Poems, Personal Stories, and Observations

Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category

TRINITY

Three boys ride bikes along the road,
Fishing poles bending as they go –
Nearby must be a fishing hole.

Three deer burst through the dense woods deep;
Their hooves ring loud along the street.
I wonder if they’re good to eat?

Three rabbits pranced among the clover,
A baby and two others, older;
And then they run for shelter, cover.

Three stars danced in the sky so bright –
Planets, or just meteorites?
They spread a fantasy of light.

Three Persons in eternity,
One Being in infinity,
One bond in perpetuity.

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Cicada Circus

They come in swarms, they call them broods,
Their buzzing, constantly renewed.
They sometimes light upon your arm,
Though do not mean a real harm.

Their eyes bug out, a little red,
From a black oval (that’s their head).
Their wings, like glass with yellow veins,
And little legs with orange strains.

The rhythm of their coming varies —
Some 13 years, though others tarry
For 17 years — the species vary —
And there are some who yearly come.

We wake up to their constant hum —
Unharmonious, instrumental thrum.
A background noise you can’t escape,
Though birds will gladly seal their fate.

Factually, they’re pretty cute,
Potential mates might give pursuit.
But if one happens in your hair,
A squeal of fright you might declare.

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Memorial Day 2025

Outdoors we gather, amongst the silent graves,
Bedecked with flags, each soldier’s resting place.

I sit in silence, waiting for Mass to begin;
Unearthly cicada sounds, the only din.

Just before, sev’n planes flew overhead,
Not to bomb, but to plume their smoke instead.

The bagpipes played “Amazing Grace” —
I weep, but not just grieving tears —

There’s joy that soldiers may be in a better place,
Taking advantage of God’s grace.

I have no words for those who were so brave,
Or perhaps unwittingly went to grave.

I cry for all the lost and all the dead,
For any harmed by war’s sick dread.

The sun, the warmth, is healing on my skin.
I pray, that through our pain, we all will heal again.

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Fairy Tale Dream

I lived in a fairy tale dream 
Of mostly sunny days —
Little disease and little pain —
Then reality came. 

I felt accused of misplaced trust,
Defensive, and defend I must.
The hopes of wanting to believe,
The criticisms ill conceived.

And cancer struck, not once, but twice.
These unexpected enemies caused
A leeriness, and gave me pause.

Life wouldn’t go on as I had thought —
Events could happen, unannounced,
Nothing seemed safe; nothing sound.

The sunny days had turned to dark,
The world, instead, became more stark.
I had to be ready; I had to be armed.

And then to move o’er 2,000 miles,
Uprooted, after 67 years –
Somehow, that caused a lot of tears.

—

Each day that passes, I come aware
Of tragedies, of people’s cares —
That lead some people to despair.

Evil spreads, or so it seems,
Yet parallel, a good perceived —
Incomprehensible battle screams.

And then He said, “Take up your cross,”
“With Me,” He said, “Must count the cost.”
“Without the cross you will be lost.”

I learn to hear His voice each day,
And trust He’s with me in the fray,
And good, o’er evil, wins the day.

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Necessary Storm

A poet wrote that ships must go
Upon the rough or glassy sea —
Not for the harbor always meant,
Not always safe a ship can be.

The times of calm — they do not last;
The tensions slowly build.
The heat, the cold, the rising wind,
The air with turmoil filled.

And so, in life, do not expect
Peace, tranquility, forever calm.
A balancing, a reckoning,
Is necessary as the dawn.

A storm in life, between two souls,
Can happen, just to clear the air.
Imperfect people, inevitably,
Will find they can’t always agree.

So do not ask for constant calm,
Nor constant storm, if that’s your joy,
But grace to bear whate’er may come —
The heat, the cold, and sometimes storm.

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Facebook Faces

I look at your faces,
People I don’t know.
But each face has traces
Of it’s Maker, you know.

Made in His image,
Intellect and will.
Male and female
Are reflecting Him, still.

Each has potential,
A destiny unknown.
Each infinitely valuable,
Like diamonds and gold.

Each has a story
Of sadness and joy.
A story within God’s story,
The ending unknown.

You can live for glory,
Or tragedy so dark.
So live in the light now —
The alternative is stark.

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January 25, East of Cincinnati

For five days, they say,
Highs will be above freezing.
Snow will melt, then freeze at night,
And in the dark morning, black ice will be teasing.

(Winter’s almost two-thirds gone,
If you’re meteorological,
Or only one-third gone,
If you’re astronomical.
It all depends on your perspective.)

We crossed a bridge over the river.
Partly frozen, layers of ice and snow.
The paralyzed water, waiting for sunlight
To let the torrents flow.

We put our Christmas decorations away.
It’s good to work in the chilly sun.
You come awake — each breath you take
Brings life and health, and a little wheezing.

I fill the bird feeders full of seeds –
The birds have needs.
From bare branches they fly and feed;
Chipmunks and squirrels get the fallen seed.

I go for a walk in the sunny afternoon.
I see a single robin, NOT singing a tune.
For many months I have not seen them,
Waiting for the sun to free them.

Twelve inches of snow from two weeks ago
Have mostly melted, but the wind is cold.
I pull up my hood, and the sun feels good.
It’s actually pleasant, amazingly.

Geese have left their droppings
On sidewalk and street,
And left their footprints in the snow.
Rabbits and deer make their tracks complete.

People are out, walking in the sun,
Or being walked by their dogs.
I come inside, where it’s pleasantly warm,
And sit by the fire of fake logs.

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Change of Season

Wearing my sweaters more often now;
They’re saying it will freeze, somehow.
Most trees, still green,
Don’t look like winter yet.

Soybeans were harvested this week.
Green machine giants came down the road
Bearing their load
Before the cold could harm them.

How did the farmers do this year?
The water needed rarely appeared.
Still, farmers persist;
They’re made of tough stuff.

In my own garden, I cleared the weeds.
I turned the soil, and added more.
I made a row with my trusty hoe,
And buried garlic cloves, row by row.

Like flower bulbs, the garlic bulbs live
Through winter’s cold
And are so bold to reproduce
And give us food (in July).

No, most trees are not orange yet.
Warm days might return for a bit.
But soon, the rain of leaves will fall
And rabbits in their cozy dens
Will snuggle under snow’s blanket.

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A Summer Sunday

Today I’ll soak myself in sun,
To store it up for colder days, 
To build up light, and warmth, and ease, 
To keep refreshing summer breeze.

Today will be a time to rest;
A Sunday when I feel my best,
To store up mem’ries I can keep,
So I can calmly fall asleep.

Today is not the time to fret,
But put my hope in God and let
His peace and joy come fill my heart,
To give the week a blessed start.

When winter stretches out its hand,
I’ll reach within to mem’ries deep,
And bring out light, and warmth, and sun,
And pray the Lord does with me come.

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The Ocean’s Roar

I long to hear the ocean’s roar,
Or lakeside waves upon the shore,
The quiet lapping on the sand,
Sitting there, with book in hand.

I long to rest from life’s swift rush,
The stress and strain assailing us.
When sitting quietly near the sea,
A peace begins to rest on me.

It’s so eternal, never-ending,
Small chance that earth would soon be rending,
To swallow all this ocean’s waters —
Still here when we have sons or daughters.

The seashore now becomes my womb,
And could someday become my tomb.
But now it is my mother’s peace,
It’s rhythm giving sweet release.

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