My Poetry And Prose-Page 2
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.
(44) Mosquitoes
The most intolerable of all pests is that tormenting insect, the mosquito. The audacity of those fiends is beyond words. They often attack in swarms, and while we are batting one off our arm, another is darting for our forehead. They are difficult to swat, are lightning fast, and are tough little critters to demolish.
Those long-legged skinny little rascals surely can make life miserable, especially of an evening when we would like to sit outside and rest in the cool air. I guess after all they teach us to be humble, and that for all our seeming we are nothing more than a meal for mosquitoes.
(45) The Nuthatch
Down the tree head first he came, the little white breasted nuthatch. It looked for all the world like he might fall. creeping upside down on that tree, but he seemed to keep his balance quite well. It made me dizzy just looking at the feats he performed meandering about the trunk never right side up. He made a little whistling sound occasionally as if to say he was not crazy and knew what he was doing. I suppose his lop-sided position was natural for him.
The nuthatch scooted about in that unnatural fashion intent on his business, which apparently was to catch any unwary insect who happened to be in sight. His head he kept continually down, and indeed it seemed he never lifted it to even look around. He moved quickly about the tree upside-down and every which way with as much ease as creatures move about the ground. After entertaining me with his acrobatic circus performance, he flew off to do his act on another tree.
(46) The Tortoise
The land tortoise or turtle is not the fastest creature in the world. He lumbers along very slowly, but he generally gets where he is going anyway. The tortoise carries a waterproof shelter right on his back. He has his own private camping outfit in the form of his shell. His shell not only protects him from the weather, but it is also a fine protection from predators.
The land tortiose is splotched with black and yellow on his shell, and those portions of his body which protrudes outside his shell, namely his head and feet. Usually he is found around streams or water holes, though he is prevalent on dry land almost anywhere as he is often observed in the woods breaking a path through the dry leaves.
Often he is found nestled in the tall grass of a field curled up in his shell asleep to the world. His shell is just perfect for getting away from it all, and of attaining the ideal in privacy. The tortoise leaves something to be desired as far as beauty goes, though I suppose that depends on the eyes of the beholder. The tortoise is well adapted to life as he has his own built-in armor to protect him.
I used to be fascinated by tortoises, especially the little ones, as little boy growing up on our farm. I sometimes would carry them home and watch them walk around our yard. Now in later years whenever I see a tortoise in the woods they bring to mind fond memories of my childhood.
(46a) Turtle Walk
Turtle walk, turtle walk,
Let's all do the turtle walk.
It's going to be a fine day,
Let's all go out and play.
Turtle walk, turtle walk,
Let's all do the turtle walk.
Sometmes I want to sing,
I'm so happy about everthing.
Turtle walk, turtle walk,
Let's all do the turtle walk.
There's no use to worry,
Or to get in a great big hurry.
(47) Wasps
I have a great deal of malice toward wasps. I have been stung by them too many times not to hold some ill will. I think of myself as a reasonably tolerant person, but there is a limit. Those wasps, the red tribe in particular, have gone beyond that limit. Ideclare war on all wasps. For years now they have waged unceasing warfare against me haven't they?
I can testify to countless painful stings which they have inflicted on me for no good reason, without provocation, and without warning. There is no getting along with those bad-tempered, ill natured creatures. Somebody should do something about wasps. They should not be allowed to fly around free. When a member of society shows such a pronounced disregard for the welfare and rights of others they should be incarcerated.
They have the gall to inhabit our houses, barns, and sheds yet. Why don't they go into the woods where they belong? It is almost as if they enjoy tormenting people. For their size they exhibit tremendous courage, and in fact reckless abandon, daring, and bravado one cannot help but marvel at somewhat. They actually appear to look for trouble. Touchy, are they touchy! Just walk in their vicinity, and here they come angry, and all setfor a fight.
However even wasps have their place in the scheme of things, and have a right to exist. Their beneficial aspects far outweigh their annoying tendencies. After all they are just protecting their home, and I am the interloper and trespasser. Though I think they could be just a little less aggressive and belligerent.
(48) The Skunk
In the course of a lifetime we are likely to encounter a skunk or two. The skunk is not by nature an aggressive creature. He is not given to rude behavior unless provoked. We do not often see a skunk, but generally discover where he has been. The skunk occasionally leaves his odoriferous trail plastered in the air, and for hours the telltale odor denotes his having passed by that way.
That odor is difficult to describe. Though let it suffice to say it is perhaps the most obnoxious scent on earth. The skunk has two white stripes down his black back, and a gigantic bushy tail under which is stored his arsenal. That horrible scent is the skunk's only weapon, his only means of protecting himself from predators, and generally it is quite enough.
