A restless soul am I
never satisfied with what I find
seeking that which is new to me
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
Torn between the rules of life
following them causes me much strife
bored with the same old humdrum
always moving on to something new
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
Other folks are just like me
searching for answers on a restless sea
tossed about like a ship without a rudder
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
Recurring tasks becoming boring so soon
following the same old game is a downer for sure
Restless by nature, always seeking a new game
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
New sunrises are exciting for sure
new days always bring hope for horizons not seen
searching for the mysteries of life in a never ending game
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
Life is but a challenge to seek
mysteries are but puzzles to solve
each day is but a day to enjoy,
made by God as I am -- I am, who I am.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Morning Mist and Summer Rain
Far away from the noise of the city
I walked in the quiet of a country lane
nothing to distract me this day
but the morning mist,
turning into a summer rain.
I was born to be free from my troubles
born to smell the freshness of the day
nothing to accompany me on my trip
but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
There are times when I must be free,
away from the cares and worries of this life,
when I can walk alone in this world
with nothing but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
Sometimes in all my wanderings
I talk with my God up above,
it's amazing what I will hear,
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
A symphony of sounds are present
from the creatures who live nearby,
from the call of a coyote drifting on the wind
to the birds in their nests where they lie,
all add to the beauty of this day,
when filled with nothing but a morning mist....turning into a summer rain.
My love for life is all around
given by a God who cares from up above,
it is seen most clearly on a country lane
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
I walked in the quiet of a country lane
nothing to distract me this day
but the morning mist,
turning into a summer rain.
I was born to be free from my troubles
born to smell the freshness of the day
nothing to accompany me on my trip
but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
There are times when I must be free,
away from the cares and worries of this life,
when I can walk alone in this world
with nothing but the morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
Sometimes in all my wanderings
I talk with my God up above,
it's amazing what I will hear,
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
A symphony of sounds are present
from the creatures who live nearby,
from the call of a coyote drifting on the wind
to the birds in their nests where they lie,
all add to the beauty of this day,
when filled with nothing but a morning mist....turning into a summer rain.
My love for life is all around
given by a God who cares from up above,
it is seen most clearly on a country lane
when walking in a morning mist, turning into a summer rain.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Where Have You Gone Little Boy
Where have you gone little boy
with the dark curly hair
and the skinny body.
I used to see you run and play
and chase lightning bugs and baseballs.
Where have you gone little boy
with the sparkle in your eyes
and the giggle when you chased the butterflies.
Where is the laughter that came with practical jokes
and flowers picked by the side of the road to
surprise your mother as she met you at the door.
That little boy is still close by
only now he sits in his overstuffed chair
and dozes in the warm spring air
No longer chasing butterflies and baseballs
but contenting himself to watch foolish things on
that idiot box.
Why don't you come out and play little boy
Life is not much fun, when there is no one to run and play with.
with the dark curly hair
and the skinny body.
I used to see you run and play
and chase lightning bugs and baseballs.
Where have you gone little boy
with the sparkle in your eyes
and the giggle when you chased the butterflies.
Where is the laughter that came with practical jokes
and flowers picked by the side of the road to
surprise your mother as she met you at the door.
That little boy is still close by
only now he sits in his overstuffed chair
and dozes in the warm spring air
No longer chasing butterflies and baseballs
but contenting himself to watch foolish things on
that idiot box.
Why don't you come out and play little boy
Life is not much fun, when there is no one to run and play with.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Memories
Life is full of memories /
of times past / and present /
times from my childhood /
of running in the rain / crying /
because the raindrops were hitting me on the head /
and my mother calling to me /
I'm here / don't cry / it's all right.
Children chasing butterflies / and playing
ball in the neighbor's field.
Watching the sunrise / and the stars telling
me to have a good day / just before they went
away.
Walking down a path at a summer camp / fishing in
a favorite spot / and catching a bass that I'm still
talking about.
Building a raft with a best friend / cutting trees and
logs / and floating them in a warm summer breeze.
Walking in the moonlight with a first girl friend / and experiencing
our first warm kiss.
Holding hands and dreaming dreams / and walking barefoot down a dusty
road / kicking up dust / and feeling it sifting through bare toes.
Seeing a first born child / holding it tight in my arms /
looking into its eyes / and seeing it smile back.
Hearing a child ask / 'what are moonbeams, and where do they go?'/
Holding a child as it goes to sleep in my arms /
knowing that the world is all right / because daddy is near /
and there is nothing to fear.
Memories are mine / and wonderful to share /
as time races on / and grandchildren gather in my arms /
Watching them chase butterflies / and ask about moonbeams /
and rainbows / and catch a first fish / and tell me /.....
......I love you big daddy.
of times past / and present /
times from my childhood /
of running in the rain / crying /
because the raindrops were hitting me on the head /
and my mother calling to me /
I'm here / don't cry / it's all right.
Children chasing butterflies / and playing
ball in the neighbor's field.
Watching the sunrise / and the stars telling
me to have a good day / just before they went
away.
Walking down a path at a summer camp / fishing in
a favorite spot / and catching a bass that I'm still
talking about.
Building a raft with a best friend / cutting trees and
logs / and floating them in a warm summer breeze.
Walking in the moonlight with a first girl friend / and experiencing
our first warm kiss.
