My Poetry And Prose-Page 7
Here is a collection of my poetry and prose writings that I have written over the years. Most of my writings were created and composed in my youth.
(323) My Mother
I
remember my mother's face,
Her gentle
blue eyes,
Her kind smile,
And
tears well to my eyes.
She has
passed away,
Passed from my
sight,
Passed from my world,
And
gone is my
light.
(324) Memories
Rain
is falling,
Memories are
calling
From long, long ago,
And
back to youth I go,
To play again
along the creek.
My lost youth I
seek
Back in the mind's eye
Once
more before I die.
(325) The Night
This
gentle, blessed night
Fair angels
doth adorn,
Unseen, take their
flight
Before the birth of
morn.
No mortal could abide
On
this night so very fair,
Without joy
inside
For the grace of being
there.
(326) A Star
There
is beauty in a star
Twinkling kindly
from afar,
Sending rays of
light
In the midst of darkest
night.
Whether bright or whether
dim,
It discourages all the
grim.
What a blessed state to
me
When a star I can
see.
(327) I Wish I Were
I wish I
were her fork or spoon,
That I might
touch her lips.
I wish I were her
comb,
Then I might caress her
hair.
I envy all her fingers
touch.
I wish I were her clock on
the wall,
Then she might glance at me
sometimes.
The wind is more blessed
than I,
It can kiss her cheek.
I
wish I were her lamp,
So that I could
watch over her.
It would be too
much to ask,
I suppose, to be her
pillow.
Just to be her
mirror
Would be a joy to me,
More
than I could ever hope for.
I wish
I were a nightingale,
Then every
night I would sing
Just outside her
window.
I wish I were the
sunlight,
That I might sparkle in her
eyes.
(328) Thank Thee God
Thank thee
dear God
For giving unto me
Thy
wondrous blessings,
Unworthy though I
be.
Praises I do raise
With joy
unto the sky
For all the wonderful
gifts
From the Lord on
high.
(329) Dreams
Follow, ever follow on,
Cast not your
dreams away,
For when your dreams are
gone
hope can no longer
stay.
Believe, and they will come
true.
Create them ever fair,
For
your dreams, they are you.
Without
dreams nought is there.
Follow
them bravely with your heart.
They
will not lead you wrong.
Beauty
cannot depart
If you to dreams
belong.
In that land there comes
no woe,
But all around is
joy.
Where dreams forever
grow
There can nothing
destroy.
(330) Futile
"it
is all futile," I say,
And then comes
a brighter day,
The birds sing a new
song,
and I feel maybe I really do
belong.
The sky seems a deeper
blue,
And the sun shines brighter
too,
and all my dark thoughts
leave
As I begin again to
believe.
(331) Love
The
eternal promise I do give.
I do make
the world live.
Hope I plant upon the
breast,
And joy I plant
within.
The weary one may in me
rest,
And ever rest
again.
Though of time I may be a
part,
I know of no time in the
heart.
All the days and the
years
Are but a moment gone
by.
Through all the the hopes and
fears
True love can never
die.
God in heaven above
Is the
giver of love.
All the angels know of
me,
And have me for their own,
For
I shall ever be,
And never be
alone.
I have power within my
hand
To give peace unto every
land.
There is no limit to my
power.
It is a bottomless
well
From which if drawn
entire
Can unlock the gates of
Hell.
I was born before
all.
Before time I did call.
Life
nor death cannot stop me,
Nor is
there distance too great,
For I of
all restraints am free.
I live in a
harmonious state.
I hold the keys
to peace and joy,
But never the keys
to destroy.
I am the one gift that
can be sent,
And return a
hundredfold.
I can forever be
spent,
And still never be
sold.
My substance is
honesty,
And truth is all of me.
I
cannot live within a lie,
Nor without
the proper light.
For shallowness I
am too high,
And too bright for the
night.
I ever speak of things
divine.
Everything with me is
fine.
I give hope to hopeless
things,
And light unto the dark.
I
am the inspiration that brings
Unto
life a glowing spark.
I am what is
beyond ever.
I am lowly never.
I
am the spring that ever flows.
The
unending stream.
I am the wind that
ever blows.
The ever perfect
dream.
I am beyond compare.
The
one thing for which all care.
The
right and not the wrong,
The tune in
which to play.
I in everything
belong.
I will never pass
away.
(332) Hate
The
eternal curse is mine.
I destroy what
is fine,
And peace I take
away,
And joy and all the good.
No
good thing can with me stay,
None can
be understood.
In many forms I
appear,
Envy, jealousy, disdain, and
fear.
In one form or another
I
have often turned
Brother against
brother.
