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Jerusalem

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

She sits on a battle-scarred hill,

Standing quietly like a lone sentinel,

Waiting through clear, starlit nights

For history to turn yet another page.

 

Resting against an ancient olive tree,

From Gethsemane, I gaze across the valley.

She looks like a dull jewel

In desperate need of a good polishing.

 

War, tears, bloodshed and misery

Have been seen often by her.

She wears them like every day apparel.

Peace is not found within her walls.

 

Yet it’s written that a child was born

In a village known as Bethlehem

That’s just south of where I rest,

Just as the prophecy foretold.

 

Born in the bloodline of David,

Root and stem of Jesse,

Born to die, yet live again

And live forevermore. Amen!

 

His house was over there

Across the little valley.

All that’s left of it now

Is the Wailing Wall.

 

The mind boggles at the battles fought,

At the endless bloodshed,

The lives and dramas played out

And history that touches lives untold.

 

Here on this dry,

Barren landscape…

Where water and not gold

Molds the lives of the people.

 

The bride to be

Patiently awaits her groom

To dazzle the whole world

On her wedding day.

 

Simple Man’s Prayer

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

High-tech world of fast food, fast cars,

And I, a simple man,

Have a “Rock” to lean on,

And He will understand.

 

This hectic pace I’ll leave behind,

To search out a secret place.

There I’ll tell it on the mountain

As I seek His saving grace.

 

I’ll not ask for riches,

Not even a touch of glory.

He knows I’m a simple man —

My life’s an open story.

 

I’ll ask him to send some sunshine,

Just one tiny ray,

To pierce the dark of ignorance,

Chasing the clouds away.

 

Next, I’ll thank Him for our birthright —

This great, wonderful land.

There’s much more that could be said,

But then, I’m a simple man.

 

I’ll thank him for listening,

For letting me have my say.

In closing, I’ll praise His precious name,

And lastly, I’ll wish Him a happy day.

Timeless

This poem is in Autumn Leaves:

 

Peace be with you,

My thoughts unwind,

But…I knew you elsewhere,

From a distant time.

 

Though it seems but yesterday,

Still it’s been a long, long while,

Something hauntingly familiar,

My thoughts beguile.

 

Memories sometimes lapse,

But time cannot disguise,

I believe it was your smile,

Not your laughing eyes.

 

No words spoken here,

Nor lofty man-made towers.

Simple use of thought exchange —

No clock to chime the hours.

 

Corridors of time are hazy.

Dust covers her ancient fold.

Recollections thwart and tease

In this timeless mold.

 

Pardon my intrusion

Into your hallowed space.

Forgive my poor conclusion,

But…I never forgot your face.

 

Timeless memories the past can blur,

Yet never to erase

Our footprints o’er paths we walked,

Another time…another place.

 

Thoughts we shared, flowers touched,

As we made our way.

Soft words exchanged, feelings passed,

Fragrance lingering where we lay.

 

Enraptured by you still,

Forever I’ll repose.

Would you linger her a while,

My spiritual, timeless rose?

 

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U.S.S. ARIZONA

After standing on the decks of the memorial for the U.S.S. Arizona,

I wrote this poem to honor our fallen comrades on the

50th Anniversary of that day, December 7, 1991.

It is included in my book, Autumn Leaves.

 

We came to pay you tribute,

O’er encrusted decks we stood.

And because you are deserving,

We rendered as we could.

 

Oil seeps up to surface light,

Rainbowed tears of those below,

Doomed forever to silence

Those many long years ago.

 

“Forget me not,” you whisper.

“Perish the thought,” say I.

“Though you sleep beneath the sea,

Your memory shall not die!”

 

“Remember Pearl! Remember Pearl!”

Soon became our national cry.

Our country rose in anger

On a vengeance trail to fly.

 

We shed our tears; we shed our blood.

War took an awesome toll.

Still we fought on to victory

While you topped our “Honor Roll.”

 

So rest in peace, fellow comrades,

The victory has been won.

We’ll not forget the price you paid

Seven December, Nineteen Forty-One.

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Note: Oil still seeps out of the hull of the U.S.S. Arizona, creating rainbows on the water above it.

I Am

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

That which refreshes my soul.

That which renews my life.

That which gives life meaning.

That which gives purpose to existence.

 

That which gives center, balance,

Quietly directing our pathways.

That which our consciousness innately

Understands is right or wrong.

 

That which is beautiful from any angle,

In any light, from any distance.

