COFFEE

COFFEE

When all else fails and life is glum,

When rain pours down for days,

When to weary feelings I succumb,

When colors fade to gray,

It is to coffee that I turn,

Black medicine of old,

From youth it was when I first learned

It’s worth is that of gold.

But please explain if you should know

The mystery so queer:

How that it goes in dark and slow,

But comes out quick and clear.

A Hole In One

Out he went with his dream to make the changes

And strapped to his waist was the old 45.

The star he wore was made of tin but his heart was gold

And from that heart his dream stayed alive.

But on that day when the sun stood still and the birds ceased their song

He drew that old black powder Colt a millisecond too long.

Oh it discharged a chunk of lead alright, about 250 grain,

But after one small ricochet it landed in his brain.

The whole town mourned for weeks and weeks o’er the grave up on boot hill,

“Here lies the man with heart of gold, and head with leaden pill.”

He may have been right you know, his heart and all that stuff,

But being the fastest draw in the West does not mean you’re so tuff.

He should made the ones he loved a safe place for to lodge,

Instead he spent his days in the sheriffs office in the the city they call “Dodge”.

Dodge he did, all his life, the bullets, cursings, kids and wife.

He was was known for keeping law, but his home was always absent, “Paw”.

 

 

Read This

Read this because you’re the type of person who appreciates writing. Go ahead and share it and recommend it to someone else who is kinda like you.  You know who I mean: the guy who hides behind the screen he writes on;  The girl who is secretly depressed and agitated about how small they feel in such a big writing community with its own stars.  Those people who are repulsed at the actors, writers and pontifical people who pat each other on the back with golden awards for who shines brightest.

Yup.  We cower in their shadows as they go on to fame and fortune while all you want to do is be heard and appreciated.  Don’t be disappointed, you are who you are and your work is your work no matter how the rest of the world responds to you and it. Keep creating and writing for it is an extension of yourself and you are valuable.

There’s a portion of us who think we have answers to difficult questions.  Some of us like to tell the world where we have been.  Others like to share their knowledge and accomplishments.  The reason we do is we are created ourselves, and the work of One who also desires to be noticed and appreciated.  Yet, He doesn’t need any of us to survive. He doesn’t survive at all, instead He is Life and Life is self-existent in and of Himself.  We have been told we are created in His image, so we are very much like Him, but corrupted by a sick, self-absorbed role model called “humanity.”

Some years ago a song written by a favorite artist caught my attention:

RANDY STONEHILL
Through The Glass Darkly

I heard God was at the Palace doing a one night stand
So I went out there to see Him with my hope in my hand
He was just a boy of fifteen without much to say
And when he started signing autographs I walked away

I was standing on a corner by the marketplace
When a fellow with some leaflets shoved one right in my face
Well he poked me with His Bible like it was a loaded gun
And I said whatever it is you’re selling man I don’t want none

All our superstar are suicidal casualties
And our heroes die in motel rooms and motorcades
Oh it seems like all out dreams are only fantasies
And I wonder if we’ll learn from the mistakes we’ve made

I bumped into Mr. Jimi at a London hotel
And he said let’s get together but he didn’t look well
When I woke up in the morning all the papers read
Jimi Hendrix overdosed last night in bed

All our superstar are suicidal casualties
And our heroes die in motel rooms and motorcades
Oh it seems like all out dreams turn into tragedies
And i wonder if we’ll learn from the mistakes we’ve made

Now I’m waiting at the bus stop for the bus to arrive
And I know there must be more to life than staying alive
Well I don’t know where I’m going when I climb in
But it can’t be any emptier than where I’ve been

     Ah, yes.  Randy has nailed it.  The world looks to super-stars that always become falling stars.  We give them our ears, eyes, time and money.  We sit on the edge of our seats waiting for the next movie surprised to find out that one of the stars had to be computer generated because they perished due to reckless living.  Instead of learning from their mistakes we make them gods and goddesses.  We continue to worship at the throne of popular opinion rather than truth.
     Some of us have drawn back.  We know we are failures and keep working so others do not make the same mistakes.  We want to share the beauty of life, the wonderful & limited gift we all share in this world.
     Some have plumbed the depths and reached for beyond the stars;  some have looked inward a far as the microscope will allow and have drawn two diverse conclusions: 1) Mankind is an amazing cosmic mystery having chance as it’s origin, and we are progressing toward perfection, or 2) Mankind is the creative result of  Divine Artist and we fail to see His signature in ourselves, and hence are degenerating.
     While the media continues to generate myths and legends out of humans with smoke and mirrors, let’s continue to create the reality of life and artistry at it’s best.  Hopefully, we will be able to give the greatest worship and accolades to the One who made us this way.
     I know you may not agree with my conclusions and that is okay.  You may feel all alone in your work and believe no one understands.  Let me challenge you to have another look.  The world with its hard work and coldness has grandeur and beauty.  Stop often and be amazed.  Tell us about it.  We already know about the hatred, the death, the sickness, and degradation.  Paint your world with the Creator’s heart in mind.  Find Him and you will find faith, hope and love.  Do you really need anything else?

