Make your own free website on Tripod.com

WESTFALL GENEALOGY

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.

Go To My Poetry and Prose-Page 8

Return to My Poetry and Prose-Page 6

Return To Homepage