He greets everyone as soon as they enter the hall
with a great big smile on his full moon-like face
arms always moving, no matter the time or place.
Just wind him up and he never stops running
not allowed to keep time from losing no matter the pace.
The tick of the clock
I thought would never stop
it kept on going no matter the day;
day or night the pendulum swung
with each quarter hour the chimes were rung.
He's seen so much in our life pass by
keeping on measuring it tick by tick
counting the hours lick by lick.
Each day that comes his friendly face is there
ticking and chiming all the way.
This old friend has been here many a year
greeting me and all who enter
day by day he just keeps on going
never getting tired or slowing down
his face always smiling, never a frown.
How I love to see his face
knowing that he will greet me when I enter the place
never a miss of the tick of the clock
as long as the pendulum swings he never stops.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
The old man and the mule
A faint outline appeared in the early morn
a full moon still shed its light, dark shadows
spread across the land casting an eerie
shadow over the far distant hills.
An old buckboard clattered along a dusty
road bumping roughly over pot holes
washed out by an early winter rain.
The old mule plodded along - ribs
showing from a life of hard work prolonged,
a rather tired animal trudging slowly along
tugging at its heavy load.
The old man sat humped over on the seat,
nodding as though he was asleep.
A low hanging branch served to awaken him as
it slapped sharply against the side of his head
causing him to sit up straight, grabbing his hat
that was about to be shed.
A road traveled more than once,
from the old farm down to the general store,
bumping along on rutted roads, filled with
holes, not a friendly ride it was, but
one that both the rider and mule
had made many times.
On either side of the road rows of tall trees standing straight
with leaves long since gone, the trunks
appearing as gaunt ribs rising up from the ground
much as the old mule appeared,
as it pulled its heavy load quietly by.
The day was cold, a north wind blew, chilling
both with icy fingers that cut to the bone;
but the old man and the mule just plodded along,
going silently down that dusty road bumping
over the ruts and pot holes worn by time and use itself;
two old friends working and waiting, serving out time
as they repeated their daily chores.
Time and work takes its toll,
as man and beast move along
worn and traveled roads
doing never ending chores of old
until the end of a road is finally reached.
a full moon still shed its light, dark shadows
spread across the land casting an eerie
shadow over the far distant hills.
An old buckboard clattered along a dusty
road bumping roughly over pot holes
washed out by an early winter rain.
The old mule plodded along - ribs
showing from a life of hard work prolonged,
a rather tired animal trudging slowly along
tugging at its heavy load.
The old man sat humped over on the seat,
nodding as though he was asleep.
A low hanging branch served to awaken him as
it slapped sharply against the side of his head
causing him to sit up straight, grabbing his hat
that was about to be shed.
A road traveled more than once,
from the old farm down to the general store,
bumping along on rutted roads, filled with
holes, not a friendly ride it was, but
one that both the rider and mule
had made many times.
On either side of the road rows of tall trees standing straight
with leaves long since gone, the trunks
appearing as gaunt ribs rising up from the ground
much as the old mule appeared,
as it pulled its heavy load quietly by.
The day was cold, a north wind blew, chilling
both with icy fingers that cut to the bone;
but the old man and the mule just plodded along,
going silently down that dusty road bumping
over the ruts and pot holes worn by time and use itself;
two old friends working and waiting, serving out time
as they repeated their daily chores.
Time and work takes its toll,
as man and beast move along
worn and traveled roads
doing never ending chores of old
until the end of a road is finally reached.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Jesus
He came to us in the night
born in a stable, long ago,
with only the stars for light
a sign of heaven's glow;
wrapped in a blanket
and warmed by love
he became a sign
of God's descending dove.
He came to teach
of a new word of God,
one of mercy and of love
and with a promise from above,
He healed the sick
and cured the lame
gave sight to the blind
and raised the dead;
He was the Son of God,
the one true Lamb,
sent to us all
from that night in a stall.