Cities I have
burned.
I upon violence do
feed.
Am at the root of every evil
deed.
Without me all wars would
die,
For I ferment every war.
I
make loud the war cry.
It is I that
peace does mar.
I bring anger to
bear.
I the cords of love tear.
I
have entered every scene,
Done my
damage every place.
It is I who have
made men mean,
Pitted brutal anger in
their face.
In the shadows I do
sulk and live.
From there my power I
do give.
I am every secret
sneer.
I am every selfish
thought.
I am every hidden
fear.
In you I may be
sought.
(333) Inspiration
Ah, the power of inspiration
In he
who seeks its cooperation.
Wondrous
things it may impart.
Masterpieces
flow from the inspired heart.
He
who has hold of this golden key
May
unlock the doors to all eternity,
May
eat of manna from above,
Be engulfed
by the awe of divine love.
And
journey beyond his abode here
Unto a
new and more heavenly
sphere.
Inspiration cannot be
bought.
It can only by a miracle be
wrought.
(334) What I Believe
I believe
God is the reason for every
raindrop,
And reveals His love in
each one.
Every leaf that falls I
believe is known,
And there is a
purpose for its life and
death.
Each grain of sand I trust
is numbered,
And relegated to a
specific spot.
I cannot believe the
beauty of a flower is lost
Merely
because its petals fall to
earth.
No one will ever persuade
me that breath is wasted
Even by the
humblest and most abject of
creatures.
And I believe the
brightest light is not in the
sky,
But in our heart when we do the
right thing.
(335) Believing
There is a way I feel.
My belief, my
faith is real.
Though bad may come my
way,
There will be a better
day.
Some day the sun will
shine,
And peace and joy will be
mine.
Tomorrow will be bright,
And
everything be all right.
In the
midst of ill
I keep on believing
still.
Despair I cast from me,
And
look for victory.
(336) The Poet
The
poet sees and tells
From the spring
which within wells.
The poet is
unbound.
Beneath the poet is holy
ground.
The poet speaks gentle
words
Spoken only by singing
birds,
Or words to the
wise
Gathered where the eagle
flies.
The poet is a
prophet
Who has with unseen angels
met.
The poet has the voice
To
make one cry or rejoice.
(337) Fall
Behold the leaves multicolored in the October sun. The sky is hazy and beyond the horizon there dwells rain, that three day drizzle that an east wind blows in this time year. Cool, damp, grey days that precede the coming of winter are to be our lot for another month, except for intervals of Indian summer when the warmth and bright blue skies makes us doubt that we are so near to snow and freezing temperatures.
It is a melancholy time, though not unpleasant. With every gust of wind the leaves fall like rain. It is an act of nature that occurs without much fanfare as the green gives up the ghost in favor of the brown.
(338) The Goldenrods
Fall's flowers, the goldenrods flamed before me in the pasture. The sky a deep blue and the beauty of those flowers did belie the time of year. It seemed like summer bright and green, but the falling leaves and the shortness of the days proved it was summer past.
A golden time of the year is fall as there is the golden grain, the golden leaves, and the golden flowers like the goldenrods. Fall is the maturing of plants, the going through the fire and coming out as pure as gold. The world is mellowed in that eternal cycle of bud, blossom, and then the fruit. The goldenrods waved at me in the wind, a whole troupe of them did wave, and I felt blessed at that moment.
(339) When The Music Stops
Soon the music will stop, 'tis autumn now. A chill is in the air, but they still sing. Crickets, tree frogs, and katydids still sing the night away. Loudly they sing, happily they sing, but soon it all will end. Still they sing! They meet death as they met life, with exuberance and with jubilance.
I wonder if I will meet death so well. Retaining such faith and happiness throughout the years is not so easy. The autumn of life often finds people distressed and lonely. Listening to the insects and tree frogs tonight I sense their wonderful acceptance of fate.
(340) The Crisis Of Seasons
A crisis in the affairs of plants, insects, and animals occurs every fall as some hibernate and others die. The leaf changes colors, then falls, and the earth regains what it begot. As we watch this process we feel a certain regret, though not despair, for instinctively we sense this is not the end.
It is only another step in existence. The cold and dark of winter merely checks life for a season as it is only a time of change, a time of rest. When spring comes all will be renewed, and will return to life with new vigor after the months of repose. Looking at fall in this manner lessens the shock of it's transformation, and we are able to enjoy the season as a necessary part of the glorious whole.