The skunk ambles along slowly, carefreely, seemingly daring us to try something. Commonly he walks right down the middle of the road forcing everyone else to give him the right of way, which they usually oblige.
I recall encountering a skunk as a small boy walking to school down our country road early one morning. He was walking down the middle of the road toward me, and fortunately I had the common sense to step to the side of the road to let him pass by. He walked by and never even seemed to notice me. It is possible to get along with the skunk if we respect him.
(49) The Owl
In the cold darkness of a winter nightI heard an owl hoot twice, only twice, and then all was silent again. Out there in the darkness a kindred creature, a breathing, living being existed, and he made his existence known to me by two distinct hoots. Was that not worth noticing? What more significant event could occur than one being making his presence known to another?
Truly it was a notable occurrence. My stopping to listen was as worthwhile as anything else in life. The odds are I will never lay eyes on him, or he on me, but I heard his voice, and thus I know that he lives. That is better than not knowing him at all. That is better than nothing. That is better than silence.
The night seemingly swallowed up him, sound and all, as the silence reigned supreme. To his refuge in the deep woods he no doubt retired, or perhaps he merely retired within himself perched on his sturdy limb reposed in the warmth of his feathers from the chilled night air as the stars twinkled overhead.
(49a) The Hoot Owl
"Hoot, hoot", says the owl,
The moon is shining bright.
"Hoot, hoot," says the owl,
It is a beautiful night.
"Hoot, hoot," says the owl,
Everything is all right,
"Hoot, hoot," says the owl,
I love the starlight.
"Hoot, hoot," says the owl,
Won't you sing along with me?
"Hoot, hoot," says the owl,
It is good to be free.
(50) Summertime
Butterflies without number float
Around in the summer air.
Birds sing in every note,
And insects are everywhere.
Sound in summer keeps ringing
All the day and in the night;
There are a thousand songs singing
In dark as well as light.
And bees are buzzing 'oer the flowers,
And a thousand sights besides
As one is entertained for hours
When the summertime abides.
A thousand different plants live,
flowers and herbs of all kind,
A thousand different scents give,
And a thousand different joys we find.
There are dancing flowers upon the hill,
And within the meadow too,
Moving to and fro they will
As the gentle wind moves through.
The trees in graceful silence stand
Inviting their cooling shade,
And the blue sky hangs 'oer the land,
And there are no demands then made.
Tha aimless drifting clouds float by
Slowly moving on their way
In the peaceful summer sky
On this peaceful summer day.
(51) Let Us Be Happy
The happiest moments of life are when we are in agreement with that around us; when we see things as something good, not as something alien, but friendly. Indeed we can make the world seem like a monstrous place if we look on every object with fear and mistrust, but a wonderful place if we look at every object with joy and love. As we see a thing that way it is unto us.
There is always something to be happy about, just as if we try hard enough we can always find something to feel bad or sad about. Though I think it is much better to be happy. The world is filled with happy making things. There are always the birds that sing, the sun that shines, the breeze that blows, and many other happiness helpers. A person would have to be awfully unreceptive not to notice them sometime.
I suppose if we try hard enough we might be able to block out every bit of happiness that dwells around us; I mean really try hard, but it would be rather difficult, and besides why would we want to do that? There is a whole world of happiness if we only look for it.
(52) A Smile
In all the world nothing costs so little, and is so easy to give, and yet provides so much good, as a smile. The person who finds something to smile at cannot be depressed or sad for long. It is always possible to find something to smile at, something to be happy about. Even under the worst of conditions a smile can do no harm, and it may do a lot of good.
There are some courageous people who smile while very sick, even at the point of death. One cannot help but admire and respect such a person as that. Their smile gives them strength as well as their loved ones and those around them. A smile is a powerful thing.
The effects of a smile may be truly amazing. Such a little thing, and yet such a big thing is a smile. In fact a smile might be called a cure-all. Those diseases and distresses which a smile cannot cure, it at least lessens the pain. Take a gentle, sincere smile, and add a bit of love, hope, and understanding and you have the formula for peace and happiness.
(53) Hope
What is it one breathes sometimes? It is more than air, it is hope. How immortal is hope! I have had some bad experiences, some good experiences, but the remembrance of stepping out into the cool fresh air and breathing in deeply of hope outlasts them all.
When we have no hope, when we expect nothing from tomorrow, when the darkness overwhelms our soul, then are we truly near the depths of despair. Take hope away, and you might as well take away life, for the two are inseparable. Think of all the good things that have come from hope, and then think of all the terrible things that have resulted from a lack of hope, and you begin to see the power of hope.
What is this breath that flows into us and makes us feel there is good in the world, that there is good to come, and that there is reason to life? Perhaps that breath is the breath that God breathed into living man. Hope maybe is that breath of life.