Jesus was his name,
Immanuel - God with us,
the Prince of Peace;
but a jealous and frightened few
incited the people into a stew
and beat and tormented him
and nailed him to a tree,
so he died without any blame
that we might be free of our shame;
but, God raised him from the dead
and overcame all strife
that we in turn might have eternal life.
born in a stable, long ago,
with only the stars for light
a sign of heaven's glow;
wrapped in a blanket
and warmed by love
he became a sign
of God's descending dove.
He came to teach
of a new word of God,
one of mercy and of love
and with a promise from above,
He healed the sick
and cured the lame
gave sight to the blind
and raised the dead;
He was the Son of God,
the one true Lamb,
sent to us all
from that night in a stall.
Jesus was his name,
Immanuel - God with us,
the Prince of Peace;
but a jealous and frightened few
incited the people into a stew
and beat and tormented him
and nailed him to a tree,
so he died without any blame
that we might be free of our shame;
but, God raised him from the dead
and overcame all strife
that we in turn might have eternal life.
You Raise Me Up
When I was down
and didn't know what to do
when I was feeling dark and always blue
you came into my life
and raised me up
When days end came
and the sun was setting
and life was getting dark
you came into my life
and raised me up
When times seemed so bad
and I just always stayed sad
and nothing seemed to be going right
you came into my life
and raised me up
Without you in my life
days seem so long
without you in my life
I would be so alone
you are the one I truly rely on
for you raise me up
The smile on your face
the look in your eyes
the touch of your hands
are all that I need
for you raise me up
God sent you to me
you are my all
the sunshine in my life
I thank God you are my wife
for you raise me up
and didn't know what to do
when I was feeling dark and always blue
you came into my life
and raised me up
When days end came
and the sun was setting
and life was getting dark
you came into my life
and raised me up
When times seemed so bad
and I just always stayed sad
and nothing seemed to be going right
you came into my life
and raised me up
Without you in my life
days seem so long
without you in my life
I would be so alone
you are the one I truly rely on
for you raise me up
The smile on your face
the look in your eyes
the touch of your hands
are all that I need
for you raise me up
God sent you to me
you are my all
the sunshine in my life
I thank God you are my wife
for you raise me up
Monday, August 15, 2011
Whistle Stop
It sits empty and sad
having gone from good to bad,
where once there were people
now there is only a vacant steeple,
the church is bare, except for a few;
there's not much left, only the morning dew.
Like so many places across this land
this old whistle stop sits closed and broken down.
Where once as children we played, catching fireflies
in Mason jars, and dancing with sparklers in the front yard,
now the homes are closed and falling in,
the stores and movie and grocery too
stand bare and empty with nothing left to do,
and down the street there is hardly a trace,
of the old school, so that we wouldn't recognize the place.
We called this old whistle stop home
and memories we still keep,
every time the freight passes it makes us leap
fireflies still light the nighttime summer sky
and millions of stars still live close by.
So even if the train doesn't stop any more,
and all that is left is its' mournful whistle;
home it is, and home it will be,
no matter if there is nothing left for us to see.
having gone from good to bad,
where once there were people
now there is only a vacant steeple,
the church is bare, except for a few;
there's not much left, only the morning dew.
Like so many places across this land
this old whistle stop sits closed and broken down.
Where once as children we played, catching fireflies
in Mason jars, and dancing with sparklers in the front yard,
now the homes are closed and falling in,
the stores and movie and grocery too
stand bare and empty with nothing left to do,
and down the street there is hardly a trace,
of the old school, so that we wouldn't recognize the place.
We called this old whistle stop home
and memories we still keep,
every time the freight passes it makes us leap
fireflies still light the nighttime summer sky
and millions of stars still live close by.
So even if the train doesn't stop any more,
and all that is left is its' mournful whistle;
home it is, and home it will be,
no matter if there is nothing left for us to see.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Straw men and problems
His hair was yellow, a piece of straw
sticking out the side every which a way
standing tall and mute, not a word; just looking cute.
life's problems not being faced
left to their own, unattended, drifting
like a straw cast in the wind,
wonder why this is considered a sin?
heartaches and worries all about, you see -
but no one to solve them, but you and me.
that's all around us do we see
straw men and problems
left for you and me.