(341) The North Wind
Life teems all summer long and bathes in warmth, but fall slows the process. Gradually the cold slows the sap. The aging of the year sends the leaves to the ground, the woodchucks to the hole, and the birds south. The frost hovers on the plants and blades of grass and brings death with it's caress. The leaves feel the icy fingers of the frost, and like the pincers of a crab it severs the leaves one by one. The morning air is chilly, crisp, and clear, and the days are still with occasional chill laden breezes.
The cold comes out of the north wailing, and it sounds like a death dirge. I wonder to myself, do the trees and flowers know? Do they know like the birds that have flown south, that winter is nigh? It is like a funeral hymn, the sound of that wind swaying the half bare trees, and sending the remnant of their leaves to the ground.
The grass is icy cold to the touch, and though green it has the feel of death. How grey and somber the sky appears in the waning light. I cry deep inside myself to think that another summer has past, and I must spend another long, cold winter alone comforted only by thoughts of spring.
Bleakness met my eyes in the landscape. A tree not yet bereft of all it's foliage, green mixed with vivid yellow and gold, stood out in glittering array. Behind it stood the hill, dark and lonely, and the trees stark and bare, while above reigned the gray evening sky, and at my feet lie the bright green grass. I was witnessing the end of a season, and the feeling it gave me was not unlike witnessing the end of a life. As flowers adorn the casket at a funeral there was some beauty in that sadness.
(342) The Sad November
The sad November has come round again. The evening curtain drops quickly now. The nights are chilled, and many of the days are cold and gray. The stars twinkle so lonely in the night, unlike in summer when they seem nestled in the warm companionship of each other's light. In the cold darkness of the November night they look so isolated.
The trees have lost the comfort of their blanket of leaves, and are forced to face the cruel icy wind unprotected. A kind summer season filled with warmth and sunshine and warm showers has been their preparation for nature's severity. For some no buds may appear in spring. Especially those with a weakness does the cold wind seek out and destroy.
(343) Winter
There is in winter a solemnity of forms that pervades every aspect of our thoughts. There is nothing superflous in the landscape as the winter scene is free of allaccoutrements and adornments. Winter is very basic.
Winter is a season when ornamentation and ostentation is done away, and what is left is the original outline, the bare essence. Winter reveals the true essence of that upon which all the frills of summer are placed. Whereas summer puts on a lavish and multifarious outfit, winter is stark reality.
I step out on the frozen turf and the cold grips me like a vise. The ground is frozen like concrete as the pliable clay of summer has turned into a solid rock hard material. The rocks and pebbles are encrusted in the frozen earth so that even the most vigorous kicking cannot dislodge them.
All water is turned to ice except that in a swiftly moving stream which is invaded by the ever creeping ice along both sides. The sky is a cold icy blue, and even the sun appears like a distant sparkling icicle. All around is conquered by the cold and ice. Had I just viewed the world for the first time today, I would conclude it to be a frozen wasteland.
(344) The Lonely Winter Moon
Sometimes I feel like the lonely winter moon staring down on snow covered hills. The moon looks so lonely and silent. It is a beautiful sight though to look outside on a cold winter night when the ground is covered with snow and a bright moon is shining down. The snow glistens in the soft moonlight and it seems almost like daylight.
The stars look so bright, and you get the feeling you could almost reach up and touch them. It seems so heavenlike, as if the world and the heavens were one and everything is so clear, so understandable.
The silence is what stands out. As one steps out the sound of one's own footsteps in the snow sounds so loud. As one stops to listen there is no other sound as even the wind is silent and everything seems under some heavenly spell.
(345) The Snow
Of all the marvels of nature, snow is supreme. Snow makes the world a fantasyland, it makes the countryside a wonderland. It can be cold and forbidding at times, yet it makes our hearts warm with its beauty. Who can fail to be awed by the attraction of a scene of hills and valleys covered with snow. Snow makes the world seem like a fantasy land, and we feel amidst its charm a part of some fairy tale.
As children we revelled in the snow. It made our backyard a playpen and when we were a child we were jubilant when it fell. It was a time to try out our new sled or to build a snowman.
The snow awakens our imagination and invites us to journey into its dreamland. On moonlit nights one of the rare joys of life is beholding the snow covered landscape beneath those bright stars. All is so unreal when the snow graces our land. It seems like we have almost been transported to another planet.
Especially the first snow of the season is awe inspiring. When there is a blizzard outside we are thankful to be inside near a warm fire, and perhaps that is another blessing of the snow, it draws us closertogether. Among our fondest memories are as a child hearing the cold winter wind whipping outside on a snowy night while we were warm and snug in bed.
(346) Carpe Diem
Seize the day before it is gone,
For time is a fleeting thing,
And ever the clock moves on,
And ever the bell does ring.
