Reflection: Poem regarding Jesus Christ

 On this Sunday morning I thought I would share this poem. After watching a show debating Jesus Christ and his ministry on television one day, I wrote this poem. Always was proud of this poem because I shared it was my aunt, who was also a poet, and she said, she wished she had written one of the lines, which was and is a major compliment.Was published 2013.

Jesus Christ Defined

Jesus Christ,

begot and not made,

co-conspirator when plans for the universe developed and laid,

both fully God,

and fully man,

understand that, if you can,

born to die, so we could live,

His reason to be,

salvation for all, who do believe,

Christ, with the courage to give us hope,

and love and joy for eternity,

He is the door for you and me,

begot and not made,

existing before the universe created and laid.

Reflection: A Smile

 My dad was always speeding when driving, and he usually got caught, but that didn't stop him. He actually hired me to drive him around while he did his business, because he had lost so many points on his driver's license, he was about to lose his license. He was a real estate agent who sold ranch land. This poem was inspired by a waitress at stop in Burwell, Nebraska. 

A Smile

she smiled a smile, I knew reserved for me,

an outsider,

pretty,

hers, the only smile we saw,

our business to list and sell the biggest ranch around,

priced out of reach of the local population,

I wished we were spending the night,

but sadly,

we ate,

and drove away,

she was gone,

by the time we made our next trip,

but I remember her smile.

Reflection: Bookkeeper

 This poem was inspired by a memory of a barn wall with figures and tag numbers of cows written on it. I remembered seeing the same thing on a barn wall on the family ranch.

The Bookkeeper

the books of the operation,

kept on the wall of the barn,

by the doctoring stall,

with a stub nose pencil,

year after year,

in a short hand,

 all his own,

calves born, and sold,

no mention of the profit made, or lost,

not important enough for the barn wall,

machinery expenses kept on a work bench,

in the shed,

where the equipment stored,

along with the number of posts planted,

and barbed wire strung.

no figures on the salary paid,

for time spent working on the ranch,

a lifetime spent here,

priceless,

beyond pencil and pen.

o

Reflection: Playing Catch

 This poem was written for this particular magazine called 4 by 20. If I remember right, you had to have four lines, with a total of 20 words. I don't remember if you had to use a certain number of beats per line. This poem was inspired playing catch with my son  as he was reaching middle school.

Playing Catch

dust off the old glove,

catch in the backyard,

he is growing up,

my hand throbs after every throw.

Reflection: Hills of Sand

 This poem was inspired by a trip back into the sand hills of Nebraska, with my boys to show them where I grew up. The serenity and goodness I felt in my soul back in the hills was so familiar, and calming, it took me by surprise.

Hills of Sand

hills of sand extend in every direction,

sacred the silence, in this place of confession,

in this vast emptiness, God is the reality,

there is no room for doubt,

a fleeting glimpse of what life is truly about,

finding myself lost in the eyes of my child,

amazed by the depth, and space,

I quietly smile,

knowing hills of sand extend for endless miles,

secure in the knowledge,

hills of sand, still endless,

timeless.

mile after mile.

Reflection: Illness Assumed

 While picking out poems to post here, I came across this poem.  The poem was written and published in November of 2012. Don't know if I was a prophet, or just paranoid.

Illness Assumed

master manipulators,

impossible not to believe,

reality not a state of being,

but a resource to exploit,

fears played,

a deck of cards,

or chess pieces on a board,

until forced into corners,

doing as they want,

checkmate,

defeated once again.

Reflection: Winter Walk

 This poem was inspired by a walk with my dogs one winter morning, It was written in 2014 and published at Camel Saloon. (It was a sad attempt to remind myself to stay in the moment.)

Winter Walk

shuffling through trees, standing naked,

huddled against the cold,

my dogs sniff the piles of fallen leaves.

mixed with snow,

awaiting the warm breath of the winter sun,

dreaming of the hot days of summer,

yet present in the moment,

sniffing piles of leaves,

wet and cold.

Reflection: Happiness Defined

 Don't remember if it was a television preacher, or a self help program, but the question was asked what defined happiness. . .I didn't wait to see how they defined happiness, I turned the channel, but the thought stayed with me  . . . .what defines my happiness.  This poem "Happiness Defined" was written in 2011, and published in a literary magazine entitled "Heavy Hands Ink".

