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”.

 

 

Good Words From My Wife, Susan

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Below is a great Facebook post my wife wrote yesterday.  Like & Share!

Give ear to my tale of a boy in his youth, and a giant quite fearsome, a big old galoot! The young lad had brothers, and was bringing some lunch, a request by his father who was worried a bunch! With two nations at war, a reputation at stake, up walked the giant a challenge to make. Over 9 ft. tall all covered in armor, trepidation and fear were all he could garner. That giant he roared and taunted and gestured, defying God’s army his words how they festered. Men big and strong all ran in fright, for Goliath the giant was a daunting sight. But David, quite small, had faith in his God, he knew although bested, his God would stand tested. He picked up 5 stones, along with his sling, and started toward Goliath, intending to fling. Goliath came cursing and flailing about, “Am I but a dog!” he shouted right out! But David didn’t waver, his faith was so strong, “I fight in the name of our God!” was his song. He took out a stone with a heave it was cast, down came the giant defeated at last. Then with a great shout the Philistines they flew, with Israelites behind them, their courage renewed. The God of the Israelites had not let them down, the battle was His then, and surely is now. For David faced many giants throughout his days, he grew tired and discouraged in so many ways. But each giant he faced, each time he would doubt, he would remember Goliath, remember his shout. The bigger the giants the harder they fall, but tumble they will when on God we do call.

David did face many giants in his lifetime. King Saul’s incessant attempts to kill him, the loss of his first born son, and his best friend Jonathan, betrayal by his son Absalom, and battles galore. Unknown to many, David and his army also fought four more literal giants as recorded in 2nd Samuel 21: Ishbi-benob, Saph, the brother of Goliath, and a giant with 6 fingers on each hand, and 6 toes on each foot. He sang a mighty song of victory to his faithful God after those battles in 2nd Samuel 22.

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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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

 

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!

 

 

So, How Do I Get Out?

I’m one guy with just 24 hours,

I’m tired, tired, tired.

They say I cannot be replaced,

But if I keep this awful pace

I will doubtless be in a six foot space.

Hey world stop, Stop, STOP!

Don’t you see that octagonal sign?

It’s red for cryin’ out loud

And its words reflect in the light;

HIT THE BRAKES!

Look both ways before you start out,

There’s traffic comin’ without a doubt.

Just where in the world am I

And how do I get out?

I just want to… I don’t know.

I am trying but… I can’t.

I don’t care, no wait, I do.

No I don’t; well I have to.

More coffee, more pills for the heart.

At 260 and 59 I feel like a rubber mat

Shredded and apart.

 

Be the Balm

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I have an itchy, scaly scalp: dermatitis technically.  I know you are repulsed to hear my deep dark secret that I have hidden for years.  This is not a crippling or life-threatening disease but it has lasted for a decade and I am tired of it.  I have tried medical prescriptions,  apple cider vinegar, olive oil, Vicks, Lucky Tiger Salve, and everything short of 10w30 to relieve the scabby, scaly, snowdrift that covers my topknot.

Today I tried something new called “beard balm”.  Truly, a millennial market has inspired this product as the younger set is into looking dapper with whiskers.  A nice change from my generation of burly, mountain man, rock & roll freaks with hair everywhere and now that we are old, in our ears, nose, and places we never dreamed of complete with dermatitis.

I’m over it for years.  My hair is short and my beard only ever gets an inch long before it is trimmed.  I like being well-groomed, or should I say well… groomed.  Beard balm smells wonderful & it is a combination of bees wax and natural oils that leaves your beard manageable, and for me who puts it in his hair, the itch seems relieved for the moment and I am a happy camper.  I feel like one of the girls I see on the hair product commercials; if only I could swing my hair and beard slowly in the air as they do.  Sigh.