Holding hands and dreaming dreams / and walking barefoot down a dusty
road / kicking up dust / and feeling it sifting through bare toes.
Seeing a first born child / holding it tight in my arms /
looking into its eyes / and seeing it smile back.
Hearing a child ask / 'what are moonbeams, and where do they go?'/
Holding a child as it goes to sleep in my arms /
knowing that the world is all right / because daddy is near /
and there is nothing to fear.
Memories are mine / and wonderful to share /
as time races on / and grandchildren gather in my arms /
Watching them chase butterflies / and ask about moonbeams /
and rainbows / and catch a first fish / and tell me /.....
......I love you big daddy.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Bread Basket of the World
the quiet of the spring day was broken
by the noise and shouts in the fields
belching smoke the great iron beast
dropping its sharp blades into the soil
took large bites into the soft belly of the earth.
warm and moist the soil yielded to the blades
as the monster moved quickly forward leaving
straight lines of soil like long ribbons
behind
following was another of the beasts
smoothing the rows and carefully planting seeds
into the long ribbons of soil
the season of planting had begun
and another year awaited for the time
when the soil would give up
the long awaited harvest of its crops
the call of that grand lady welcoming all
to our shores with her message: bring me
your hungry and tired, and we will care for them, was being answered
America's feeding of the world's hungry
had begun, and the great food basket of the country
was about to be filled
the first tender shoots began to appear -
small and fragile at first - and then with the aid
of a soft rain grew stronger and taller
looking over the fields the long green ribbons of
the manna of the soil - soybeans, corn, sugarcane and
the once king of them all, cotton, now relegated to
a lowly position due to cost and price - all were about to fill the
breadbasket of the world
the great crops of the South all in one of many fields
spread out as far as the eye could see
great green ribbons - swaying in the soft summer breeze
majestically saying to the world that the time would soon
be near to fill of the baskets of the world
another season, another planting, another feeding -
the busy cycle had begun as had been done
since the earliest days of the nation
corn planter, bean puller, cane cutter and cotton picker
of the world, the great smoke belching, iron monsters of
the fields had begun their work
rest would not be an option until the work was done
and the plates of the world filled with the products from
these southern fields
by the noise and shouts in the fields
belching smoke the great iron beast
dropping its sharp blades into the soil
took large bites into the soft belly of the earth.
warm and moist the soil yielded to the blades
as the monster moved quickly forward leaving
straight lines of soil like long ribbons
behind
following was another of the beasts
smoothing the rows and carefully planting seeds
into the long ribbons of soil
the season of planting had begun
and another year awaited for the time
when the soil would give up
the long awaited harvest of its crops
the call of that grand lady welcoming all
to our shores with her message: bring me
your hungry and tired, and we will care for them, was being answered
America's feeding of the world's hungry
had begun, and the great food basket of the country
was about to be filled
the first tender shoots began to appear -
small and fragile at first - and then with the aid
of a soft rain grew stronger and taller
looking over the fields the long green ribbons of
the manna of the soil - soybeans, corn, sugarcane and
the once king of them all, cotton, now relegated to
a lowly position due to cost and price - all were about to fill the
breadbasket of the world
the great crops of the South all in one of many fields
spread out as far as the eye could see
great green ribbons - swaying in the soft summer breeze
majestically saying to the world that the time would soon
be near to fill of the baskets of the world
another season, another planting, another feeding -
the busy cycle had begun as had been done
since the earliest days of the nation
corn planter, bean puller, cane cutter and cotton picker
of the world, the great smoke belching, iron monsters of
the fields had begun their work
rest would not be an option until the work was done
and the plates of the world filled with the products from
these southern fields
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Armadillo
They came in the night
Nocturnal mammals plying their trade
Armored carriers of an age old scourge
A modern day version of a creature from a Mesolithic age
Rooting in the soil for their tasty grubs and morsels.
Leaving behind holes in the lawns and uprooted fresh planted beds.
A total destruction of a days labor in the garden.
Anger arises from the waste and want of the destroyed beauty
A plan, a trap for these ancient creatures cunningly devised.
Arising in the night,
Waiting with gun and light
Ever vigilant for the coming of these armored destroyers
Waiting, waiting, as the day begins to break,
But not to be seen after a long night through
Bleary eyed, and exhausted from a sleepless night.
Another day, another night, a new plan to be devised
To see if they come,
Seeking the tasty grubs lying beneath freshly planted beauties.
A combat to be waged with these armored creatures of old.
A test of wills to see who will win out.
Nocturnal mammals plying their trade
Armored carriers of an age old scourge
A modern day version of a creature from a Mesolithic age
Rooting in the soil for their tasty grubs and morsels.
Leaving behind holes in the lawns and uprooted fresh planted beds.
A total destruction of a days labor in the garden.
Anger arises from the waste and want of the destroyed beauty
A plan, a trap for these ancient creatures cunningly devised.
Arising in the night,
Waiting with gun and light
Ever vigilant for the coming of these armored destroyers
Waiting, waiting, as the day begins to break,
But not to be seen after a long night through
Bleary eyed, and exhausted from a sleepless night.
Another day, another night, a new plan to be devised
To see if they come,
Seeking the tasty grubs lying beneath freshly planted beauties.
A combat to be waged with these armored creatures of old.
A test of wills to see who will win out.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
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