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Pisces

This comes from Autumn Leaves:

Pisces people grab a shooting star

And hold on tight,

Living, working, playing, and loving

With all their might.

 

On fire with exuberance of love and life,

And, like the salmon

On their upstream struggle,

They live, spawn, and die.

Ghost Town

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

They deserted the old town.

He understood why.

He watched them leave

With watery, jaundiced eye.

 

They had suffered and struggled,

On the hungry side of hope.

When the gold wasn’t found,

They sort of run out of rope.

 

A stubborn streak in him

Rose up to the fore.

He knew he’d stay behind

And try once more.

 

The rest had departed,

Long since gone,

And now he was left to his fate,

Up here all alone —

 

Alone with his fear and hope,

Left to follow his dream.

Searching for yellow gold,

Instant get-rich scheme.

 

Gold for his yellow-haired sweetheart,

Sweet Josie DuPree.

Gold to fulfill their dreams,

Turn them into reality.

 

On the edge of starvation

Gave much food for thought.

He’s search and surely find

What the others had sought.

 

The wind moaned an eerie song

Among broken rock and barren stone.

Rugged cliffs rose toward the skies,

Awesome beauty straining his eyes.

 

The wind among towering peaks

Blue cold and strong.

Blue skies turned dull grey.

He knew it wouldn’t be long

 

Before you could see each

Exhaled, frosty breath,

Where slight mistakes in judgment

Could bring instant death.

 

He’d handled it before,

And he’d handle it again.

Once he struck it rich,

Why he’d throw caution to the wind.

 

He’d scoff at the quitters

While he ordered up good gin,

After all he counted himself

A man among men.

 

Slogging through old snowdrifts

And sleet mixed with rain,

He worked the rock daily,

Muscles aching in pain.

 

Digging and searching,

Each day anew,

While breaking rock and shoveling

Endless rhythm, working his chew.

 

He cussed his own stubbornness,

Then cussed the mine.

He cussed at the mountains,

And the gold he couldn’t find.

 

No one ever saw him,

Yet swore he never came down.

They say he’s still up there,

Digging and poking around —

 

Among blown-down, weathered beams,

Strewn over frozen ground,

Searching for yellow gold

Where wind makes a weird sound.

 

They say, if you’ll listen carefully

When the wind is just right,

You can hear his hammer ring out,

Striking rock day and night.

 

If you’re ever up there,

Just knocking around,

You’ll feel a chill or hear

Strange, eerie sounds.

 

Remember,

You’re not alone

In the old Ghost Town

Decay

This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:

Outstanding is simply good, yet no one’s upset or mad.

Good is mediocre, and mediocre is simply bad.

High aspirations, in reality, are goals set low —

Meaningless once achieved, and so the story goes.

The Eagle Cried

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

Mighty symbol of our country,

Against clear-blue skies,

I looked and beheld

Tears in his eyes.

 

“How did this happen?”

Asked I in dismay —

For Old Glory still waves

From the flagstaff this day.

 

I struggled to look through

His lofty point of view,

To see what he saw

From his high realm of blue.

 

Huge tracts of farmland,

Deserted by man —

Farmers of the soil

Being pushed off their land.

 

Pleasure-seeking people,

All searching in vain,

Rich and the famous,

Fleeting moments of fame.

 

Unnoticed people,

Eyes staring in defeat,

Ignored by society,

Sleeping in the street.

 

Pollution and turmoil,

Boundless in array,

People turning blind eyes,

Living for the day.

 

High-rise buildings,

Boredom and despair,

Decaying old cities,

Streets needing repair.

 

A God-fearing people,

Many gone astray.

Old-fashioned virtues

No longer hold sway.

 

Turning away in sorrow,

I shrugged, then sighed,

For it was so plain to see

Why our eagle had cried.

 

Inevitable

This comes from Autumn Leaves:

Tis written, “a stitch in time saves nine.”

However, experience has taught

That this futile gesture

Merely prolongs the inevitable.

Also, it has been pointed out long ago

that you cannot put a new  patch on old wine skins.

 

Dandelion

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

From ashes to seedling and upward into sapling,

I’ve watched you grow each day.

I’ve cheered you as your root system grew stronger,

Straining deeper and deeper,

Searching for the life-giving nutrients

Below the soil’s surface.

 

In my own small way, I’ve helped you indirectly

As your spreading roots took away moisture

I was desperately in need of,

And your expanding branches absorbed

Most of the energy I needed from the sun.

It was inevitable as you grew larger and stronger,

But somehow I didn’t even mind as I watched you.

 

Each day I became weaker while you grew into a beautiful tree.

Strong you stand now before wind, rain, and hail.

Your root system is strong and firmly established.

Your branches have spread like a huge umbrella,

Offering shade and shelter to both birds and animals.

 

You see, I knew this would happen

As the days passed one after the other.

In your striving to become,

My small existence went unnoticed by you.

Now I am as withered and feeble as you are big and strong.