Rarely opens opportunity's door,
And quickly shut it slams,
Opening never again evermore,
And so our opportunity damns.
Sometimes we only have one shot,
One crack at the wheel of fate,
So make the best of the day we've got,
For tomorrow it may be too late.
(347) First and Last
First is a lark and a holiday,
Last is sad and cannot stay,
First is joyful anticipation,
Last is somber contemplation;
First we think it will never end,
Last with only memories we contend,
First the sunlight is warm and bright,
Last the sun has set for the night;
First we were like a little child,
Last we've grown old and mild,
First our dreams reached the sky,
Last we must prepare to die.
(348) Little Gray Squirrel
I see a little gray squirrel everyday,
In my yard it does eat and play,
Digging for hidden nuts in the snow,
Or under the bird feeders it does go.
It doesn't seem to have a care or worry,
Or to be in any kind of rush or hurry,
Nor does it appear to get upset or mad,
And even during bad weather seems glad.
I guess that I from it could learn,
Not to be so depressed at every turn,
Because the little squirrel out in the cold,
Seems not to fret about life or getting old.
(349) Elm Leaf
Elm Leaf upon the tree,
Wonderfully formed somehow,
From the dust you and me,
And back to dust soon enow.
Our brief time in the sun,
Swayed by the wind and rain,
Will end when our days are done,
As we pass from this earthly plane.
Little leaf, such a delight to view,
Gleaming upon the tree so fine,
I thank God in Heaven for you,
And that this moment was mine.
(350) A Being of the Moment
Somewhere amidst this light and dark we exist in the region of sunshine and shadow, a being of the moment. We are an entity in our true essence without form or place. For now we are suspended in this moment riding the crest of the wave in time.
We are neither here nor there, but we are everywhere a being of the moment in the universe. Only in rare moments when a beautiful musical composition frees us, or the words of a lovely poem, or the beauty of a natural setting elevates us, or we are permitted to glimpse the beautiful soul of another, only then arethe scales ever so briefly lifted from our perception and we see who we really are.
(351) A Blank Piece of Paper
I never see a blank piece of paper, but I feel the urge to fill it with thought. There I say, "is a place to put something of myself." Wherever there is a blank piece of paper there is a chance to convey my thoughts upon it, to preserve as it were, my thoughts of this moment, my thoughts at this time, in this place.
Paper, from the ancient scrolls, unto our super abundance of paper in this day, have preserved the thoughts of mankind. Each person has something to say, and only they can say it, and it needs to be said, and the world will be better for it. Each person has their own unique perspective on the world, and insights that only they have. If they fail to share what they have to give, then we are all less for it.
No one else quite sees the world the way I do, or the way you do. That's what makes life so wonderful, the uniqueness of each individual, and the value of that unique view of things enriching the world with variety and freshness. Though we all share many things in common, we all also have our own individual special outlook on things. A blank piece of paper can be filled with that which conveys to the world who we truly are, and the light which is ours to shine on life.
(352) A Perfect Day
I have never done all the things
I wanted to do,
Nor done them the way
I wanted to.
It would be nice to live
A perfect day,
And to do everything
In a perfect way.
But I quess that will
Never, never be,
Because there will
Never be a perfect me.
(353) The Sin of Idleness
To be useful is an achievement, but to be useless is a waste. Idleness is refusing the opportunities and challenges of life. It is in effect refusing life, a denial of life and all the hope it engenders.
I have squandered time in a horde of aimless ways. I have sat and watched the hours drift by, and not only watched, but hoped they would go faster. How many countless mornings I have awakened with no set purpose for the day. How many yesterdays have gone by without my caring, almost without my notice.
How many monotonous days have I wasted, because I could not think of anything worth doing, or because I didn't have the zeal or courage to do anything worthwhile. There are undertakings for which a person should be justly condemned, but I wonder what the condemnation should be for no undertaking at all?
Idleness is a waste of the precious time we have here on earth, and just as destructive to an individual as a fatal disease can be. It robs one of a sense of purpose and a reason for living. It robs one of the wonder and joy of life.
(354) The Days Tiptoe On By
The days tiptoe on by,
And the years parade past
All too quickly.
Was it a year ago?
No, ten, twenty, I sat and dreamed
Of wondrous things.
It was warm,
the month of May,
The flowers were in bloom,
The birds were singing,
And I was happy
As the world around me.
Time, the thief of youth,
And of dreams,
That stealthily snatches away,
Happiness and tenderness
From our midst
While we are enwrapped
In blind reverie.
While in our mind
We weave a garland of flowers
For some envisioned Utopia of tomorrow,
A lifetime of todays
File by in silent procession,
Leaving us bereft.
