Friday, February 16, 2007

Met a bag lady walking

Met a bag lady walking
and then tipped my hat to say
a slight wish of good morning
softly spoken

She smiled and she waved
as she shuffled along
while picking up Kants and rappers
silently there

Her coat was worn and tattered
no shoes to complete the show
no masterpiece painting so
aptley given

Her Bible in the cart was
top shelf and opened widely
red borne letters warmed her soul
quickly read

She parted me then singing
a favorite gospel song
her perfection of art
Godly offered

Met a lady with no bags
and then tipped my hat to say
an offer of a greeting
boldly spoken

Her gait was fast on the morn
bags so purchased on that day
pocketbook belieing contents
hustle gains

She frowned and she dodged
as she hurried along
stepping on cans and wrappers
awaiting there

Met a bag lady walking

Marion the Librarian

Marion, the librarian
Sat upon a stool
Her book was so aptly open
From her reading pool.

Marion, the librarian
Worked from dusk to dawn
Hushing little boys and girls, shhhh
Mary, Chris, and Sean.

Marion, the librarian
Picked out books for all
According to their special needs
At least, what she saw.

Marion, the librarian
Puffed the dust bunnies
Then she laughed at her dusty nose
Smiling so sunny.

Marion, the librarian
Closed up every night
No reading in the library
It was dark, no light.

Marion, the librarian
Got home half past eight
Ordered pizza for the night
Reading while she ate

Marion, the librarian
Opened up the door
And put her books upon the desk
Her purse on the floor.

Marion, the librarian
Wiped a tear away
A pizza stain was all she saw
Fine without delay.

Marion, the librarian
A dollar and dime
She pulled from her purse down below
To pay for her crime..

Monday, June 05, 2006

If

If for a time there were cowboys,
and Indians, and home on the range;
And if for a time there were pirates,
and castles with fire breathing dragons;
And if for a time there were rockets,
and starships flying in the heavens;
And if for a time there were cures,
and medicines and bright humans;
Then let there be a time after that,
for God’s peace and love,
and no person speaking of war.

Summer Days

Remember the good ol’ summer days
You had a friend called Raggedy Ann
Who played with you on the fourth of July,
And smiled at a sparkler
Between the fingers of your hand.

Remember the good ol’ summer days,
You watched friend Robin in the sky,
And wished that you and Ann could fly.
And wished for wings on that fourth of July,
and wished for wings on that fourth of July.

Remember the good ol’ summer days;
Left behind is your Raggedy Ann
To guard a Robin’s nest of childish ways
and sparklers no longer held
between the fingers of your hand.

Maudy Mae

I strolled into the truckstop
and there stood Maudy Mae,
Her hair half up in curlers,
the same as every day.
“What-a-ya have there boys,”
she called across the room,
“somebody catch the door,
an’ somebody fetch the broom.”
Maudy worked the trucksop
from sundown until morn,
Always had a smile on,
never looked forlorn.

I walked up to the counter,
threw keys down on the glass,
ordered “blackest” coffee
and a saucer for some class.
Mae brought out a sweet roll,
and set it on the side.
“Its free,” she said, “don’t worry,”
it looked a little dried.

I said, “Hey Maudy,
did you hear about old seven,
the chief’s old Peterbuilt,
he liked to call Blueheaven?”
I told her how it jackknifed
over on Charter Ridge,
about how that Peterbuilt
didn’t make the bridge.

Maudy always joked about
big rigs out on the hill,
and how she’d been stuck
with the Indians truckstop bill.
As she wiped away the crumbs
piled on the counter top,
her rag seemed to dampen
as blue tears began to drop.
Maudy worked the truckstop
from sundown until morn,
always had a smile on,
never looked forlorn.

A Penny

A penny, it seems, won’t go too far
in this crazy mixed up world.
Its value is little more than,
one thousandth weight in gold.
but for me, I’ll take a penny,
all shiney or black with age.
For a penny is better than nothing,
when nothing is all you are paid.

Sleap'n

In da dew laid grass a creapn’
lies da body dats been sleapn’
woken only by de sun
only der de only one
rum in de bottle old it aye
rum in borrow sol it hie
fit de mon wo hur me so
it im in de hed but oh
copper kum an tak me den
to da pokey whard’ I bin
der I ste til morow tim
whetn’ till da sun da shin
den to da dew laid grass da creapn’
for da body to be sleap’n.

Moose Love

I married a Moose
But little did I know,
That a Moose longs for love...

So for my Moose
I bought a Jug
Of friendly Moose Mateus...

Now, Moose Mateus
For your Moose
Is not a gift that’s dug...

For a Moose’s love
Cannot be bought
With the contents of a jug....

Underway

Summer wind swept across the sails
and billows met the urging.
A mighty ship rose on the tide,
from bow to stern asurging.
Crewmen flew from lofty perches
like seabirds to the feeding.
The creaking mast fought the wind
its stiffness not conceding.
Heavy chains were loosed from holding
while salt washed decks were listing.
In the echo of morning mist
plaid pipemen started hissing.
Then underway the ship did make
silent lips through foamy lace.
And pipemen played a seaman’s durge -
haunting strains of ‘mazing grace.

Porch Dreams

Lethargy of humid days
makes lazy men like me
sit on porches aged by time
and dream of ships at sea.

Southern breezes cannot cool
the heat built in my soul
that scorches sails in my mind
on distant beaches shoal.

Ocean currents wander on
to places I’ve not seen
but from my porch I can go
with sails on painted beams.

And if by chance, hap to meet
pirate danger ‘proching
I’d load a cannon for the fight,
a sword or gaff for jousting.

With the battle over then
I’d sail to oceans end,
with the colors of my ship
blowing in the wind.

And should I wake from my dream
I think that I just may,
travel to a harbor near
and watch the ships at bay.

Curse of the Blind Snowgoose

Upon the beaches blessed with sand
and standing in the spray,
I spy a sight that blinds the eye
with shades of white and gray.
A bird of heaven spreads its wings,
with beauty fills the sky.
Oh, Snowgoose loose my grounding chains
and with you let me fly.

The bird soars off to lands unseen
and leaves me standing there;
earthbound as I’ve always been,
alone and unaware
of life among the clouds above
and gliding in the air.
Oh, Snowgoose can’t you see me here?
It hardly seems so fair.

Snowgoose, how you’ve cursed me so,
I never can return,
to life amid the scoured faces,
for in my heart I yearn,
to ease into a downy spirit
and whisked, be in the air.
Oh, Snowgoose can’t you see me here?
It hardly seems so fair.

Sea Thoughts

There came into the night
on wings of southern breeze,
salted moondrops shining
and rushes of the sea.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Sonnet 8

Singing the songs of our savior Jesus
Lifting our voices to give Him our all
Praying in song his grace is before us
Crying for mercy amid sinful fall
From heaven God sent us his only son
A Shepard, a servant, his grace to rule
A King from above to serve everyone
To die for our sins, the brave and the fool
He came to earth to be the Prince of Peace
And heal the sick in body and spirit
His love so perfect and will never cease
Forgiving the faithful though those not fit
Singing His praises all the day through
Singing to Jesus, our life now anew

Haiku – Freely Given

Nature singing still
Singing of the Father’s love
So freely given

Haiku - For God impresses

An oak sheds its leaf
Dropping of its own accord
Only God impresses

Sonnet 52

Sonnet 52

The sad conspirator is at my hand --
He rarely calls to pease my mind to shine
Away with you! Beg and plead my command
Mocking me as a foil demands my time
Crash - rush; -- Lust and soaked -- poison pride is fine
See me! Watch me! With the crowd I will stand!
Shouts encourage want of conspired mind
To study the steps, walk on moving sand
All noses are upturn’d --Whish-ish on high
Hoods Vauxhall relates to none this new lie
My consumption bound --races-- steals for sight
And in the night God sees the madness die
Cars talk -- food walks -- folly twists -- and then
Back to foolish transparent man again.

Writing For Christ
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