(54) The Flight Of Hours
As the flight of hours do swiftly pass by me, I do not know whether to be sad or glad. Perhaps I should be glad for having had the previlege to have lived those hours, and yet I am sad that they are past and gone forever and I didn't do more good with them. Gone with those hours are my lost opportunities, my failure to take advantage of them and do more to serve God and to help other people. There is so much I could have done with all those lost hours. But I still have the future for a while maybe, and I pray that in the future I do better.
I pray that in the future I make every hour worthwhile, and make every hour mean something. I pray that in the future I use each hour wisely, and do something good in each hour I am allotted. Hours can be wonderful things rightly used, but they can be a great burden used in a wrong way. So it is all up to me whether my hours serve a good end, or a bad end, a useful purpose, or a useless purpose.
(55) With The Heart
The world can seem a strange place
When seen with only the mind,
Though this strangeness we can erase
When seen with the heart we find.
Much we cannot understand
The purpose and the reason of,
The harshness of the land,
And the deaths of those we love.
The unknown may bring despair
If we just reason bring.
If we only for facts care,
We have not anything.
There is what the mind cannot know,
But only the heart may see.
I think perhaps God wills it so,
That wisdom should in the heart be.
With the heart we see the fair,
And know that which is good.
Tis with the heart we learn to care,
With the mind we never could.
(56) The Old Dog And The Little Pup
The old dog looks with scorn
Upon the young pup's play.
One just beginning life's morn,
The other near the end of life's day.
The sportive pup does run,
And jump and play with joy.
All he wants is to have fun,
But his fun does the old dog annoy.
The old dog growls at him
When the pup comes too near.
The old dog has a face so grim,
The little pup cannot help but fear.
Yet the little pup plays still,
Though the old dog growls mean.
I guess little pups ever will
With playful energy ever teem.
The old dog forgets that he
Was once a pup small,
And used to run and jump with glee
Having fun never worrying at all.
What the pup does not know
That someday years from now,
He will too old and grumpy grow,
And at some little pup will growl.
(57) The Old House
I have always been intrigued by the quaintness of old houses. I remember coming upon an old house desolate and empty in a remote area. It was very nearly ready to fall in, sagging in the middle, and with most of the boards rotten and weather beaten. My first impression was one of sadness.
Here in this dying house was enacted many human dramas. Here once people lived, and where people have lived there has dwelled also the emotions, the hopes, the joys, the dreams, the fears, and the human conflicts. Here was played out many small human tragedies and comedies. Here were human hearts capable of love and hate.
Imagine what sights the nearby trees beheld, the secrets they might impart could they talk, those silent listeners. Perhaps could they speak they could relate stories stranger than fiction from the real life of the people who lived here. But ours is never to know all the emotions which spawned and surged through this old house in the past. Ours is only to surmise and wonder about those bygone years when once this house was filled with life.
Once the hills around echoed with the sounds of human life, of children playing, of people talking, laughing, shouting, of people happy, of people angry, of people living. Time has removed every mark of human existence here. Nothing remains now except the old house and the thoughts surrounding it. Gone are the people who lived here with all their desires, ambitions, failures, disappointments, and goals. Here but stands an empty shell of a house filled with the ghosts of past memories. Today is no more for it, only yesterday.
Today vanished when those people forsook this old house. It then became a part of nature to be wrapped in vines and covered by trees, and hidden by undergrowth, and a part of thattimeless pattern which we call nature. Soon its aged timbers shall fall unto the earth and mingle with the dust becoming nonexistant as a house or anything resembling a house, but just another part of that great whole called nature. It's decay shall feed the roots of many beautiful plants and shrubs.
Just as its living shelter sustained the life of its inhabitants, so its death shall sustain the life of its new inhabitants. Already the inside is filled the nests of birds, wasps, and bees, and is covered with spider webs. Many small animals have burrowed holes in the ground that once was its floor. It is their home now.
Ten years from now, a hundred, or maybe ten thousand years from now it may still be the home of plants and animals, or perhaps someone else may come and build a house here to begin the story all over again. Perhaps on the very same ground there will be human beings again laughing, talking, playing, working, living again.
They will never know that once a house dwelled here before them, and that once people lived out a part of their lives here. But one can be certain that the people who live here in the future will not be so much differnt in many respects. They will also have their loves, and hates, their hopes and joys and fears. They will have their goals, their beliefs, and the same needs for love and understanding, for satisfaction and reward, and for reason and meaning.
(58) The Force
The most wonderful thing in all the earth is when two beings touch one another in mind and in heart. This delicate coming together of two separate souls gives to life meaning and a particular beauty. Their background may be different, and their outlook on life different somewhat, but it does not matter when their eyes meet and a power called love makes all things agree.