(355) Split Second Decisions
It is the split second decisions that sometimes kill us. There we are, our mind miles away, and bang, a choice to make, and almost no time to think about it or weigh the matter. Then it is we truly find out our fiber. Then it is that we are most vulnerable and our weaknesses glare forth.
All may have been fine moments before. We may have been on top of the world, but in an instant our world can change forever, because of a bad split second decision. An instant of indecisiveness or gross error in judgement can turn our world for the worse.
There are times we are never more blatantly wrong in our life, than when a split second decision is required, and we are caught hopelessly off guard. Things have a way of happening in life suddenly and without warning, things that we have not prepared for, and that we never thought would happen to us. Often when these unforeseen events happen to us, and a split second crucial decision is required that may have critical everlasting consequences on our life or the lives of others, we are ill prepared.
Yet, surprisingly, many of our split second decisions are wise ones, while ironically those decisions we mull over for long periods of time are not always good decisions. I think perhaps split second decisions come from the very core of our being and who we are. If we have within us a deep and abiding faith, and a basic strength of character with a desire to do what is right and good, then I think most of our split second decisions will be the right decisions. It also doesn't hurt to have good fortune or a guardian angel on our side as well.
(356) What is Life?
What is Life?
An emptiness in the night,
A troubled heart,
A wondering and not knowing,
A going to and fro,
But always staying the same,
A hurrying, worrying hither and yon,
a sickness of people and society,
A darkness on every hand,
A flame that consumes,
A desire unfulfilled,
And a longing unappeased,
Is life.
What is life?
Hands that tremble,
Eyes that water,
A throbbing temple,
Fear as old as the hills,
The horror of the unknown,
Broken hopes and broken dreams,
A wrapping up in,
And a disgust for,
A going to the summit,
And falling into the pit,
Being all and nothing,
Riding the white horse,
And being ridden by the dragon,
A diamond studded crown,
And a garland of thorns,
A key to knowledge,
And a path to ignorance,
Ghosts from the past,
And shadows from the future,
Is life.
(357) The Wonder of Life
Slowly, haltingly we come to appreciate life. We awake one morning and God reveals to us all the promise, beauty, and majesty life has to offer. As a window opened revealing a marvelous scene our heart takes in this new serenity of soul.
It sometimes takes a lifetime before we become endeared to life in it's true sense of beautiful simplicity. Albeit how wise, we must become humble to truly appreciate and love life.
The promise of life is unlimited. The living have the stars within their grasp. Life is a treasure whose value is inestimable, a diamond of lustre toobright to look upon.
(358) The Chamber of Horrors
Nothing is more frightening than those thoughts concocted by the mind. The mind can be a chamber of horrors. All we fear and dread lie chained there in the mind ready to be unleashed at the first opportunity. Once freed the horrors of our mind can drive us to the brink of insanity.
The monstrous thoughts of our mind rage to and fro threatening to devour us with their venomous force. The mind can exhibit the greatest serenity of thought on occasion as the thoughts are so calm one doubts any desturbance could create a turmoil, but in an instant the madness can strike, and terrible burning thoughts roar forth as we are at the mercy of those dark and desperate thoughts.
How the thoughts grasp at what is sinister, and will not let us escape, dwelling on the heinous and dispicable, the grim and unhappy aspects of life. The mind is also the reservoir of unpleasant memories, guilt, and regret, dire imaginings, terrible grief and sadness, exorbitant melancholy, uncontrollable anxieties, morbid fears, and manias all bent on rendering us into a state of emotional collapse.
The mind is exceptionally adept at fashioning the most grotesque and worst of situations, and of plunging us into hours of mental agony. The contemptible thoughts hold sway over our entire body, churning and burning our stomach and intestines, tensing and unsettling our nerves, causing insomnia and lack of appetite, completely disrupting our physical body, and darkening our spiritual outlook as well.
The mind and our thoughts have such power, and can cause such distress and unrest, that we wish we had the power to turn the mind off at times. Oblivion would almost be preferable to the stormy mind at times.
(359) Violence
Violence is a seed from which sprouts a thousand woes. Human beings are at times the instruments of violence. Our world is increasingly threatened by this compulsion of people and nations for violence. In an age where catastrophic destructive power is readily available to people who would commit violence, an instant of unthinkable horrible violence can so transform our world as to make it virtually unlivable.
There exists within the human heart a capacity for evil, and for aggravating and violating every known law and code of conduct, even to the extent of sacrificing one's ownself to appease the hunger for destruction and violence.
Pehaps there will come a day when human beings overcome the violence within them, and learn to direct their energies toward peaceful constructive channels-a day of peace and good will for all who exist on the earth.