Anyway, what I know is that the dermatitis remains & it is just soothed momentarily until the balm wears off.  In the meantime I plan to enjoy the outdoorsy smell beneath my nose and the well-groomed look of the man in the top hat, minus the coat & tails.  Thank you millennials for restoring my faith in the barber shop and all that.  It has given way to a bunch of guys who for years wanted to cut their hair and look nice, but for fear of being uncool put up with the Duck Dynasty look.

But you know we all struggle with the itch.  If not dermatitis, the falseness of having to be like everyone else in order to be independent.  Talk about an oxymoron!  Have you noticed that we seldom do things just because we want to, but because everyone else does it (trends).  When I was thirty the only people with tattoos were vets and gang members, now the minority is tattooless.  Same goes for hair color: women seldom got their hair dyed because it was so “noticeable” that you were trying to hide something.  Today even children get their hair colored.  Then there’s piercings, need I say more?!

I have started a trend by putting beard balm on my head.  Only I have done this, no one else.  Thus far I claim my independent look and smell from all the other geeks.  I am the originator of scalp-balming.  If ever you hear of someone else doing this I WANT FULL CREDIT.  I shall call it “woodticledness”.  People will see and smell you coming and say, “O wow, he’s into the woodtic thing: that is so boss!”

No tattoos; no piercings; no hair color; just beard balm on the head.  So cool.  Get it now while it still a show of your uniqueness.  Be woodtic.  Be the balm.

Something To Say

Listen to me I have something to say,

A girl I know lost her leg today.

They cut it off just above the knee

And though she cried and prayed and screamed,

She will never be the same.

Listen here for I am really upset,

The neighbor’s dog whom they call a pet,

Chewed up a child beyond repair.

And though they knew he was the viscous type

They let him out every night without a chain.

Now hear this I am talking to you!

The game they play where a precious few

Get to call all the shots for the rest of us,

Will never, ever, put up a fuss about their mistakes.

So here is what I’m trying to say,

Your life in this world is always fair play,

For those who could care less about you

Are really struggling to make it too.

We’re a scandalous bunch & you should know

Beneath the smile and nifty clothes

Is the guy who must shower his filth away,

And live with his shortcomings everyday.

And though I hide my sin from God,

He sees this action very odd;

For the uncreated, omniscient One

Who sent His one and only Son

Will send Him once again it says,

In the Book where accounts like those above

Will be judged.

Listen to me I have something to say,

You have this life, this year, this day,

To work quietly with your hands & with them fashion

A living that points us to a passion,

To be God-like in some helpful way

Though people fail and perish everyday.

You do not know when your heart will cease

So amid the madness live in peace,

Choose your battles if you must fight,

For they are there whether wrong or right.

Make friends of enemies, help them see

That losing a leg just above the knee,

Or holding your baby mauled by a dog

Are things on earth that never go away.

And even though it hurts so much,

Do your best to not lose touch

With reality, your neighbor, your world.

For today you just might get the news

The One who first came for the Jews

Is coming back to make things right.

Pray with me that it’s tonight.

For if I see one more report

That man again has fallen short,

And bombed an embassy somewhere

I might just come off of my chair and scream.

Listen to me I have something to say,

Hate is not a very good way

To live your life.

Go fishing, hiking, buy some clothes,

Go see a doctor and fix your nose,

Get a new motorcycle, buy a home,

purchase a lottery ticket, a trip to Rome,

Have some ice cream, smoke a pipe,

Get a tattoo, a guitar, and tonight

Avoid the news on every channel,

For as you sit there in your flannels,

Someone will report a knife

Was used to take another life.

“Well I’m glad it wasn’t me” you say,

But don’t you see?

Those only difference between you and he,

Was distance and a desperate man.

I guess what I am trying to say

Is, “I’m conflicted in every way

about life and death and humanity.”

So I will own my problems, live my life,

Love my neighbor, children, wife,

Take my lumps, my pills, my prayers,

And give them to the One Who cares.

Because He is, I breathe each day,

Reason, feel, work and play,

Until my time on earth is done

There’s  nothing new under the sun.

Thanks for listening.