There is a force in Creation bringing together that which will spark new beauty and vitality into the world. The moon which is otherwise dark is made to shine by the light of the sun, so one being may be given brilliance by another. Without this powerful force darkness would cover the face of the deep.
(59) Traces Of Past Inhabitants
The earth is a living monument to those who have gone before. The murmur of their voices is stilled, the imprint of their footsteps long since departed, yet there exists about us traces that they were here. A bit of pottery, an arrowhead, cave drawings, an old shaft of iron, shards of glass and bottles, tin cans, foundation outlines of dwellings, are mute testimony of some inhabitant of these parts in days of yore. Often reminders of these people of the past greet us with the turn of the spade or are uneathed after a heavy shower.
Somehow these little bits of people's lives come down to us, outlast their owners, and peek there faces out down through the centuries. Often we have little knowledge of who used these artifacts, who or what type of people they were, how they looked or acted, but we sense they were not much different from us, and we shiver as we see in the future for ourselves, a similer fate. Scraps of information, often in out of the way places, tell of someone's presence there before, a living human being, who walked and loved, and breathed the air with hope, and dreamed a thousand dreams.
(60) The Brink
"Let Me Out"! I cry with fear.
Yet something draws me in.
The edge, the brink is near,
To which I come again.
Though how would it feel to fall?
And yet I fear to think.
I have no reason at all
When I come near the brink.
It is like tempting at fate
To see what will avail.
Some urge within so great
Does pull me without fail.
(61) Fear
That ravage within
That wanders back ever again.
In the night like rolling thunder
Strange fears I am cast under
Which reason cannot break asunder.
Fear, a powerful thing,
A morbid condition can bring.
We may be in it bound
Till no relief be found,
Andthere be nothing but fear around.
How complete a thing is fear.
When it dwells nought else is near.
It consumes the mind.
It a hold on the heart does find,
Leaving a path of destruction behind.
(62) The Storm Within
The terrible storm that blows
Beneath the breast
In intensity grows,
A raging tempest;
Many have fallen under
This storm within,
By it cast asunder,
Not rising again.
Passion that lightning flame
Strikes within the heart.
Desires one cannot tame
Tear the soul apart.
The tumultuous wind of fear
Does batter ever
With roaring in the ear,
While ceasing never.
And the hail of doubt that falls
In the mind pounding,
Thumping upon the walls
With fury resounding;
The clashing on all sides,
The thunderous roar,
When inner conflict abides
Ceasing nevermore.
(63) Agony
Nothing is so pitiful quite
As insufferable agony.
Nothing so gruesome to sight
As such suffering to see;
The face contracted in the pain,
The fevorish eyes so burning,
The body held with great strain,
While for peace is yearning.
I tell you nothing is so sad
As agony so very great,
No affliction is so bad
As an agonizing state.
To relieve pain just a bit
Would seem a most heavenly task,
Just relieve a part of it
Would be all that some would ask.
Many good deeds we might perform,
But to relieve pain would seem the best,
For pain can do the most harm,
And is more unkind than all the rest.
(64) Shangri-La
I conclude we may live on a higher plane, perchance see the sunset from some high hill. We need not be lowly creatures mired in the muck of the evil and wickedness of this world, mired amidst our fears, sorrows, hurts, and doubts. But there lies a path leading over the mountain. Let us follow that mountain path to whatever joys may dwell there.
Let us journey to Shangri-La, and look upon a horizon of snow capped peaks. May our thoughts arise as high as the mountains. We ever need to be able to see far into the distance. He is only happy who freely enjoys a vast horizon. Climbing is good for the soul. The higher we trod the more our soul is elevated.
Let us everlift our thoughts and journey toward the promised land. There are green pastures high upon the mountain side.
(65) Compassion
Who is so seared within his heart that he cannot care for another? There are those so hardened and scarred by life that they lose the ability to have compassion. When we cease to honor and respect the existence of every living human being then we cease to be a compassionate being.
When we hate, deride, or mercilessly hurt another person then we become akin to evil. When we seek through love to help all people then do we become the protectors of good. The only good comes not from condemnation, but through genuine compassion for others. It is a sin to withhold good from someone when that good is within our power to give.
We have an obligation to all people, not just those of our group, but all of the rest of humanity. All people, even those of another country, culture, race, or religion, are deserving of our respect, our honor, and our love. If we proclaim to be compassionate human beings then we are obligated to uphold the dignity of each individual. This obligation is demanded of each person with a compassionate heart.
We must battle for the good of all people, for the rights of all people, and for the sake of all people.
(66) By The Pool
I came upon her sitting by the pool
In the evening cool;
Sitting there without a sound,
Making blessed the ground.
There a holy place she made
Which after her stayed.
Her presence made all there
To be things more than fair.