things get solved by doing and sometimes failing
not by standing tall, mute and cute
mistakes are made
lessons are learned
trial and error
sometimes we get burned,
that's how to face the world that we see;
not being a straw man, but working together...just you and me.
sticking out the side every which a way
standing tall and mute, not a word; just looking cute.
life's problems not being faced
left to their own, unattended, drifting
like a straw cast in the wind,
wonder why this is considered a sin?
heartaches and worries all about, you see -
but no one to solve them, but you and me.
that's all around us do we see
straw men and problems
left for you and me.
things get solved by doing and sometimes failing
not by standing tall, mute and cute
mistakes are made
lessons are learned
trial and error
sometimes we get burned,
that's how to face the world that we see;
not being a straw man, but working together...just you and me.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Dreams
I dream dreams of beautiful things,
things that I love to see and feel.
I dream of waterfalls
and see the sparkle of sunlight through the water
that from its radiant color forms a rainbow
and hear the rush of wind as it falls far below.
I think of a flower
and dream of the perfect nature of a petal,
the sprinkling of color so perfectly settled..
uplifting in its nature.
I see birds soaring in the sky
and dream of their soft call as they seek
another from far away.
I dream of one who loves me
as deeply as I love her
and dream of her touch on my bare skin
and feel the warm caress of parted lips.
I dream of a baby sleeping quietly in its bed
and see the faint smile on its face
as it dreams likewise of butterflies
skipping across cloudless skies.
I think of children, and dream
of their running across a field
and hear them arguing over who
was the fastest of them all.
It's been written that we can dream
but, not let dreams become our master.
I am enslaved to my dreams...
shameless and unafraid,
I dream dreams and bow
to my master.
things that I love to see and feel.
I dream of waterfalls
and see the sparkle of sunlight through the water
that from its radiant color forms a rainbow
and hear the rush of wind as it falls far below.
I think of a flower
and dream of the perfect nature of a petal,
the sprinkling of color so perfectly settled..
uplifting in its nature.
I see birds soaring in the sky
and dream of their soft call as they seek
another from far away.
I dream of one who loves me
as deeply as I love her
and dream of her touch on my bare skin
and feel the warm caress of parted lips.
I dream of a baby sleeping quietly in its bed
and see the faint smile on its face
as it dreams likewise of butterflies
skipping across cloudless skies.
I think of children, and dream
of their running across a field
and hear them arguing over who
was the fastest of them all.
It's been written that we can dream
but, not let dreams become our master.
I am enslaved to my dreams...
shameless and unafraid,
I dream dreams and bow
to my master.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Street of Broken Dreams
There is a place far from here
a land full of bitter tears,
a place where lonely folks can go
when they seek to mend broken hearts,
and find lost dreams.
A land of winding lonely streets,
dark places where the sad ones come
walking alone with shattered memories
known only as the street of broken dreams.
It is a land of bitter memories,
dark dreams and broken hearts;
a place far from here, where only
the lonely can walk....
...on the streets of broken dreams.
The sun rarely shines on these stained walks,
dark shadows mar their way...
sadness and bitter tears are their signposts
on these empty streets of broken dreams.
Those who come may linger awhile,
seeking to find their way,
until at last their journey brings them...
to the end of their street of broken dreams.
a land full of bitter tears,
a place where lonely folks can go
when they seek to mend broken hearts,
and find lost dreams.
A land of winding lonely streets,
dark places where the sad ones come
walking alone with shattered memories
known only as the street of broken dreams.
It is a land of bitter memories,
dark dreams and broken hearts;
a place far from here, where only
the lonely can walk....
...on the streets of broken dreams.
The sun rarely shines on these stained walks,
dark shadows mar their way...
sadness and bitter tears are their signposts
on these empty streets of broken dreams.
Those who come may linger awhile,
seeking to find their way,
until at last their journey brings them...
to the end of their street of broken dreams.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Music in the Air
The early sounds of the day
begin to be heard, even before the sun has risen;
one by one sounds are added as the great city awakens -
like an orchestra beginning to warm up
in anticipation of the conductor arriving.