(360) The Mind
The mind is the final frontier. We have only begun to explore the wonders to be found in the mind. It is true there are darknesses and horrors there, but the wonders and the capacity of the mind to perceive and create good and beauty far outweigh all that is negative.
I think that the farther that human beings go without, and the greater their achievements and discoveries, the greater will be our need to explore within the territory of the mind. It is unwise to go very far outward without going an equal distance inward. We can only control the outward as we are controlled by the inward.
Only a minute part of the mind's power and capacity has been tapped and utilized. The human race is only in its infancy in understanding the mind, and using the mind's energy and full potential. One of the greatest wonders of the universe is the mind and its thoughts. For in a sense without our thoughts nothing could exist for us, but with our thoughts everything can exist, and anything lies within the realm of possibility. Thoughts cannot be limited, therefore we cannot be limited so long as we have our mind and thoughts.
What a marvelous thing God has instilled in a human being, the mind, the ability to think and reason, the ability to chose right or wrong, the ability to learn and create, and the ability to comprehend all the other things of creation.
Perhaps one of the most amazing abilities of the mind is our ability to communicate and express ourselves, and to let other people know how we feel and what we are thinking, and to feel and express our love and tenderness for one another, and work together toward common goals. Without that ability of the mind for self expression and communication civilization and society would not exist.
(361) Rainy Days
I like rainy days. There is something about rainy days that is so soothing, peaceful, and relaxing. Rainy days are the perfect days for thought and meditation.
Sunny days are great, but they are so bright and the pace is quicker and less conducive to pensive contemplation. On a day when the rain falls slowly the mind drifts naturally and easily down a channel of thought much as a canoe under the influence of agentle current.
Although I love sunny days, I count myself fortunate to live rainy days as well.
(362) There are
some people rare,
Those who really
care,
Those who stand for
right,
Those who carry a
light;
Who would give one their
hand,
Who would
understand;
Friendly people
sincere,
Holding the truth
dear.
Most of all having
love
Divine from above.
Having a
feeling heart
Which can love
impart;
Having respect for
all,
Helping those who call,
Ready
to aid anyone,
Denying help to
none;
A trusting heart
within,
caring for all men,
A
faith in mankind,
An agreeable
mind;
An optimistic view,
With
thoughts never blue,
A happy face
ever,
Having hatred
never.
(363) If We Ourself Could See
If we ourself
could see
We would less foolish
be,
At anger we would smile,
Be
happy all the while.
We would
laugh at our fears,
See no need for
our tears,
At envy we would
shrink,
And never hatred
think.
Could we see how we
act,
We might laugh for a
fact,
Though at times we might
cry,
Say, "such a fool was
I".
We
would avoid much woe
If we ourself
could know,
Could see ourself in
time
To not commit a
crime;
Could see into our
mind,
And not go onward
blind,
Could see before too
late,
Would take some time to
wait.
We would more wisely
do,
If we ourself could
view.
(364) To My mother
A mother
kind and true
Was my mother
dear.
far greater love she is
due
Than these lines could record
here.
When I was sick in
bed
She with love did care,
And
never could it be said
Love for me
she did not bear.
Take my burdens
she would,
Also my sorrow,
Every
woe if she could,
Each heartache she
would borrow.
I did learn from her
To be good and kind.
Kind was she
everywhere,
A better could no one
find.
Never was purer
thought
In any mortal
soul.
Against evil she fought,
And
for the right was her goal.
Her I
first heard pray,
First heard her
cry.
Live as long as long I
may
Glad for my mother am
I.
(365) To My Father
Unto my
father I owe
More than these few
lines here.
His love for me he did
show,
He was ever a friend
dear.
Finer man I never
knew
Than father big and
strong,
And whatever he did
do
Never seemed to me wrong.
No
braver man one could find,
Father was
not afraid.
Once he made up his
mind
With his word ever
stayed.
Was not one to run and
hide,
But father stood his
ground.
In honor he did
abide,
Dignity was in him
found.
Father always taught me
right,
To be honest and fair,
That
for some things I must fight,
And for
the right I should care.
Father
always proudly stood,
He always stood
up high
Like a good man really
should.
Glad for my father am
I.
(366) The Last Sound
The air is
filled with sound.
One can hear it
all around,
Sounds of people, wind,
and birds,
Sounds of laughter and
words;
The sound of the ringing
bell,
And more sounds than I could
tell.
Sound is a world all
right
Almost as great as
sight.
But one sound interests
me,
The last sound, what will it
be?