 

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The Uncomplicated Life

Drink white birch, go to church, type in “archery” then hit “search”

Pizza supreme, Field of Dreams, big ol barn with wooden beams

Ducks in creek, 4 day week, chirp your tires hear them squeak

Silly poem, thoughtful gnome, birds feed just outside our home

Smiling dog, croaking frog, red fox family inside log

New mown hay, chirping jay, sunset at the end of day

Stars in sky, sleep draws nigh, katydids sing lullaby

Eyes of red, go to bed, best thoughts dance inside my head.

They and Others

valley of death

There they go again, back and forth, in and out, up and down.

They could have so much more, but instead desire madness and monotony.

Where were they when we needed them?  They were busy.

Busy but accomplishing nothing; nothing that they say is really something.

Across the sea others went in their place to keep them safe,

Safe maybe, but not from themselves; so many lost to preserve the madness.

The others? Most return alive, but their spirits are near spent,

Bodies never quite the same, the land they love emaciated by selfishness.

Memories that do not die, sleep– the others may, but rest never.

Always something in the shadows, waiting to attack when least expected

As rest is slaughtered during the cursed nightmare.

Morning dawns and outside the window there they go again,

Constantly moving and going nowhere accomplishing nothing so they can

Be like everyone else: Except the others

 

Thanks Lord!

Giving thanks always takes us to the wonderful things and people we are surrounded with: Family, Church, Nature, Salvation, Home, God.

I am seldom aware of all the things I am not thankful for, yet are part of the life God has designed for me. Some things we become thankful for only when they are taken away.  Here’s a few:

  1. The full use of our bodies
  1. The senses: sight, smell, taste, feeling, hearing
  1. The ability to think, reason, make decisions & take responsibility
  1. Communication with other human beings
  1. Dominion over animal life, forest field & the accountability of it
  1. Water, air, soil, fire, the elements
  1. Wealth & power (in the amounts given to us)
  1. The opportunity to know God
  1. Articulation of speech & control over it
  1. Dreams, sleep, rest
  1. An eternal soul that is loved by its Creator
  1. Endurance of pain, sorrow, affliction, troubles
  1. Youth, old age & whatever is in between
  1. Hope for tomorrow when today leaves you exhausted
  1. Warmth in cold, cool when hot, relief when in pain

Now, of course this list is not extant, but should get you thinking thankfully.

Have a Blessed Thanksgiving,

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The Intimate Sky

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Can the sunset see us here below

As it shadows the hollows and woodland?

Does it mate with evening and give birth

To midnight’s coal dark sky?

Does it blush with scarlet hues

Because we see the sky’s intimate love song

And hear the Katydid’s soliloquies of end of day?

As stars commence to dance above

And the moon strokes it’s fiddle,

I never cease to be amazed

At eventide’s conception.

When I Rise

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In the morning when I rise,

Squinting through my sleepy eyes,

The last thing I want to see

Is this person staring back at me.

His hair sticks up in every way

From products smeared in yesterday,

The lines I note along his face

Seem bilateral and all in place,

But nonetheless I am not thrilled

To find myself so over-the-hill.

But ever since I was a kid

I tried real hard to win the bid

Of being the oldest of my piers,

And now instead of being cheered

My morning face is what I fear!

 

 

Tomorrow in the Woods

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For all the times I tramped the woods I seldom come away the same.  The same woods, the same paths and a different perspective.  A small bird landing near my stand can make all the difference.  A pair of red fox following one another softly on the trail ahead in search of something known only to them, but nonetheless united in purpose.  Perhaps a rotting stump presents my eye with a strange shape that causes me to climb down and see it closer.

The smell of frosted leaves and the sound of them falling gently to the forest floor; the color of the evening sky settling in the west; the fawn color of a young doe and the grey face of its mother all give texture to dreams I have for tomorrow’s day afield.  It will be cool, clear and the weight of my 45 caliber hawken will weary my arms as a young child wearies the arms of his father. I proudly, carefully carry it.

For a few hours I will join thoughts with men who years before me sought for meat on the pole.  I will smile as they did when the sun finally rises in the east & its warmth fall on my reddened cheeks.

I see the deer appear like ghosts through the opaque tree trunks just 100 yards away.  They know I’m in their kitchen but not sure where.  I raise the old rifle and fix sights on a doe.  She is sniffing the air and looking my direction.  She freezes, then paws the ground, looks away briefly and then back toward me.  As I draw the hammer back her ears perk and a host of white tails flag me “good-bye”.

I am relieved.  Hunting season does not require blood on the ground, just a return to roots planted deep in the soil of Pennsylvania.  An early rise, a walk in the woods and a picture painted on my mind for years to come.

Dad would have loved it.  I feel him beside me sometimes especially when I reach in my pocket for a licorice nip.  The smell of wool and canvas clothes that hung in the garage all Summer are like the smell of fresh earth to a farmer: life-giving and full of heritage.  I have had many tomorrows in the woods.

Today is the Day!

Here we go off and runnin’,

You know me that I ain’t funnin’,

Today’s the day I lose the weight,

Today’s the day I shut that  gate,

The ever-widening hole within my head

That gains me fatness, which I dread,

Will be subjected to the amazing will

and putting miles on the old treadmill,

That I’ve been using for nothing more

Than a piece of furniture on my floor.

Yes, this is the day I so choose

To shed the pounds I need to lose

So I can beat my chubby blues.

A smell comes from the another place

I know it well & gain a trace

Of candied pecans covered well

In a brown sugar cinnamon shell.

On second thought tomorrow sounds good,

To lose weight as I really should.

 

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