Happiness Defined

feeling my wife's heartbeat against my own,

seeing my child smile,

a good book and a bottle of wine,

the sun on my back,

my dog on my lap,

after the lawn mowed,

an afternoon nap,

the list endless . . . . . . . .

Reflection: "A Dad's Sleep"

 I remember a time as a child I asked to sleep with my parents. My brothers had let me watch the t.v. movie, St. Valentine's Day Massacre. It was a movie about gang killings in Chicago during the mobster days. I had nightmares for weeks. This poem was inspired after a night one of my boys woke me, because of nightmares.

A Dad's Sleep

awakened by a tug on the arm,  

eyes unopened I hear his complaint,

nodding my consent,

dreams once vivid, now quite faint,

grabbing his arm, I throw him into the bed,

I roll back over and cover my head,

he nuzzles close,

like a second skin,

I experience regret, I let him in,

the memory buried, emerges once more,

scary nights of long before,

when the only comfort to wake my dad,

and ask protection from the monsters bad,

the circle eternal, now I the dad,

to be awakened when the nightmares bad.

Reflections: The Survivor

    When the earthquake happened in Japan in 2011, and it caused a tidal wave, and flooded the nuclear energy plant in Japan. It all seemed so far away. I was shocked when I picked up a news magazine at the doctor's office a few weeks later, and saw a photograph, and then experienced emotions about all that which I never would have believed I had inside of me. I wrote this poem. It was published by a site called Poetry24 in the Spring of 2011.

The Survivor

she sat among the destruction,

on page three of the magazine,

rocking herself,

I leafed through the rest of the magazine,

but her image is all I see.

Reflection: The Outsider

 Being a teacher, and especially substitute teaching I would see this poem play out in classroom after classroom. Too many times it seemed education was about sorting children, instead of educating them.

The Outsider

left out, when sides picked for play,

ignored in the classroom, when hands raised,

the education complete at an early age,

the outsider.

Reflection: Cabin Fever

 This poem is an early poem I wrote. Seemed appropriate to share in this weather we are having now.  The poem is entitled "Cabin Fever", but that isn't the only thing this poem deals with, As many of you know I have a son who faced and faces dealing with life threatening seizures. Early on, when a seizure happened we would call an ambulance or get in the car and head for a hospital. Eventually we and the doctors came up with a more effective plan. We would phone the doctor and he would guide us, through the seizure, helping us administer the dose of medicine to stop the seizure. The night of this poem, a snow storm ensured we would be dealing with this seizure at home (alone). . .one of the first times we had to do this. . .After the seizure was stopped and I was calming down, I walked the floor of my son's bedroom, he was 2 or 3 at the time, remember looking out the window, and this poem came to me. 

Cabin Fever

ice on the window, a crystallized white,

cold winds blow, through the long and bitter night,

Winter wearies the mind, and makes the body old,

the snow and wind chill the skin, and freeze the soul,

when hope seems lost, Spring suddenly appears,

a mysterious ritual, yet faithful through the years,

looking out my window, into the cold dark night,

the future obscure, 

ice on the window, a crystallized white.

Reflections

Getting up in age, I thought I would share a bit about my poetry and painting. Both the poetry and painting are ways I express and record my reflections on this life. Looking at paintings or a poem, is almost like reading a page of my diary. I decided I would share some of the thoughts and feelings I have when looking at a poem I have written or a painting I have painted.

         Tonight, I stumbled across a poem which appeared in Nomad's Choir in 2016 entitled, "Musical". I was not listening to music  when this poem was written. My wife and I were actually on the verge of a fight, it was around supper time on a cold dismal winter evening. To avoid having a fight, I stormed out of the house and walked in the snow, without a coat, for four or five blocks. I stopped and was going to sit down on the curb of 5th Avenue, but it looked wet and cold. Everything looked dark and gray, and I realized this was one of the first times I had been out at this time of evening, since I had been diagnosed with glaucoma. At that moment I felt like I was in a soap opera, but a Russian soap opera.

Musical

forests dark and gray,

eternally trapped in the twilight,

classical music in the wind,

Russian in sound,

dark as a winter night,

tree limbs dance in the icy darkness.