Maybe the wind in the
trees,
or curtains in the
breeze;
Low voices around the
bed,
Or maybe a prayer
said;
Perhaps an engine
roaring,
Maybe a drill bit
boring.
It might be a dog
barking,
A burning fire
sparking,
Perhaps an airplane
flying,
maybe a baby crying;
A
slight creaking of the floor,
Or
banging of the door,
Or maybe just a
big boom,
And off one goes to the
tomb.
(367) All Things Have An End
Many valiant
there have been
Never remembered
again,
As in the forest trees
tall
Are forgotten after they
fall;
As beautiful flowers
die
Without a trace to the eye,
As
lions in the jungle strong
are dead
and gone before too long;
As the
brightest suns that burn
In time are
darkened in turn,
So all things do
have an end
No matter how their life
they spend.
(368) The Eyes Of A Child
The eyes of
a angel I did view
When the eyes of a
child I looked into;
So innocent and
fair,
Seeming without a care,
I
could not help but stare
In
wonderment at the tender smile
Which
lingered on the little face a
while;
A joy I did not feel
The
little eyes reveal.
Some of it I did
steal.
Looking into the eyes of a
child
I do feel at once as tender and
mild;
For there does lie within
A
pure heart free from sin
In which no
strife has been.
I feel the peace
the eyes contain,
For I believe of
all the child is most sane,
Having
wisdom more
Than learning can
restore.
For good a child
explore.
A child is unto heaven so
near.
A child the truth of the
heavenly sees clear.
What joy it is
to see
The eyes of childlike
glee
So happy just to
be.
(369) The Stream
Over the
pebbles flowing
In the sunlight
glowing,
Flows the little stream
along
Singing a merry
song.
Most happy it seems to
be
Flowing along so free
On this
springlike kind of day
In the month
of May.
The fairest flowers of
blue,
And some of yellow too
Near
around the stream reside,
Grace the
banks on each side.
The birds
around are singing,
With the
streamlet ringing.
Filled with sound
is the air,
Sound both gentle and
fair.
(370) Despair
All
around lies nothing,
But the despair
I bring.
I see no way but
doom,
Uncertainty doth ever
loom.
The future I do dread.
My
hope is all but dead.
What darkness
is my fate?
What will be my last
estate?
No bottom has this
pit,
And no light shines within
it.
Eternal is the night,
And lost
is reason or right.
(371) How We See A Thing
It is all
how we see a thing.
Some see winter
in spring.
Some see fond hope
ahead,
Some people see despair
instead.
Some see evil in
joy.
Some see it right to
destroy.
Some see beauty in a
flower.
Some see awe in a
star.
Some see glory in
pain.
Some see hallucinations in the
brain.
Some see the sky
above.
Some see the world with
love.
Some see life with a
smile.
Some people see the world
worthwhile.
Some see the finer things
of life.
Some see only the
strife.
Some see with their heart
clear.
Some see with prejudice,
hatred, and fear.
(372) A Tender Thread
There
exists a tender thread between sorrow
and joy,
Between a weapon and a
toy,
Between laughter and
tears,
Between hopes and
fears.
There is a tender thread
between the good and bad,
Between the
rational and the mad,
Between war and
debate,
Between love and
hate.
There is a tender thread
between desire and lust,
Between a
body and the dust,
Between truth and
lies,
Between yawns and
sighs.
There is a tender thread
between man and the beast,
Between
the greatest and the least,
Between
the black and white,
Between day and
night.
(373) Illness
Perhaps one of the most difficult things we ever have to deal with in life is serious illness, whether the illness effects us or a loved one. It is almost as bad when a loved one is ill as when we ourself are ill.
At first there is the initial shock of finding out that we or a loved one is seriously ill with cancer, heart disease, or another major illness that could be fatal. Then there are the endless trips to the hospital, the doctor's office, and the pharmacy for medicine. There is the fear and uncertainty, and often the pain and disbility if there is surgery or other complications involved with the illness. There can also be the stress of confinement and loss of mobility. Our whole life and way of living is changed as we try to cope with the illness.
Our outlook on life and the world changes. Little things we took for granted like time with our family, recreational pastimes, and moments to ourself, become more precious and important. We become acutely aware of our own mortality, and the fact that our time on this earth might not be much longer.
We notice the flowers and how beautiful the world is. We notice the people in our life and how wonderful they are, and how precious they are to us. We begin to find more comfort in our faith and to trust in God more. For perhaps the first time in our life we come to understand what is really inportant.
(374) My Prayer
Dear God, I pray, help me,
To be the person I ought to be,
Help me to see the light,
Help me to do the right.
I come with humble heart,
Please help me do my part,
To help others in need,
To be more like Christ I plead.
