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