I know this is my last season as nature waits for no one.

 

You have almost reached your full height and girth now,

Just as I always knew you would.

The spread of your branches is magnificent.

Soon now I’ll be diminished to a small thistle,

Floating around your branches unnoticed, my presence unfelt.

I always knew this, too.

 

If I am lucky, my thistle, after playing among your branches,

Will land in a sunny spot and take root.

I will live again.

Rodeo Clown

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

He ran a gnarled hand

Through silver-streaked hair.

Arthritis caused pain,

Anguish and despair.

 

This year, he’d quietly

Turned age sixty-two.

His days as a clown

Were long since through.

 

Memories flooded back,

Playing tag with his mind,

Back through the years

To a much younger time.

 

Back then, he was the best…

The most agile around.

Someone better with bulls

Just couldn’t be found.

 

Rubbing his neck idly,

He gave a soft sigh.

Back then, he could rodeo,

Drink and tell lies.

 

He could jump over a bull’s rump,

Stop him dead in his tracks,

Then turn him aside

With a quick-handed whack.

 

He’d sure made it look easy.

There was never a school

To teach rodeo clowns

How to handle mean bulls.

 

Many a hard-riding cowboy

Was thrown high to fall flat.

They owed their health to the clown,

Plus a tip of the hat.

 

Many of those cowboys,

Rising up from the ground,

Will ride once again,

All thanks to the clown.

 

He makes it look so easy

While with danger he’ll flirt,

Keeping bull riders

From both injury and hurt.

 

The next time the rodeo

Comes into your town,

Watch over the action

Of the rodeo clown.

 

Maybe you’ll see

Another one there,

Running a pain-filled hand

Through his silvery hair.

 

There’s a twinkle in his eye —

His interest honed keen.

He’s watching the clowns

And the bull riding scene.

 

He’ll be wearing

An invisible crown

Because once he was king

Of the rodeo clowns.

THE COWBOY’S LAMENT

This comes comes from Autumn Leaves:

His horse had a back like a cast iron grate,

along with a slew-footed, bone-jarring gait.

This greatly agitated the beans he had ate.

 

As he continued passing gas,

He knew he had to act fast

Before Mother Nature held sway.

 

Just up ahead was a cluster of trees

Where he could dismount and bend at the knees,

Letting Ole Mother Nature have her way.

 

Quickly leaping to the ground,

He glanced all around

And dropped his overalls down over his toes.

 

With instant, easing relief,

Which put an end to his grief,

Slim shouted, “Thar she blows!”

 

While shouting, he waved his arm,

Causing his horse to alarm.

It took off with a jack rabbit start.

 

With a stricken look of aghast

At his horse leaving fast,

All he could do was pass gas.

 

Now early this morning,

He’d left just at dawning

To begin this catastrophic caper.

 

Slim was overwrought

With a sickening thought…

He had forgotten to bring along paper!

 

Grabbing a handful of grass,

He made a quick pass

And began to pull his overalls up.

 

His pants got caught on his spurs,

And he started to fall,

Sprawled out like a three-legged pup.

 

Slim had been put to the test.

As the sun sunk in the West,

He turned his horse out to pasture to rest.

 

“Cookie,” said Slim with a wink,

“These troublesome events have a link

Which caused me to ponder and think.”

 

Slim hooked his thumbs in his overall jeans,

Grinned at the cook with a mischievous look,

And said, “I want to compliment you on your wonderful beans!”

 

Praise Him

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

When your heart troubles you, remember.

When you feel sad or lonely, remember.

When you need a true friend, remember.

When you are very heavy laden, remember.

Remember who came to give you rest.

Remember who gives you life forever.

Remember who died upon the cross for you.

Remember who shed His blood for our sins.

When you need direction and guidance, ask.

When you need help and healing, ask.

When you feel lost and need repentance, ask.

When you are faced with any problem, ask.

Ask and the way will be made straight.

Ask and the door will be opened.

Ask and it will be given willingly.

Ask and life will be given abundantly.

For the daily sunlight you walk in, praise Him.

For the food which nourishes your strength, praise Him.

For the sleep which renews you each morning, praise Him.

Praise Him in all things for thrice Holy is His Name.

Praise Him for He alone is found worthy.

Praise Him for He is exalted in Heaven and Earth.

Praise Him for all Honor and Glory as His forever and ever.

Amen

Bethlehem

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Oh, so still is the night,

Peaceful, yet hushed in quiet,

And bathed in a single star’s light,

Oh, Bethlehem!

 

Time gives a greater Light birth

That will shine throughout the Earth,

Though hosting this event — not by whim,

Remembered forever, Bethlehem!

 

Time does not stand still for man,

Endless hourglass measures sand,

Remembering again David’s stem,

Born in you, Bethlehem.

 

Many years ago and far away,

We still celebrate that day,

A Light that darkness cannot dim…

A Savior born in you, Oh, Bethlehem.