I watched her as one might a star,
Worshipping from afar.
Just seeing her was delight.
She was joy to my sight.
Her words were like music to me.
They brought me harmony.
It was heaven when she was near.
Heaven she made right here.
One look from her and I was glad.
One smile and no more sad.
Like dewdrops in the sun
Looked her eyes each one.
Like the radiance of spring
Her face was so promising.
Her hair was so soft and shining.
I for her was pining.
She was all when she was nearby,
A being almost too high.
She was unto my mind divine.
Oh, but she was so fine!
(67) Everyone Is A Poet
All who are born are poets. Some are not really aware of it, but all have poetry ringing in their heart.
All who have ever looked on a scene of beauty or magnificence with awe, all who have ever looked at the stars, all who have ever loved, all who have ever felt the presence of God, all who have ever known an ideal, or believed in a dream are poets.
Poetry lives in every heart that ever cared for someone or something, that ever hoped or aspired, that ever knew harmony or sought peace. All are poets young and old. Perhaps the finest and the truest poets never write a verse, but have poetry down deep in their heart.
A poet is not a mere dabbler in verses, but is a person endowed with a sense of beauty, and that beauty he sees in everything. A poet is a person who feels that a wonderful being rules and reigns and makes everything in life move in accord with His purpose. Thus a poet believes in the harmony of the universe.
A poet feels it is his destiny to love and cherish the good around him. A poet is a worker in behalf of the light of human understanding. His main duty and task is to promote a love for that most deserving, and with that better understanding.
(68) I Am Glad Just To Be
All my years add to this,
Life is some of sorrow, some of bliss.
One hour may bring me peace of mind,
Another send me for it to find.
Today I may happy be,
Tomorrow my happiness may flee.
My hope may lift her wings and fly,
But ere too long even hope does die.
As the clock does go around,
I am content to be yet found.
And great reward does lure me not,
So long as my life I still have got.
Though life is some good, some bad,
I still for it am forever glad.
and if I lose more than I win,
I am still glad that I have been.
(69) We Must Care
We must care about something or somebody. It is dark, cold, and terrifying unless we do. The dragons all come at us unless we care.
This caring keeps us going, keeps us hoping in a world of violence, pain, and destruction. If we can find it in ourselves to love we have the battle half won. If once in a while there trickles a tear from our eyes out of sympathy or sorrow, and if we can feel joy in the sunshine, and peace in the morning with an enduring love for people beyond all their faults, then I tell you we have come a long way. There is nothing dismal where a present ever living love dwells. It is a comfort bearer giving a cheerful contenance unto all who possess it in the very midst of evil storms.
He who loses this ability to care wanders blindly and helplessly in an unmerciful world of his own creation. Each one of us makes the world anew. If we have love in our hearts we make it fruitful and beautiful, but if we have hate we make it barren and ugly.
(70) Understanding
There is a blessed thing, a wonderful thing which lets people confide in one another, which makes the world endurable, which helps people dwell together intimately and happily, a thing called understanding.
All people have need of this fountain flowing from the breast of human kind. Wherever one comes in contact with people one knows that somewhere among them there are those who can understand, those who have the capacity to feel compassion. All over the earth, thank God, the wondrous gift of understanding can be found. May understanding never pass away.
Darkness is only the beginning of the horrors encountered in a world devoid of understanding. Wherever there are human beings I must believe, I am persuaded to believe, there is understanding. I dread to think of life in this world the day that is not so.
Human beings with understanding never ridicule others, never cast the first stone, they never turn their back on the desolate and poor, nor become cold like the stones. Human beings with understanding remember their own mistakes and forgive the mistakes of others. They are more ready to listen than to condemn, to believe than to deny, to love than to hate, and to speak of hope than to speak of despair. Those who have understanding are fortunate to have it, and even more fortunate are those who come in contact with them.
(71) Good Morning
Good morning bright day!
You have chased all my cares away.
And I am happy
That you have been given to me.
Good morning sunshine!
Shine on me while I dine.
Come dwell by my side.
Come in and with me abide.
Good morning song bird!
Your sweet singing I have often heard.
Honored I would be
To hear you singing for me.
Good morning blue sky!
We are peaceful this day, you and I.
Cover me, my friend.
You my canopy without end.
Good morning my hill!
Standing there ever so still.
Each morning you await
As on your form I contemplate.
Good morning old oak!
Your aged limbs strong, and some broke.
For your shade I thank you.
Your a friend kind and true.
(72) Caring For Others
To care for others is divine. I care not what philosophy you have, if it differs from this, caring for others, then it is wrong. The good we do is measured by how much we care for others. The evil we do is measured by how uncaring and selfish we are.
