of the design.

 

I thought it was a comma once, or an apostrophe.

I even thought to change the colors of my desktop theme.

But no matter what I do to avoid seeing this little speck,

It always follows what I do.  It’s haunting me, it seems.

 

I wonder how it got there.  Is it dust from some unknown

Spring cleaning project of my wife’s, from off the mantle, blown?

Or did a bug that sought a source of warmth find himself stuck

and die there searching for an exit to the world he once had known?

 

I guess I’ll leave it in there as I’m no computer tech.

The cost of having it removed would make me bounce a check.

And yet I’m finding as I see the spot each brand new day,

That it’s becoming rather like a friend this unknown little speck.

 

So I’ll just keep on greeting it each morning with “Hello.”

I’ll cease to try and wipe it off.  I’ve wiped enough to know.

I’ll gladly share with my companion everything I write

And if its size increases then I guess I’ll watch it grow.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on February 12, 2012 in Inspiration, Poetry, Writing

 

Tags: , , , , ,

My Son (A Poem)

My son’s dog, Bowser, was a great friend to him.   He was only six months old, but we all loved him.  He was one of those pups who has spirit, charm and lots of personality.  He was a very smart dog too.  He would distract the other dogs by barking out the door and when they were all distracted, pick up the food bowl and carry it into another room to eat undisturbed.

He contracted some type of sickness this past week, and because there’s no veterinarian here in our little Honduran town, all we could do was look online for solutions and try to keep him hydrated.  The brave little guy checked out tonight.  My son came to me when he knew for sure the little dog was gone and just melted in my arms as we both cried.  We all cried.  My wife came home with my daughter and they were both heartbroken about it.  

I wrote this for…

My Son

You know… you’re almost seventeen.  I think you understand

the facts of life and death, my son, the Father’s master plan.

At least you know as well as most that God is sovereign.

I dug the grave, you laid him in, remember this, young man,

that nothing cuts as deeply as the end of life’s long span.

I know you loved your little friend.  Though small he was so grand.

Although you haven’t cried for years, tonight the teardrops ran.

Come sit with me a while my son, for soon you’ll be a man.

But this night let me be your strength.  In time you’ll love again.

 
15 Comments

Posted by on February 10, 2012 in Death, Grief, Life, Poetry

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Pulling Petals

Tulip, an actinomorphic flower with three peta...

Image via Wikipedia

I wrote this a month ago while watching the new, cinema production of  Jayne Eyre.  I guess it should be devoted to all the Valentine’s Day lovers in the blogosphere, but in my heart I can only think of one; my dear wife Katrina.

Pulling Petals

He loves me?

He loves me not?

What equitable worth might this faerie thaumaturgy bestow?

For how could it answer that she should select from the randomness of a walk through a beflowered dale, a blossom endowed with its petals as such that they are enumerated evenly or oddly, just so?  What oracle, be it sylvan or nether, could venture to tread before this love stricken soul, rapturing away any spare petals, that the bloom she doth pluck might infallibly portend the romantic success or abject failure fated for said maiden?

He loves me not?

Never say it, dear!

Can she not see?  Or perhaps she possesses not a looking-glass; but surely a momentary reflection from a pool would be sufficient; that she is much more highly endowed with beauty, fairer even than the flowers that she so freely maims in her search for an answer.  Were she to but meet head on the gaze of the young brute she so adores, she would find the reply to her inquiries glaring, no, screaming back at her.

He loves you dear lady.

How could he not?

 
7 Comments

Posted by on February 4, 2012 in Authors, Flash Fiction, Inspiration, Poetry, Writing

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Wednesday

This is my entry for the 100WCGU challenge Week #29
I also want to mention that I think this is patterned after 100wc.net, which is for children 16 and under.  They really need us adult writers to go comment on their entries each week. So if you have the time, please make a visit to that site a regular part of your routine. Thanks!

Here it is:

A Wednesday morning it was, that I was born
and I learned what life was about.
Ripped from my shelter, where I’d been so warm,
to a slap on the rump I cried “Ouch!”
There were pleasant times, yes, like a warm suckled meal
or a silky dry bottom for my nap,
But the general theme was to cry with full zeal
Until mother thought that I was a brat.
Growing was fun because then I could walk
And grab things I before couldn’t reach.
I can now use my mouth to repeat all the things
she never would knowingly teach.

 
36 Comments

Posted by on January 30, 2012 in Authors, Blogs, Challenges, Poetry, Prompts

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: