The Sugarville Sage

There’s a desert sage northwest of here
In a town called Sugarville,
Not on the top of a mountain
Nor even a humble hill.

This sage lives on the desert floor
Where the ring-neck roosters prattle,
Where rabbits hide in the rabbit brush
And the prairie rattlers rattle.

I would walk five miles on wounded feet
Just to spend an afternoon
And listen to wisdom, free of spin,
Out there in the desert dunes.

For this sage sees life as life unfolds;
The dross refused as we progress.
She knows there are no perfect flowers,
But loves them none-the-less.

No agenda; just the truth!
And we listen all the more,
And count it fortune she is here;
This sage on the desert floor.

To Karen, who is truly wise beyond her years!

I Should Have Been a Farmer

I should have been a farmer
Then my days would be my own.
I’d drive a tractor, dawn ‘til dusk
And wonder where time had flown.

Instead of trying to please a boss;
Those demanding corporate smucks,
I’d be wheelin’ in style, in fancy duds
And a brand new pickup truck!

I could cuss at the rain when I’m bailin’
And cuss at the drought after June,
But at least that’s good reason for cussin’
Not like dancin’ that corporate tune!

I should have been a farmer
With ducks and geese on a pond.
I’d burn my dikes in the winter,
From my truck, with a magic wand!

Sure, I’d have to pay the piper
When the weatherman was wrong.
But it sure beats payin’ taxes and
You can’t spend it when your gone!

If only I were a farmer
I’d be boss of my own show,
And I’d spend December in Vegas
Cheerin’ at the rodeo!

I’d skip out on the bishop’s sermons
So I could go change the water.
And all those gorgeous girls of mine,
Well, they’d be farmer’s daughters!

Yes, I should have been a farmer
Then my wife would own art and stuff.
And I would have been a farmer,
But I’m not smart enough!

Rex

Rex was a kind, soft-spoken man
Whom life had dealt quite a blow.
He had lost his bout with the bottle
And had nowhere else to go.
Was it shame, defeat, or deep despair
I could see there in his eyes?
His only goal was a bottle of wine
And solitude his only prize.

His hands were rough and calloused,
His shoulders; strong and square.
He made his living cutting weeds
At odd jobs here and there.
His nose and cheeks were ruddy
And yes, he stank quite badly.
He never asked for handouts
But accepted them most gladly!

Most folks just ignored old Rex
Or curtly shunned him aside.
No one wanted Rex around,
Let alone asked him inside.
Few men ever gave him work
Or accepted his humble bid.
But one man did. My father did.
My father always did!

Dad sensed the chains that bound old Rex
And he tried to set him free.
He would hire Rex to clear out rag weed;
Thick as Christmas trees.
He’d start out back in the horse corral
Or down by the big gas tanks,
With few possessions and fewer words
Rex would nod, and mutter, “Thanks!”

Rex wasn’t the fasted hand around
But he was steady, sure, and true.
He seemed to take pride in the work he did,
And it showed when he was through.
He kept a file in an old rucksack
So his edge was always keen.
A lot of men can clear out weeds
But he’s the best I’ve ever seen!

Dad taught a Christ-like lesson then,
Whether he’d intended to or not;
A lesson etched in my very soul,
A lesson I haven’t forgot.
And when I stand at the judgement bar,
And the Lord reviews my text,
I pray that He will see in me
What my father saw in Rex!

To my Father, a true example of Christ-like living!

Why Do I Write?

I write and I smile, I write and they nod,

And yet, you still ask me why.

I write to tell stories, I write to have fun,

Must I tender a thoughtful reply?

I’ve been in the grip of the darkness,

Where courage is squeezed from your heart.

Like a python constricting a rodent

It seldom releases its mark!

For now, I am free of this monster

But I feel it, just outside my senses

So I’ve chosen the vantage of poets

No hypocrisy, no guile, no pretenses!

For a poet sees rainbows on a dark rainy day,

The raw truth is all that’s exacted.

A poet sees life through the eyes of his God;

White light through a prism refracted!

I write, because out here the sun shines;

Possibilities spread far and wide.

Please, let me bask in the sunshine

Lest I am dragged back inside!

Two-year Campout

Nineteen years young,
My songs yet unsung,
And Wahoo! I’m off to Japan!
With nothing to speak of
But the gospel I love
And a dog-eared old lesson plan.

I wasn’t too holy,
The language came slowly;
Like sap oozing out of a tree.
But line upon line,
The verbs came in time
As those tough conjugations prized free.

Though its hard, some would say,
Day after day,
Training the tongue and the ear
Worse yet; the conditions
(Oh, how I petitioned!)
We’d endure for the space of two years!

I wonder no more
Why a decade before
They started us all out in scouting.
They knew in advance,
It was our only chance
To survive this quaint mission outing!

Those times in the woods,
When I pulled up my hood
And slept on the ground, nothing more.
How could I know then,
There would be a time when
I would just sleep on the floor?

A scout’s keen desire
To cook on a fire
Prepared us for those times to come
When we’d turn on the gas
To make French Toast (How crass!)
To feed our companions and then some.

Battling bugs
That hide in the rugs,
And always we toiled two-by-two.
We were always taught
When out tying knots
To stay with our buddy! It’s true!

We did chores from a roster,
And no one can foster
A more equitable system than that!
We ate bad cuisine
Without making a scene,
And we bathed from a gas-heated vat!

The toilets; no plumbing!
The rains kept on coming!
I wanted to throw in the towel!
But we all made it through,
Thanks to, you all know who;
The Savior, and Lord Baden-Powell!

Boiling Over

We left the kids with a sitter
With hot dogs in the fridge,
And went for a cool quiet evening
At the restaurant up on the ridge.

The lighting, subdued; the ambiance, mellow;
The evening was going just fine!
We were halfway through the entree’
When I heard my cell-phone whine.

You guessed it . . . . .  the sitter!
The tone of her voice was most grave,
“How am I supposed to cook hot dogs
When you don’t have a microwave?”

Helaman M.D.

To those dedicated physicians throughout the world
who watch over our missionaries!

On the battlefield, with sword and shield
His two thousand sons stood tall.
Holding deep in their hearts what their mothers had taught,
With faith that they would not fall.

And wrapped in the mantle of Captain,
With the knowledge of battles long past,
Helaman stood at their forefront
To encourage his sons to stand fast.

At the end of the day; what price would they pay?
He walked through their ranks with deep dread:
Though each stripling man was weak from the fray,
Not one soul among them was dead.

In the latter-day fire, armed with grit and desire
Our sons and our daughters embark
To seek out the meek, and preach the good word,
Planting seeds in each humble heart.

And clothed in white lab coats or comfy blue scrubs,
With their knowledge gained over the years,
A small corp of doctors stand patiently waiting
To heal, and to calm parents’ fears.

They stand at the edge of the battle,
In the shadows where not many see,
‘Til they answer the call of the wounded;
Our latter-day Helaman M.D.

Aging Workforce

All around, the work place ages;
A familiar book with yellowed pages.
In the cubes and office spaces:
Knowing eyes in wrinkled faces.

Once flowing hair and handsome head
Is grey or glistens bald instead.
Hear the rasp of coughing; chronic.
Health-nuts leave too soon; ironic.

Strangers in community;
Shipmates in a torrent sea,
Drawn closer as they look ahead;
Careful planning, full of dread.

Youthful fishers, from the side,
Spread their hopeful nets out wide.
Patient; waiting there to see.
What will be their legacy?

Hyper

Hyper is our Gerbil boy,
He has a furry tail and face.
He never slows to say hello,
Its like he’s in some secret race.

He climbs around his wire cage
His wheel goes round and round.
Even in the dead of night
You’ll hear that wheel-round sound!

You’d think, to see the little guy,
That he’s a play-a-holic.
Just put him in a hamster ball
And he goes Hyper-ballic!

Re-affirmation

Things at work were going great;
Morale was really high.
Now ain’t it just like Management
To notice, then ask why?

"What’s wrong with this-here picture?"
"We’ve got to make them skirm!"
So they dusted off the work rules
And made us re-affirm!

"Cookie breaks; 10 minutes long,
And not one minute longer!
Make sure you report your accidents,
Don't wait until you're stronger!

"Copy machines are for copying,
And telephones for phoning,
But only for the company!"
All the while, the axe they’re honing!

And I always thought my work space
Was the area inside the fence!?
"We’ve got to quash this attitude;
This hoi polloi pretense!"

"Chain them to their bloody bench!"
"How dare they use the loo!"
And all this nonsense stems, I’m told,
From one, or just a few.

"It has come to our attention . . ."
Was the mantra mush that spewed.
Why can’t they just admit the fact
That somehow, they got screwed?

Wouldn’t it make more sense
To deal with the few involved,
Than kindle wrath in all the rest
And temper their resolve?

For me? Well, now I’ve vented;
My best intentions spurned.
I’ll just comply and plod along
‘Cause I’ve been re-affirmed!

Knowledge Transfer

The company pays for what I know;

What I’ve learned over years
That lets me solve the problems
That bites them in the rears!

But when I’m gone, those younger guys,
Those young pups there behind me,
Will have to learn it all anew
‘Cause they ain’t gonna find me!

Language Barrier

Dr. Esmailin de la Dientes;
My Hispanica dentist friend,
Each visit is like a fiesta,
Though he’s hard to comprehend.

His hands are big as a catcher’s glove;
Each finger like a thumb.
But he’ll pinch your cheek with those magic hands
And make your face go numb!?

There’s a TV in the ceiling
And his chairs are like a bed.
But the musica’s all mariachi,
And I can’t catch a word that is said!

I’m amused by Dr. Esmailin,
Mi amigo from the south.
He never asks me a question
'Til his hands are in my mouth!

Rackin' Frackin' . . . Frusser Musser

When it comes to fixing cars and such,
Trust me, I'm no good.
If it has to do with nuts and bolts,
I'm never in the mood.

I can change my oil if the moon is right
And if its not too hot.
But I wouldn't know a nimrod
If you tied one in a knot!

Today I had a thoughtful thought;
It should help me out forth hence.
I'll put the box of band-aids on
Before I turn the wrench!

September 2009

Singapore

My friends and I, (three more than me),
Formed a singing group for the harmony.
But what to call this handsome lot?
Some names are cool and some are not!

We tried "Four Bear-tones" and many more,
"Quadzilla", "Farmony" and "Four-on-the-Floor"
All held appeal but failed review;
We needed something smart and new!

"Quatro Sing Co." came to mind.
Is that the best that we could find?
Nothing we tried made any sense
So we took our quandary to the audience.

With one accord, from the hardwood floor . . . .
"Why don’t you call y’all Sing-a-poor?!!"

Peril Noctu

I stumble blindly in the night
Down a darkened hallway where
I’m drawn up short by a flash of pain;
Bitten by some monster there!

I’ve stubbed my toe, and something cries,
I slip, and I’ve pierced my heel.
The light reveals: a doll, a truck, legos ...
Is that a banana peel?

My sweetheart hears my curse of rage,
The baby in her arms,
As if her presence in the doorway there
Can shelter me from harm.

The floor is littered with children’s toys
My woes? I’ll not recite ‘em.
A rattle clamors to the floor,
Add Infant Item!

Chocolate

When I reach for that truffle, why do I wilt?
What fills that bliss with such heartburn and guilt?
I venture this finding, although some are not sold;
It isn’t the chocolate, it’s just that I’m old!

Chocolate’s not evil as some people say.
It is God-given succor when you’ve had a bad day!
No worry for young folks with years yet to live here,
But moderation is better for old folks I fear.

For the old can’t eat chocolate at night before sleep,
Only by morning, then just once a week!
They can smell it at bedtime, but never partake,
Lest their heartburn reflux and it keeps them awake!

Though a feast would fulfill, they must nibble and taste
Or that gold-foiled entree will end up on their waist!
Gone are the days of the trencherman glutton,
The elders are wise, but their buttons won’t button!

The virtues of chocolate outweigh any harm,
That is, if you’re young, so here’s the alarm:
Listen close to old wisdom and never forget,
"Eat well while you’re young child, or die with regrets!"

Stay the Course

You asked me once how a father behaves,
Claiming you had never been shown.
By this, I’m perplexed, for as fatherhood goes,
You rank with the finest I’ve known!

My grandchildren live in a home full of joy.
By example they’re taught and they’re led
To follow the Savior in all that they do,
And to read and to pray before bed.

Their mother; you treat like the queen that she is;
She’s revered as your helpmeet in life.
As her father, who loves her, I’m grateful to you,
For you know how to treat your good wife.

As you finish this chapter in life’s fickle book,
And depart from the learning of schools.
It appears to me that you’ve paid the good price.
You’re prepared, and you have all the tools.

But, if you’re seeking advice from this salty old dog
Before I and your family are parted,
I would simply say this (and I know that I’m right),
"Stay the course that you’ve charted!"


To a great son-in-law at his graduation from college. 2006

Limerick

A Limerick is a fun little verse!
By design it is simple and terse.
With two lines that rhyme,
Two more out of time,
And a fifth one that sounds like the first.

2009

A Ten-dollar Tree in a Hundred-dollar Hole

Parched and dry is this high western desert,

As far as the eye can see.
And ignorant I was, when I first arrived,

Of the worth of a simple tree.

A little too proud of my knowledge of trees,

(although not so much those of this realm),
I maligned as "trashy", with no basis in fact,

The ubiquitous Siberian Elm.

My driver that day shot me one nasty look;

As a native I guess he would know.
Rather than scold me, as I’m sure I deserved,

He simply professed, "Hey! It grows!"

As I tend to be proud and quick to debate,

I had trouble discerning my error,
"What is it", I wondered, "about growing a tree

That evokes such anxiety and terror? "

My first clue came from my good neighbor Clyde,

With his singular hay-farming ways.
Seeking five crops where others got three,

I could see being different pays.

Clyde loved his trees, he tried every kind,

He planted and I’d watch them die!
Until he replaced them with Siberian Elms,

They always brought tears to his eyes.

This good-hearted man can spin quite a yarn,

But one gem you can never impugn:
"If you cut down a tree it had better be hot

Or the tree is best left un-hewn!"

There aren’t many trees that will grow in this place;

Out here where they "tested the bomb".
You won’t see a Live Oak, and Poplars die young,

And it freezes too hard for a palm!

"That’s just how it is!", or so I believed,

‘Til I ventured for one more good look.
There are some folks, it seems, whose yards and trees

Could have come from a gardening book!

"How?", I wondered, and queried a friend.

He promised I’d soon reach my goal.
"The secret lies in the planting!", he said,

"Put a ten-dollar tree in hundred-dollar hole!"

Just what this meant, I wasn’t quite sure,

But the saying of it had a nice ring,
So I set it aside and watched my trees die;

Kept doing the same old thing!

That slap in the face with an arboreal glove,

This challenge has become quite a pain.
Each year; early May, I pick up that gauntlet

And try planting trees again.

Learning comes slow to a head thick as mine

But I think I might now understand:
You've got to out-fox the way of the wild
To make anything grow in this land!

First dig a big hole, (you best wet it down),

And throw away all of that sand,
Make it as wide as your shovel is tall
And as deep as a tall man will stand.

Then fill it back up with composted manure,

Mixed with a big bag of nitrate.
Fill it in lifts of about half a foot

And soak it all good; IRRIGATE!

Let this all settle for a good day or two,

Then pull all the weeds you can see.
Once you’ve recovered from the digging and filling;

Then you can go buy the tree!

Don’t forget, to stake it up well!

The wind in this vale really blows!
Unless you’re after that "leaning tree" look,

(provided, of course, that it grows)!

This story ends with the words of a sage,

A Greek proverb for thick and for thin:
"Society grows great when old men plant trees

Whose shade they’ll never sit in."

August 2009

Poodles

Perfectly prissy poodles, pompously professing pride,
Too proud to ever be housebroke, too highborn to live outside!

When a trip out-of-doors would seem most expedient,
They choose just that time to be most disobedient.

They either hide, in a top secret venture,
Or defiantly turn their back on your censure.

Oh, they’re smart enough, of this I am sure,
But a stroll on the lawn seems too much to endure!

They can sit, and beg, and prance around all smug,
But do you think they can learn not to go on my rug?!

Mayumi

Truth, Freedom and Beauty,
Displaying the traits of a daughter of God.
Truth, Freedom and Beauty,
As she walks down the path that all men must trod.

With courage strong she presses on
Despite set-backs, decisions, and fears.
With truth as her lamplight and God as her guide,
She will conquer the battle of years.

As free as an eagle she starts up the path,
It’s her God-given right to choose.
But, with truth as her lamplight and God as her guide,
Never her way will she lose.

Like a vast field of lilies her beauty shows through
While she conquers the pitfalls of life.
Like a heaven of stars her beauty shines bright,
Though in trouble, or anguish, or strife.

She holds to the truth that was given at birth
By her Father who watches above.
Holding fast to the promise of charity and hope
She follows that pathway of love.

With Truth, Freedom and Beauty,
She holds fast to the iron rod.
And with Truth, Freedom and Beauty,
She enters the Kingdom of God.

To Mayumi on her baptism day.

Waiting

Winter; cold, but not so glum,
For under snow and under sun,
In fallen leaves and times to come,
The promise of Spring is waiting.

Fallen man; but all’s not lost,
For in our Lord and at His cost,
In renewed life from death’s cold frost,
Eternal life is waiting.

The Dark Side of Forty

She was cruising along down the highway of life
With a full tank of gas, bent for action!
She was fast and mean; her chrome had a sheen
And the ride was sheer satisfaction!

She sped on ahead gazing off in the distance
Where her future looked nothing but grand.
The road was just right, the handling tight;
So naive! She did not understand!

Her engine was purring as she started the climb,
The sun overhead softly glowed
'Till she topped out that hill, I remember it still,
And her RPM's suddenly slowed.

The cloud overhead was full of dark dread,
This could well be her last carefree sortie.
Her windows were tinting, her paint job stopped glinting
'Cause she's on the Dark Side of Forty!!


Happy Birthday to my lovely bride! 40 years young!

The Mark of a Man

His epitaph read, “This Man was Well Known”.
Nothing remarkable; just what was expected.
Better by far when the rock dust was blown
Had the chisel imprinted, “A Man Well Respected”!

2009

Don't Wait 'til its Raining

Life prods us hard in the race to succeed.
But why push so hard when we've more than we need?
Too many men fail to see God’s good favor
Until weather forbids them their toil and their labor.

If the clouds rule the day, with their dark consternation,
Before we will pause to obey inspiration,
Then our verses will echo that tone of foreboding,
And darker we'll wax while our lives are imploding.

So “work while the sun shines”, yes, “work with a will”,
But take a break often and pick up your quill
To write about things that are happy and funny.
Don’t wait ‘til its raining. Act now, while its sunny!

2009

Mid-life Crisis

As youth flows out with middle age,
I find it hard to turn the page.
Life deals the cards and calls our name.
We ante up, or leave the game.

Working, saving, spending, craving

If success is measured by the things we own
By glorious deeds so widely known,
Then I must fold; in shame confess,
“I've lost this hand, I've failed the test.”

Labor, scheming, planning, dreaming

The dreams of youth are so elusive,
Love and fortune, so exclusive,
Time has placed them beyond my grasp,
The lock of age is on the hasp.

Experience, yearning, study, learning

Notions in granite, supplanted anew,
Ideals, so innocent and true
That filled my adolescent thoughts,
Replaced with truth; by patience wrought.

Knowledge, growing, wisdom showing

Life is not over! Not soiled with rust!
The dawn is now! A light to trust.
My coffers fill to overflowing.
My treasures humble, still are growing.

Riches tallied, courage rallied

A home and family; sacred ground,
With spouse and children gathered 'round,
A stronghold, safe from worldly trouble.
My life's net worth has been redoubled.

Go Plant the Seed

I learned a lesson long ago; “What you reap is what you sow.” But what you reap may not indeed Always be just what you need. Confused? No worry! I speak in rhymes. It is people, you see, that change the times. If you plant oats to feed your friends, Well, they’ll want wheat to meet the trends. In the end, it matters not Just who is who, or what is hot! Forget what “they” say, and never give heed. If you want the harvest, go plant the seed!

Written for my daughter when she was having trouble with roommates College.

The Last Ride

One tough ol’ cowboy; a strong, upright man,
He rode many years for the Ivin Hunt brand.
One ev’nin, quite late, as he rode out from town
Some bandits, they jumped him; threw him straight to the ground
“Your Treasure!”, they cursed, “Or you’ll surely be dead!”
And when he refused, they were quick with the lead.
A slug in his hip, near the heart, through a lung
Then they left him for dead, but he weren’t yet undone.

Climbing back on his horse, he vowed one last fight,
And touching a spur, he rode into the night.
Back at the ranch were the loved ones he’d guarded
But he knew deep inside that soon they’d be parted.
He was one tough ol’ cowboy; yes, tougher than hide,
But concerning his family, he was all soft inside.
The pain ... almost blinding, his breath nearly gone
But with unfinished business, he had to press on!

His kin sensed his struggle, but there was nothing to do
‘Til that cowboy rode in and looked over his crew.
Anxious, they watched as he surveyed his place
Then he smiled his approval; Pride in his face.
For the barn door was shut, the fences all mended
The mangers were full; just like he’d intended.
There just weren’t much more for his rough hands to do
So he turned in the saddle and bid them adieu.

Neither trying to stop him nor wantin’ him gone
They silently watched as he rode toward the dawn.
His breath now came easy, the pain gone away
Ridin’ high in tall grass on a bright summer day.
When he’d rubbed down his mount and made sure he was fed,
He heard, “Well done cowboy!” And turning his head
There stood his Savior with arms open wide.
“You made them all proud when you made that last ride!”

In reverent tribute to my Father-in-law at his passing. May 2002

Bitter Dregs

Bitter dregs in the cup of life
That would threaten to taint all your dreams;
Seeds of despair for the shallow and meek,
Are but kernels of strength for a Queen.

Cultured with patience, and watered with tears,
Each kernel, each seed, every grain
Will sprout into greatness, a bastion of strength,
And will rise from its soil of pain.

And as you are lifted in their branches above,
The pain will be left far below.
Your heart will be lighter, your vision will clear
And finally, inside, you will know

That each trial brings blessings, each obstacle, strength;
Though at times you had thought it a lie.
You will see through the clouds of an imperfect world,
And find God's approval on high.

A Paragon of Learning

My dear Mr. Basset, a dear friend indeed,
In the hearts of my children, you have planted the seeds
Of virtue, integrity, and how to excel,
And led them with patience to that vast and sweet well
Of knowledge and learning and social behavior
That will help them someday, to become like the Savior.

No one can know of the sacrifice you’ve made,
Just what you gave up, or the price that you paid
To make Delta North a paragon of learning
Where kids have esteem and their young minds are yearning
To see how far they can go, or to what heights they will reach.
But, I am grateful to you and your colleagues who teach.

It is men such as you Scott, who forged this great nation.
Who were willing to look past their own paltry station
To bury complacency in the wake of their deeds
And follow their vision, to fulfill the needs of the future.

Six children have I who utter your name
With love and respect, and I feel the same!
I wish you the best as you make a new start,
And thank you again from the bottom of my heart.


Written to Mr. Bassett, principal of the Delta North Elementary School upon his decision to move to district management. 2004

The Hospital

We were ropin’ one Sunday, way out back of Steve’s;
Runnin’ calves for a while in the cool autumn breeze.
I had just slid my loop o’er a quick little sack,
I leapt from my gelding while he took up the slack.
But I never got up, I went down in mid stride
‘Cause my ‘ppendix had burst, broke open inside.
Ol’ Steve’s a quick study, not some kid playin’ pong.
He could tell in a minute that something was wrong
So he picked up his cell phone and called nine-eleven.
Next thing I saw was an angel from heaven.

She cooed, “Hey there cowboy”, with a voice soft and low.
If I weren’t in heaven, I was all set to go!
Nurse Angel went home after supper at six.
Her replacement was proof that life plays mean tricks.
Nurse Fidget, I called her, would prod and she’d fuss,
It was all I could do not to swear or to cuss.
The doors were all slammin’, the lights would come on,
Nurse Fidget would come in, then she’d be gone.
And just when I thought I might catch some rest,
There was Nurse Fidget, back for some tests.

“Your temperature’s fine, but your blood pressure’s high,
You had best get some rest or surely you’ll die!”
This went on for eons, eight hours or so
‘Til I pressed that white button, ‘cause I HAD TO GO!
The nurse brought a bed pan, then left for a spell.
By the time I was finished, that pan smelled like . . . .
Well, my room had no toilet, no sink, not a closet.
No place at all to conceal that deposit.
So I paged for the nurse to take it away,
But she never did answer, now what could I say?

The stench was just rotten, I mean something was dead.
So I fought through the pain and rolled out of bed.
It seemed like forever before I got there,
But there was Ms. Fidget, asleep in her chair.
“No need to wake her”, I thought, with a grin.
And what I did next, well I’m sure it was sin.
She hadn’t responded when I’d made my request,
So I emptied that pan on Ms. Fidget’s desk.
I was just drifting off when I heard that nurse scream.
But as far as I know, it was all a bad dream!

This poem was written after watching Grandpa Hunt struggle in hospitals for months. Circa 2003

The Dollar and the Dime

Very early on each work day, I arrive before the hour,
With reports for my perusal, and mail for me to scour.

In a timely way I get the scoop; a synopsis for the boss,
So he in turn can report to his, so he then won’t be lost.

More oft than not when I report, each morning, as I am prone,
I spend half an hour outside his door while he talks on the phone.

To me it seems illogical, a dog-gone waste of time,
In fact it seems we’ve spent a dollar, waitin’ on a dime.

Circa 1999

"The Calf Path (a rebuttal)" after 'The Calf Path' by Sam Walter Foss

Ah, so it was one ancient day
A brave young page did wend his way
O’er hill and dale and soggy moor
To bring good news to his master’s door.
“You’re late!”, he heard, and “Where’ve you been?”
“Why, this news is old; older than sin!”
And on the ungrateful boss did yell
Though the lad had scrambled o’er hill and dale!

And so, this lad with the brilliant mind
Devised a plan to cut down his time
When once again he would cross the moor
To bring good news to the boss’ door.

The path you see, was bent all askew
As many a winding path will do.
Why, it bent around the lush meadows fair
While a pathway, straight, would best get you there.

Next time this lad made the menacing trip
He was crafty and shrewd; he was smart as a whip.
Straight across meadows, he cut corners and such
And bettered his time to the great boss’ hutch!

“Never mind this great news you’ve so swiftly brought!
What is this slander and insult you’ve wrought?
You’ve eroded the moor and bent the grass yonder!”
The lad left, head down, with more questions to ponder.

“Is it better”, he wondered, “to be late with the word,
To do what’s been done and just follow the herd?”
“Or is it much better to do more work each day,
By rounding the corners and straightening the way?”

When next the mad journey, the young lad attempted,
He found that his boss had his shortcuts preempted!
At the wide sweeping bend ‘round the sweet meadow fair,
He found that a guard had been stationed there;
Blocking his detour and, yes, guarding the grass,
A brave knight stood ready, forbidding him pass!

And there where the lad would have skirted the moor
Stood a huge stone castle with a large wooden door.
With walls made of boulders, and ramparts so high;
A new regulation! His young hands were tied!

And so, he was beaten! His methods berated,
He returned to the meandering calf-path he hated!
It was slower by far than the path he had charted
But the price was too costly, when a new path he’d started!
The news got there late, but the boss didn’t care
For the grass was unbent in his meadow so fair!


2008. Written as a rebuttal to "The Calf Path" by Sam Walter Foss

Snippity Snip

Snippity Snip, Snippity Snip,
So Many Things to Snippity Snip.
Buttons and bows and threads by the score,
Too many things for one to ignore!

Poppies and Pansies and Paper-made Posies,
Snip goes the grass on the lawn at Aunt Rosie’s.
Mustaches, sideburns, bangs and long tresses,
Snippity Snip on the cloth for new dresses.

And just when you think the snipping’s all done,
We cut out those pictures in scrapbooks for fun.
We cut and we paste in our document pages,
With ClipArt, we all look like wizards and sages.

Snippity Snip goes the good Doc, M.D.
I‘m secretly praying the old boy can see!
Just think what could happen if he didn’t see clear,
Snippity -“Oops, I’m afraid he’s a steer!”

Sequins!

Spring has sprung, the grass is risen
And out of their dark and dreary prison
The sequins come from everywhere,
They're in my eyes, they're in my hair!

I've watched them from the bedroom ooze.
I've even found them in my shoes!
I've felt their dreadful horrid bite
While trying to get to sleep at night.

Although I thought they'd never stoop,
They're holding swim meets in my soup!
I cannot stand it, I can't go on,
I'm sure I saw those creatures spawn!

My wife, she says, "Be patient Dear,
You know it's just that time of year
When little girls begin to prance
And in recitals want to dance."

Well, as for me, I've had enough.
I cannot take this kind of stuff!
Those shiny, sparkly, colored lice;
I was patient once, but this makes twice!!

"HELP ME!", someone, I beg of you!
I'll take pneumonia, even flu,
But help me rid my humble house
Of this shiny, sparkly, colored louse!!!

Written while my wife was sewing dance costumes for at least a "million" little girls. 1985

Fat Cat!

Little pellets, in my little house,
Betray therein a little mouse.
I'm not sure what to make of that?
I think I'll speak with my "little" cat!

January 2009

Dixie Red and Blue

Something there is in Dixie that doesn’t like outsiders!
You’d think since I was born there I’d be welcome there beside her.
I visit there quite frequently with nothing ever due
Then abruptly pay the piper with the flashing red and blue.

Its not that I am of a mien to repudiate jurisprudence,
I never speed of habit, I’m afraid that I’m just too dense
To pay the due attention to that handy roadside signage
And spare my wife and children from senseless financial peonage!

If ever you pass a limit sign with a crooked road impending,
You can bet you’ll find a constable hidden amongst the bending!
Don’t even think to pass a cop! Do not capitulate!
Lest you expose that sticker, there on your backside plate!

Its in the cosmos, zen and true; a balance must be gained.
Those who are “in” in Dixie, enjoy yet are never pained.
But those of us outsiders, when a “red rock” fix we’re pining,
Must cautious be, almost covert, if we’d avoid the fining!

2008

Cyber Czar

I have witnessed something lately, its really quite bizarre!
My colleagues’ time is all used up by the evil Cyber Czar.
They sit all day in meetings and talk on that speaker thing.
And when they’re not consumed by that, they stare at computer screens.

They hide in closed door meetings, hushed, and all clandestine.
And threaten all who enter there they’ll tear out their intestines!
They dream up threats unspeakable, things that go bump in the night.
The kind of things that scare kids stiff and make your hair turn white!

Rumor says it won’t be long before we’ll see some changes,
Geriatric cyber-scouts to deal with all this strangeness.
And a fence on the west-side desert? It makes my head just spin.
I hope when they install barbed wire, it isn’t facing in!

A Salmon's Tale

Two brothers salmon in the deep blue sea
Got the urge one day to seek some revelry.
So off they both went into the early dawn
With naught on their minds but to swim and spawn.

Up the big river with its mouth so wide,
It must be a mile from side to side.
For days and days those two fish swam
‘Til they ran smack-dab into a concrete dam!

Round and round that great grey wall
They swam, but found no help at all.
Relief came, not from heaven sent,
But sure enough from the government!

A big fish ladder with its lifts and falls
Helped those boys to skirt that wall
Into a lake with its shores so green
The two fish entered on another scene!

As if decreed by constabulary
The lake was fed by five tributaries!
“Which one to take?”, was their question then,
The answer came to the first brother Sven.

“I know where to go”, you could hear him say,
“I’ve been here before! I can find the way!”
So off Sven went, and his brother, Pete, too;
Guided by nothing but Deja Vu!

The stream they chose was swift and clean
But the rocks therein were hard and mean!
Bruised and battered Ol’ Pete said, “ENOUGH!”
“This swim-and-spawn life is just too rough!”

“Swimming all day against the stream?”
“This might be for you Sven, but it ain’t my dream!”
So he turned with the current and went with the flow,
Against his true nature, to the blue sea below.

He passed other salmon, in their eyes was a gleam,
All turning red as they struggled upstream.
Pete was red too from his tail to his face.
When he reached the blue sea, he seemed out of place.

The swimming was easy, with no current to fight,
But Pete couldn’t know of his fate nor his plight.
A flashy red Pete in the bright blue dawn
A sea lion spied him and SNAP! Pete was gone!

In the mean time, Sven kept on swimming for days;
His back out of water in the warm summer rays.
He made his way to a cool sandy brook
And spied a coy babe-fish with a cute little look.

And there on the edge of a loose gravel shoal,
They frolicked and played and fulfilled their role:
They had both done their best; standing out in a crowd.
Sven also died, but his maker is proud!

This tale has a moral, as all good tales do.
A metaphor of life, it is tried and true:
“Swimming through life is no simple feat,
Endure to the end, or end up like Pete!”

Meadow Lark

Piercing frosty morn
Larksong fills my soul with hope;
Harbinger of spring


Written for our dear friend, Patriarch Young. He loved meadowlarks!

November

Have you ever eaten turkey, and a great big pumpkin pie with cranberries, candied yams and potatoes piled high? Have you ever worn a downy coat or pajamas soft and warm? Can you remember Daddy’s soft embrace protecting you from harm? We have so much to be thankful for, like family, kind and dear. November helps us all reflect, and makes this fact so clear. This month when you head off to bed but find it hard to sleep, Count your blessings, one-by-one, instead of counting sheep! 

Happy Easter

It’s Easter Time! And Spring is here; a special time of year!
When plants come out of tough old seeds; new life is everywhere!
Baby chicks break out of eggs, a hard ol’ crackly shell.
New animals are born each day, and that’s how we can tell
That Jesus loves us, every one, His heart is full of room!
‘Cause on that very first Easter morn, He broke forth from His tomb
And saved us all from being scared of death and pain and strife
So we could then return to God and live a happy life!

To my grandchildren at Easter 2009

Awakening

A dashing young bookworm from Cook
Did fine until he mistook
That fiction and fable
Will put food on the table.
You can’t eat the page of a book!

KaWhooosh!

There once was a young man from Brittany
Whose talents would make quite a litany.
But they all went for naught
When this young man forgot
Not to smoke in a field of White Dittany!

2008

All God's Creations

We walked on the beach, just Daddy and me,

And looked for shells on the sand.

We found a starfish holdin' tight to a rock.

Then we walked down the beach holding hands.

He showed me where clams had made holes in a stone,

We watched how the waves filled a pool.

Then he told me all about fish and such things

and he joked, "Even they go to school,"

We ran from the waves and made castles of sand,

And talked about Jesus a while.

I could tell how Dad loved him, Jesus I mean,

From the tear in his eye and his smile.

We climbed to the top of a really high cliff

To watch the sun hide in the sea.

Then Daddy told me, "Of all that God made

His greatest creation was me."

Written for Kimberly for a Primary talk. 1987