It is a wondrous trail to happiness when we care for others. it is a darksome trail to despair when we do not care for others. There is beauty along the way when we care for people, but the way of the uncaring and selfish heart is ugly everywhere he goes.
The spirit of caring is the spirit of life. The spirit of selfishness is the spirit of death. When we care we give life and we receive life, but when we are uncaring we give death and we receive death. Each time we act selfishly without love for others we lose a part of the beauty in life, a part of the divine, a part of heaven.
When we care for others we know intuitively that we are doing the right thing and going the right way. How blessed it is to have a loving and humble heart which can care. How terrible it is to have a hateful heart, and a stubborn will and blind pride which cannot care.
(73) Kindness
Everything points toward kindness. It is the magnetic pole of society to which all dreams and aspirations point. Without it anarchy and chaos would reign supreme, and despots and demons would be the only inhabitants of earth.
One need not be told that kindness is best. One need only perform an act of kindness to know it is best, or be shown kindness. There is a feeling inside better than all other feelings when one is truly kind.
Why are so many people in this world of ours angry and sad? It is because they do not show kindness. They say no one is kind to me, so why should I be kind to others? It is a simple recipe tried and true, one must be kind to be happy.
One may be surrounded by angels treating one with profound respect and admiration, and be unkind and be unhappy, while on the other hand one may be surrounded by a band of devils insulting and annoying one beyond the point of human endurance and be kind and be happy.
Why are there so many cruel and hardhearted? It is just because these poor creatures have forgotten or never did know how to be kind. I call them poor because it is a pitiful state they are in unable to experience the great joy that comes from being kind. Kindness is instinctive. I mean the young are kind before they are cruel. Cruelty is a thing learned, while kindness is a gift from God at birth which if given a chance will bloom.
(74) Good And Evil
Good and evil are ever opposing one another in the greatest battle of all time. This relentless battle has raged over our scarred earth, even reaching into the heavens, and it continues with the same fervor, the same unceasing force unto this day.
This is not only a battle among nations, but among individuals, and within individuals. One side is beaten down only to arise again andagain as some instrument for that cause stronger than before stands in triumph for an instant over the other.
Good, the one that must triumph in the end, has had its many martyrs, those who have fought and died for it, those who lived for the sake of good, and opposed evil no matter what it cost them. Evil is a disease which not only infects those who possess it, but those who accept it. The only ones who escape being contaminated by evil are those who detest the very sight of it.
He who can live with evil and accept evil around him without ever lifting a hand to destroy that evil is himself a servant of evil. It is slow and sometimes painful, this battle for good, but he who gives up may not only lose himself, but who knows how many others?
(75) Musing
Just musing, that's all I ever do,
While the sun is shining down
And in the dark of night too
With peace my only crown.
While silence rules the hour,
I find myself within its power,
Lost within a sea of thought,
In the dreaming mood caught.
Time is such a fleeting thing,
And life is just a season,
So within myself I reason,
And muse as life does wing.
A moment I cannot recall
from the clutches of the past,
But in musing on it all
I can make my moment last.
I will keep on musing still,
And muse I ever will.
(76) Art Is Long, Life Is Short
Life passes quickly,
Ever hurries along,
Unceasingly it does flee.
The pull to death is strong.
But true art does last
Beyond the life of a man.
When long the life is past,
Pure art does the ages span.
Man must live and die,
But art is not so bound,
A thousand years may go by,
And the art may yet be found.
(77) Freedom
Nothing has stayed people in their eternal quest for freedom. The quest for freedom has had the power to inspire multitudes of dedicated souls since time immemorial to give their very lives if need be. tyranny is one thing the human spirit will not tolerate for long. There is nothing on earth that so offends the human soul as tyranny.
For a time people will tremble and quake under the iron hand of tyranny, but there ever comes that historic day, the day of the revolution.
Unfortunately those who revolt often set up in many instances another form of tyranny. Yet that does not destroy the spirit of the people in their quest for freedom, for waiting in the shadows is another revolution, and another, until freedom is won.
There is no alternative as far as human beings are concerned. They possess a God given spirit which will not be subjected to tyranny.
(78) The Countryside
I love the peace and quiet of the countryside. I do not believe I could dwell anywhere else and be fully happy. I love the serenity and solitude of the country. I like to sit and listen to the birds sing, and hear the wind blow, while looking at the trees and hills.
We should be thankful every day for these precious wonders of the natural world. We are richly blessed to live on an earth which has plants and animals, and seas and rivers, and a blue sky and oxygen rich atmosphere which sustains life. Unlike our desolate and barren moon the earth teems with life and with beauty.
Truly God has blessed us with a wonderful and beautiful earth. We should be thankful each day for the many blessings we see around us.
