Call Me Bruce

I’m Chuck Norris with a 250 pound, 5′ 11″ 59 year old body,

Look me in the eye.

If I was younger and my physique was not so shoddy,

You’d see my fists can fly.

I’m Albert Einstein and Ravi Zacharias all rolled into one,

My wisdom known near and far.

Of course today I can’t even remember

Where the keys are for my car.

I am the politician with all the answers for mankind,

My popularity is soaring,

Yet while I preach from the pulpit on any given Sunday,

I hear somebody snoring.

Here I come just a walking down the street

With a million dollar smile.

Little do the people who see me know

I can barely walk a mile.

If I could only be the man up in my head,

I would be John Wayne, Tozer, and Carey Grant,

Of course those guys are dead.

Thanks for listening to me rant.

 

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”.

 

 

Feathers & Petals

Can the cardinal be a jay?  Would he want to anyway?

Then why does man in the image of God, treat his heritage so odd?

He is not pleased to wed one wife, nor lead a thankful, fruitful life.

Instead his goals so hedonistic, takes something so divine, simplistic,

And turns his love for one another to covetous-hatred for his brother.

The cities that could shine with pride have caught mans’ cancer and hence died,

Replaced by tribes who steal and kill, yet never-ever get their fill

Of satisfaction.  Tell me what is your reaction?

Observe the birds who never strive, but always seem to stay alive.

Their feathered beauty taken for granted is some of the best upon this planet.

And see the flower in the grass, it never worries about race or caste,

Though often overlooked by man, is as fragrant and colorful as it can

Ever want or hope to be.  No it is not like you and me.

The solution that restores the nations, is worship Creator not creation.

Though He’s made this wonderful place, we have forgotten to seek His face,

And while we pray and make demands – to get the blessings from His Hands,

We seldom recognize our place, like birds and flowers who know His grace.

 

 

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.

The Christmas Ape

The Christmas ape is not your friend,

Just kick his big baboon rear-end.

He will climb your Christmas tree

& give your dog some primate fleas.

Last year he came on Christmas Eve

& threw his scat at Uncle Steve!

Oh I am ready this year though,

to ward off any chimp-like foe.

I have a slingshot close at hand

with extra-strong type rubber bands.

When he shows up in festive clothes

I will whack him on the nose

with anti-ape ammunition

From my sling with great contrition.

So if you’re in my neighborhood

and see him running through the wood

It is not Bigfoot that you spy,

Nor abominable snowman passing by;

It is the Christmas Ape instead

With his swollen nose of red.

And if my story you don’t believe

Just go inquire of Uncle Steve.

potato

(The potato has nothing to do with Christmas, just like an ape.  However, it is here to remind us all that no primates were hurt during the creation of this fine piece of holiday poetry.  Next time you see a potato you will sub-consciously remind yourself to be kind to apes.  This is good.  It is wise to keep potatoes on hand Christmas as they are great for filling those empty spaces in Christmas stockings.)

Please share if you like. Share if you don’t like.  Let’s fill the internet bloggery with the great ape message, no one needs to hear.

King of Orphans

In the smile of a child, on the sunset clouds, beneath the shaded tree,

You will find it there.

In the first dandelion, with the twin fawn whitetails, and the call of an owl,

It surprises you every time.

In the quiet of the new-fallen snow, the trickling stream and fields waving in the wind:

Evidence of the Creator.

We credit every athlete, artist and musician with their amazing skill,

Yet the One who knew them before their conception gets little credit

From the capstone of His creation: man.

Willful orphans who run from their Father, Who waits at the end of the lane for

their return, refuse to be identified with His majestic sweetness,

And trade their eternal birthright for a day’s worth of soup.

Failing to see Him, acknowledge Him, seek Him, He did the one thing that just might

capture our attention: He became a man.

Walking among us we discovered there was no room for Him on our throne,

Threatened by His holiness, we hung Him on a tree to die.

He forgave us before His last dying breath.

He bought you back.  Will you come home?

 

 

 

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,

Pastor Ferd (Woodtic)DSCN2312

 

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!