Take away my selfish pride,
In thy love may I abide,
Help me find the peace I seek,
And with love to act and speak.
(375) Special Angels
Sometimes when we see no light,
But only darkness all around,
Then like from heaven above,
A special angel can be found.
A kind word, a kind deed,
Can pull us from the brink,
And give us hope to go on.
They are our special angels I think.
Though they may not have wings,
Or fly through the air,
nonetheless they have wondrous power,
To save us from our despair.
(376) Nothing Is Unimportant
Our world is so constructed that nothing that exists or happens is unimportant. Creation is all tied together, and bound in the broad sea of being. All about is inter related, and substances of common heredities. Taken a step farther we perceive that nothing that happens is really unimportant or insignificant.
This can be applied even more significantly to the inter actions between people. Who knows what the resulting consequences and reverberations down through time of a kind word or deed, and how it may beneficially effect countless other people for untold good. On the other hand the resulting repercussions of an act of cruelty or evil may be the cause of terrible and monstrous crimes and evils to be perpetrated on countless future generations.
(377) Pleasant Reflections
There are times when I feel low that I reflect upon memories that are sweet or pleasant.
My thoughts hasten back to moments in spring,
To blue skies on crisp autumn days,
To snow pure and sparkling in the sun,
To the smells after a rain,
To summer evenings long and cooling,
To flowers along the road,
To fish jumping from a stream,
To glistening grass at dawn,
To a lighted city far off in the night,
To a bluebird's nest in a hollow limb.
By this reflection on life's more pleasant memories I arrive at some equanimity.
(378) Life Is Funny
We never know when we are up,
Until we are down.
We think we have it bad,
Until we have it worse.
We don't know we were really happy,
Until we are sad.
(379) Criticism
One of the most difficult things in the world is to accept criticism. By nature we become upset when we are criticized, even though we know the criticism might be somewhat justified. Strangely enough we can accept and be quite unperturbed when someone else is being criticized, it doesn't bother us at all, but when we ourselves are criticized, even slightly, our anger flares.
Do we hold we are perfect beings? Absolutely not, we readily admit our shortcomings, but we just don't like anyone else telling us about them. Criticism seems so much like abuse, that we can't or we don't try to accept it, or see the difference of whether it is justified or not. After all at times there are people who seem malicious in their criticism, and who just pick and pick at every little thing we do, who appear to have a personal dislike for us, and who criticize us constantly. On the other hand there are those who only criticize judiciously, and with good intentions, when they think it is appropriate, and for our own good.
Whether the intentions are good or bad, we still don't like criticism. All of our defensive mechanisms rise up at the very hint of criticism, and we plot how we will defend ourself from what appears to be a personal attack upon us as an individual. Of course there can be vast differences in the way criticism is done, and also of who does the criticizing. If the criticism is done in a polite and respectful manner it is more readily accepted by us. Also we accept criticism more easily and readily from certain people, such as close or trusted friends, beloved family members, or people we admire or respect, more than from someone else we may not know or someone we might dislike.
I think it is important that we learn to accept criticism, and use it to our advantage as a means of improving ourselves. Criticism can be a great help to us. Constructive criticism is helpful in pointing out our flaws and weaknesses, and helping us to achieve our goals, or to change ourselves for the better.
Actually we should be grateful to someone for pointing out our errors and flaws so that we may take steps to correct them. The person who points out our mistakes is perhaps more of a true friend than someone who sees we are wrong, and says nothing, letting us continue on in our error to our own detriment.
(380) Selfishness
Selfishness, while seeming to be in our best interest, can actually be quite harmful to us. In pursuing selfish ends and pleasures we ultimately find that any satisfaction we gain from them is only temporary, like over indulging in sweets, and that in the long run they are bad for us. Selfishness always leaves us with an empty feeling, while giving and caring for others leaves us fulfilled and happy.
Our affections were meant to be extended, not focused inwardly, but expanded outwardly toward loving and helping others. Expanding our feelings in the direction of others gives us a happiness within that selfishness could never do. When we only care for ourself we shrivel up into a lonely little person, but when we reach out with love and kindness toward others our loneliness goes away, and we don't feel frightened and miserable any longer.
To receive the blessings of life we must give ourself up. We must die to self, in a sense, to truly live as a caring and compassionate person. Selfishness prevents us from really caring and giving of ourself to others. It is like a chain around our neck which pulls us back from helping those in need or having compassion for those who suffer and who reach out to us for comfort and kindness. Selfishness prevents us from really having selfless and unconditional love for our family and friends. Selfishness in the end is really a form of self destruction, while selflessness and love for others and love for God is our salvation.
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