(79) Like A Leaf
Each person is like a leaf that grows
Through the rain and wind that blows,
In the spring beginning to live,
And in the fall life to give;
Like a leaf growing on a tree,
Like a leaf ceasing to be,
Like a leaf living today,
And tomorrow gone away;
Like a leaf of tender form,
Like a leaf weathering the storm,
Like a leaf that comes in spring,
Like a leaf a temporal thing.
like a leaf in the tree so high,
like a leaf we also die,
Like a leaf tomorrow is gone,
Like a leaf so death comes on.
(80) The Beautiful Soul
When clouds oppress me and I am ill at ease, I think of her with the beautiful soul. There always seems to be a dearth of such persons in the world. Her tenderness softens and smooths her aspect. The effect of the thought of her is at once pleasing. To meditate on her is a journey into the divine.
She is that ideal which can never be paid too much homage. She is that perfection which can never be fully appreciated. She is a purity which can only come from God. She personifies love in every word and action, and in every particle of her being. She is already that perfection for which our race aspires, and may reach in some distant millennium. She is what we all are meant to be. She is more spirit than mortal. That she exists among us in this throng of fools, knaves, and bestial hearts is a never ceasing wonder.
How we should treasure her, and heap praise upon her. She has come among us in her gentleness, and we are given a glimpse of heaven in human form. We are blessed with the beholding of that ideal grace and beauty which is only hinted at in our best thoughts.
I think it not unrealistic to believe that she could do no hurt. Her hands were formed to aid and minister, to soothe and allay, and not to wound or inflict. Her voice was formed to inspire and redeem, and not to scold or abuse.
It is not in her to slight or maltreat. There is nought about her to dislike. She could in no way inspire anger. It would be more natural for water to gravitate uphill, than for her to appear unseemly.
Her purpose in life is good, and her reason for living the well being of others. Her modesty does not permit her even the common vanities. Though she outshines the sun in elegance, she has the humility of a saint.
(81) Loving Someone
The sole purpose of our life is in loving someone. By loving someone we are saved from becoming selfish, cruel, vindictive creatures who are greedy and heartless. Thereby we make the ultimate sacrifice, that of giving up ourself to another, that of taking a chance on someone else, that of taking a chance on being hurt.
From making this seeming sacrifice we gain all that is good and beautiful, we reap a share of the glories of heaven before we die, we glimpse what is hidden to those who hate and lovers of self, the ecstasy of unconditional love.
We are given a glimmering sense of what the angels must feel when we love. From love accrues the prosperity and salvation of us as human beings.
(82) Love Is What The Poet Feels
Love is what the poet feels,
Love is his way out,
While others cast about,
He before the throne of love kneels.
In the day, in the night,
Love does hold him sway,
He is in love to stay.
Love is his only light.
The stars up in the sky
Speak to him of love,
And every cloud above
Does make a poet sigh.
Love is his world you see,
Out on every hand
He sees love in the land.
His whole world is beauty.
Love is his companion
Everywhere he goes,
For it is love he knows,
For he and love are one.
(83) The Past
The past cannot be altered. The past is held in a state of eternal suspension, the words and deeds live there forever, the events were and nothing can undo them. The past is like an old picture, it changes not. Only the present has power for change, and that change is only a breath as the present continually feeds the past.
Events such as the assassinations of presidents Lincoln or Kennedy stare back at us like an old lithograph, and cannot be changed. The pages of history having been written cannot be rewritten. The past can be analyzed and interpreted over and over, but the one true happening stands until the end of time.
Life is a chain of events. We exist because certain events did or did not happen. The past cements those sequences of events indefinitely. We may refer to them, reflect about them, reminisce about them all we wish, but we cannot change even one little thing. Our powers stop with this second, and cannot go back even an instant. The invisible gate locks and what has happened is secured forever. The past is sealed and we cannot interfere.
What has occurred is over with, and though it may have effects upon the future, the specific action which took place can never be repeated again identically. Things will not be, and cannot be the same today as they were yesterday. Something is always different. Today grows out of yesterday, and today is always new.
It is a rushing wave, this now, that sweeps us along unceasingly from birth to death. We are never really conscious of now until it is past, for by the time we have thought about it, now has become the past. We blink our eyes now, but by the time we have thought about it a few seconds have past, and that blinking of our eyes has become a part of history, and though a million years may pass the fact can never be altered that on a certain day at a certain time we blinked our eyes.
It does not matter whether events are witnessed or not, they still take their eternal place in the record book of time in the universe. There is not a leaf that falls to ground, not an ant that scurries underfoot, not a pebble tossed in a stream, and not a drop of rain that does not have everlasting significance.
(84) Golden Moments
What is I seek as the hands of the clock wind round?