Sounds of a trash truck making its early rounds
with the clanking of cans and moving of dumpsters;
a bevy of people beginning to move about
shuffling through the streets,
honking of horns as impatient drivers try
to muscle their way by...
an army of people crowding the sidewalk, and
marching off to work, disturbed by the sudden
backfire of a truck,
and deafened by the loud rap from the window of a passing car,
all seem to surround us no matter where we are...
it's not the noises of the street that are heard....
......but the birth of the music in the air.
No matter how many sounds that we hear
bring no noise that we need fear,
but rather it is a melody drifting by
each adding its own distinct sound,
and giving us.... music in the air.
The noises of the street
marry as a symphony of sound
each adding to the tune that is heard;
an orchestra flowing from all around, and
placing music in the air.
The melodies drift softly by
mingled with the crash of the loudest note -
each adding to the rush of a blended sound,
placing music in the air.
No matter where we turn
or how far that we go,
it's not the noises of the street
that we hear.....but
the music in the air.
begin to be heard, even before the sun has risen;
one by one sounds are added as the great city awakens -
like an orchestra beginning to warm up
in anticipation of the conductor arriving.
Sounds of a trash truck making its early rounds
with the clanking of cans and moving of dumpsters;
a bevy of people beginning to move about
shuffling through the streets,
honking of horns as impatient drivers try
to muscle their way by...
an army of people crowding the sidewalk, and
marching off to work, disturbed by the sudden
backfire of a truck,
and deafened by the loud rap from the window of a passing car,
all seem to surround us no matter where we are...
it's not the noises of the street that are heard....
......but the birth of the music in the air.
No matter how many sounds that we hear
bring no noise that we need fear,
but rather it is a melody drifting by
each adding its own distinct sound,
and giving us.... music in the air.
The noises of the street
marry as a symphony of sound
each adding to the tune that is heard;
an orchestra flowing from all around, and
placing music in the air.
The melodies drift softly by
mingled with the crash of the loudest note -
each adding to the rush of a blended sound,
placing music in the air.
No matter where we turn
or how far that we go,
it's not the noises of the street
that we hear.....but
the music in the air.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Armadillo II - - The Requiem
It was dark and dreary, and the dawn had not yet
begun to break, as I walked down the steps
to fetch the paper while my family slept.
A hint of a breeze wafted through the trees,
dawn's early light was not yet in sight.
A slight movement appeared from the corner of my eye,
something stirred, a slight crunching-like sound was all I heard.
A cat, a small animal of sorts, hard to see,
moving closer it became clear,
another of those nocturnal mammals, armored carriers
of that age old scourge was rooting by my tree.
Back in the house and out again with light and rifle
I set out to prove I was not someone with whom to be trifled.
A shot in the dark went over his head,
caused a sudden jerk out of the bed,
he turned and glared with steely eyes
and lowered his armored head,
and charged straight at me
as though to say, 'you're going to be dead'.
With gravel flying up the drive he came
like an armored freight train.
A look in the eye such as I have never seen
determined to chase me from the scene.
The crack of the rifle, again..and then again -
and he lay where he fell...with no other sound to tell.
No more will this creature from the Mesolithic age
destroy my lawn, but if truth be known;
where there is one......another on his own, soon will come.
begun to break, as I walked down the steps
to fetch the paper while my family slept.
A hint of a breeze wafted through the trees,
dawn's early light was not yet in sight.
A slight movement appeared from the corner of my eye,
something stirred, a slight crunching-like sound was all I heard.
A cat, a small animal of sorts, hard to see,
moving closer it became clear,
another of those nocturnal mammals, armored carriers
of that age old scourge was rooting by my tree.
Back in the house and out again with light and rifle
I set out to prove I was not someone with whom to be trifled.
A shot in the dark went over his head,
caused a sudden jerk out of the bed,
he turned and glared with steely eyes
and lowered his armored head,
and charged straight at me
as though to say, 'you're going to be dead'.
With gravel flying up the drive he came
like an armored freight train.
A look in the eye such as I have never seen
determined to chase me from the scene.
The crack of the rifle, again..and then again -
and he lay where he fell...with no other sound to tell.
No more will this creature from the Mesolithic age
destroy my lawn, but if truth be known;
where there is one......another on his own, soon will come.
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