That which cannot be changed, disfigured,

Or transformed into anything but beautiful.

 

That which is true to life forever.

That which lives in truth throughout eternity.

That which brings peaceful serenity

As it strips away falsehoods by knowledge.

 

That which makes the unique, alone,

Thrills us, yet challenges us onward.

That in us which cannot be denied

But accepted and exalted in reverence.

 

The I AM of the Universe, Father of Lights,

The Alpha and Omega, first and last,

Which lived, died, yet lives again forevermore.

That is what we recognize in ourselves! HIM!

 

Glorify His Name in all places, at all times

That your days may be long, your peace steady.

Praise Him in all things, for all blessings.

Place your feet upon the path and follow HIM!

Seek

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Seek not for that which is not,

Nor ever was.

Follow not after lies

Or man-made cause.

 

Seek out truth and

“Peace be still.”

Let your heart and soul

Be filled.

 

Seek for that which was

And still is.

Love and Life  —

Both are His.

 

More precious than the Rubaiyat

of Omar Khayyam.

Seek and find the one

And only true “I AM.”

Cowboy Heaven

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

The cowboys are gone,

At least so I hear.

“Not so,” said my friend,

“Lend me your ear.”

 

Acting very quickly

On my friend’s good advice,

I went to Cowboy Heaven

And did a double take — twice.

 

The dance hall was crowded,

And, folks, I will swear

There were cowboys and cowgirls

Dancing everywhere.

 

One tall wrangler

Stood out so stark…

He wore a neon hatband

That glowed in the dark.

 

He wore an oilskin outbacker

That reached his boot tops.

He was sweating and stomping

To fast country pop.

 

Another short puncher

Cam shufflin’ along.

He was dressed up for dancin’

And bad-to-the-bone.

 

He wore a flannel checkered shirt

While his partner wore lace.

His huge belt buckle shone.

Mascara ran down her face.

 

Another wrangler came driftin’ by

Wearing sandals and socks.

He bellied up to the bar

And ordered Schnapps on the rocks.

 

It sounded like thunder

As boots shook the floor.

They did the Boot Scootin’ Boogie

And were anxious for more.

 

One huge cowgirl

Dancing and struttin’ around

Must have weighed in

At three hundred pounds.

 

She and her puncher

Were having a fling.

She was large enough

To rope steer with a string.

 

The music was so loud

My nerves were a-tingling.

This one rowdy romped by…

His spurs were a-jingling.

 

Cowboy Heaven, Do-si-dos,

Electric Slide, and Cotton-eyed Joe,

Achy Breaky, sweat and strain,

Cowboys and cowgirls feelin’ no pain.

 

The music slowed down…

You could even hear the tune.

Some crooner was singing

About a Neon Moon.

 

Why did I worry myself

About the cowboys being gone?

They’re all at the Cowboy Heaven,

And they’ve all found a home.

The Cowboys Are Gone

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

A season for all things,

Boot prints faded from the land.

The cowboys are gone

Like Custer’s Last Stand.

 

No more night herder singing

A lonesome cattle call.

No friendly campfire banter

In soft Texas drawl.

 

No more loaded chuck wagon,

Clattering over the trail,

And no crabby trail cook

Giving the cowboys pure Hell!

 

No more dust and sweat,

Long hours in the saddle.

Riding swing or drag,

Always herding the cattle.

 

No more painted ladies.

No wild cattle town.

The sun for the cowboy

Has already gone down.

 

The prairie’s plowed up

Thanks to a man named John Deere.

The cowboys are long gone,

But the cows are still here.

 

They’re kept in large feedlots,

Fed good every day —

Never to graze on green grass

The old fashioned way.

 

They’ll never smell a branding fire

Or feel a branding iron.

They’ll know only force-feeding,

And they’ll sure know barbed wire.

 

I watched a rancher

Out in the rain and muck,

Feeding his cattle

From his old pick up truck.

 

It’s written that the West isn’t a place,

But a state of mind.

Yet something is missing,

Like yesterday’s wine.

 

It’s the end of an era,

But shed not a tear.

The cowboys are gone,

But the cows are still here.

 

Attitude

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

 

Almost anyone can do nothing.

It takes someone with vision to do something.

Cowboy’s Prayer

This comes from Autumn Leaves:

Now I lay me down to sleep

In open spaces

Lest I weep.

Saddle for a pillow,

Chaps for a spread,

Starlit canopy overhead.

And should I die

Before dawn’s break,

Thank you, Lord, for your fair shake.

Amen