A heart pleasing sight, a heart pleasing sound,
Fairer threads from which to weave thoughts more fair,
And golden moments woven from the golden air,
And that I can lift my eyes and see,
Hope and love and sweet tranquillity.
(85) The Death of A Loved One
Never is death made more real to us than when a parent, a spouse, a child, or a very dear friend dies. Then we sense the icy nearness of death. Particularly intense and traumatic are the emotional effects and feelings during the first few days after the death of a loved one as a kind of shock sets in and the enormity and magnitude of our loss overwhelms us.
We realize how very real and near death is. It seems to hover in the very air all around us, and we sense how fragile life is, and how vulnerable we are, and that our next breath could be our last. It is very difficult to go on after the death of a loved one. We know that we will never see them again in this life. All we have left of themare our memories.
There is some consolation that their pain and suffering is over, and that they are in a better place. But it is difficult for us to see beyond the pain of our loss at the time. A dark depression sets in such as we have never experienced before. We think that we will never smile again, except perhaps on the outside, but never smile inside again.
We feel numb and just try to make it through the day. The things we used to enjoy we enjoy no longer. Those things which brightened our day and made us happy before no longer do so. It is like we have entered a different world. Everything seems different and looks different. People seem different. Life seems different.
We never view the world quite the same again after the death of a loved one. The world that existed before our loved one died no longer exists, and will never exist again.
(86) Just For A Friend I ask
At friendship I grasp,
With my soul, with my heart,
Just for a friend I ask,
Just some friendship to impart.
Life can be so sad
If no friends are there near.
If no friendship is had
Then is there little joy here.
I ask for one to understand,
My fears to relieve,
Just to give me their hand,
And in me to believe;
To show me they care
Whether I live or die,
My burdens to help bear,
And wipe the tears from my eye;
To walk by my side
In fellowship divine,
How pleasant to abide,
If sweet friendship could be mine.
(87) I Will Always Be With You
If I should die before you my love, know that I will always be with you in your heart. Those who touch our lives with their love are always with us even after death for they are a part of us forever. You have touched my heart with your love, and I will always be with you and you will always be with me.
I will be with you in the springtime when all the earth comes to life again, and when love is in the air. When the sweetness and fragrance of the new life is around on every hand, I will be with you.
I will be with you in the summertime when the sun shines brightly down. When the trees are all covered with green, and everything is warm and happy, I will be with you.
I will be with you in autumn when all the leaves begin to fall. When all the hills are covered with color, and the frost first bites the ground, I will be with you.
I will be with you in the wintertime when all is covered with snow. When the cold winds blow, and the nights are long and cold, I will be with you. My love I will be with you every season of the year, and help you to love each one, and your life will go on, because I will be with you.
I will be with you listening to the falling rain, and each drop shall tell of my love for you. I will be with you listening to the wind, and the wind shall touch you with my love. I will be with you in the night when the darkness is all around, and I will comfort you.
I will be with you under the stars, and when you raise your eyes to look up at the stars, you will see my love shining there. I will be with you my love wherever you may go, for you are my love, and all of time cannot change that.
(88) The Lights
The lights in our mind do glow Over the friends that we know. The darkness does dwell Where no friends have cast their spell. See the beacon shining bright, It is a light in the night, While the dark around Is where no friends have been found. All the stars up in the sky Seem like friends unto the eye, While all of dark space Seems like an unfriendly place.
(89) Ride A Chariot Of fire
I want to ride a chariot of fire,
Go up high and catch a star,
Want to go down by the sea,
And let the waters set me free.
I want to hold on to the wind,
And to have the light breeze for a friend,
To be a child in the night
Filled with yearning, filled with light.
I want to touch the soul of a flower,
To tap the mystery of the hour,
To ponder grass and tree,
Garner the nectar of the bee.
I want all the world to blend
Into some pattern before I end,
Want to find what is wrong or right
Before I pass from sight.
(90) Light And Darkness
Sometimes the world is like a throbbing pulse and you can't get enough of it. It floods you with sunshine, and sets your heart right with a thousand wonderful sights and delicious odors, and reminds you of pleasant times. There are times you feel songs within, rivers of delight, and you hum them for they are too sweet for words, but soon you are still, lost in the joy of being alive.
Then the thunder of woe and the clouds of despair shroud the scene with unimaginable darkness, and it seems there never was sunshine, nor joy, nor peace, and that there never will be again. But by degrees the warmth seeps back, and the light floods the darkness revealing the joys of life that were never really gone, only obscured.
From the pit of my despair I beheld them laughing, scorning, mocking me, all my fears and dreads, but I didn't turn my head, not this time, I looked steadfastly at them and slowly they all melted away. In some forgotten valley of my mind I seem to remember happiness, and the sweet memories drift through the thick cloud of years to impart a wistful sigh.
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