Author: Carol Welch
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Aint That Life

Dreams
I Sing Noel
Income Tax Time
Gloxinia
Return
Talk
Kinder Reminder
A Bridge Begun
Memorial Day
Encore
Rail and Trail
Worth a Try
Honors to Dad
Scattered Showers Morning
Beginnng the Week With Rain
Return to Time We Knew
Patience Tested
Awesome Visit
Summer Progress
Doors Closing and Opening
Music on the river
Morning Welcome
County Culmination
Dealing With the Load
the-would-and-should
Snipping Wilted Flowers
Prepare Last Night--not there yet
Stepping or Stumbling Stones
Dream on
Winner, In a Way
Father's Talk
Fall Festival Events
Celebrating Fall
Woodland Trail
Warning When Needed
Faces of Fall
Dear Deer
One of Her Favorite Things
Improved perception
Rice Pudding
Awesome Order
Autumn Drive
Moving Through Fall
Happy Time Change
Waiting Room Waiting
For His Presence
Greyhound
Trip
Firewood
Meeting the Lord
Guide My Day
Hanson Christmas
Love's Aspiration
Father Guide
Precious Reflections
Luggage and Heart
Brand New Day
Back End To
Holy Day, Right Side Up
Season Trade
Acknowledged Gift
A Deserted Computer
Farewell 2015 and Welcome 2016
Shaping the Day
Where is There?
Canyon Jaunt
Thanks for the Memories
Pelican
By the Surf
Small Sonnet of Peace
Singing Days Songbook
High Desert Park
A Song Revisited
Sins of Omission
Resilient Wisconsinites
Frazzled Flower

Dreams

You tell me your dream, and I'll tell you mine.
These words have launched many a bond.
Trust that's perceived when these words are received,
have led to alliances fond.

Should you reminisce, recall pain or bliss,
and I should respond from the heart.
soon I'll wish to share, find like viewpoints there,
in each of our lives, see a part.

The day that we' re in, a blessing itself,
lived to the fullest, we share.
The future, unknown, lies wrapped on a shelf,
though imagination new things may bear.

As possibilities sift through our talk,
some bloom or strike welcome chords,
allowed then to flow, in our thought or walk,
add further or affirming words.

The dream that you share, then lifts in the air,
like smoke rings-- though now disapproved--,
the atmosphere rare, we find enriched there.
It's cherished a bit, nurtured, loved.

With dream talk exchanged our thoughts may have ranged,
to ideas with impetus drenched,
hope-filled, creative, sound, innovative,
free to adopt or defer, never quenched.

The message divine, when we will incline,
may often be bearing the start,
watered and warmed, in our consciousness formed,
what the Father promotes in our hearts.

I Sing Noel

"I Sing Noel."
It lit a little fire in her heart.
"To all little children,"
And a labor of kindness had its start.

With lots of colored fabric, busy stitches,
surprises by one child for other children done,
and visions of the smiles on little faces
made the effort of dedicated hours fun.

"To all little boys,"
With carefully cut patterns designed,
"Who have no Teddy bears."
Something just for him, a gift he'll find.

"To all little girls,"
We'll put smiles in the sewn-on eyes.
"Who have no dolly to hold."
For some little girl's Christmas surprise.

In such a busy world all rushed and hurried,
a blessing on my heart that Christmas fell,
by one who moved and didn't merely weep,
when she heard the song, "I Sing Noel."

Income Tax Time

Predictable seasons, like changing tides,
though subtle or sudden, can be foreseen.
Like March, April has its normal ides;
less favored features will intervene.

While multitudes enjoy orderly,
processes of keeping current accounts ,
there are those of us who find that we,
must tally. unexpected amounts.

Spring equinox barely underway,
snow bidding its tentative adios,
not ready for the privilege to pay,
income taxes as our books we close.

We bite the bullet, take the blank and pen;
an expert's knowledge our fear relaxes,
as we submit to Uncle and once again,
do our part, report and pay our taxes.

Gloxinia

Shy, waiting, viable buds huddle near the stem,
clustered, tempting flora-loving eyes.
One glorious bell-shaped bloom has come and gone.
Now, lying there in fuzzy little clump,
they hint each day at peek of flower form.

I've seen before such buds turn brown and die,
but there they are, however slow and small,
increasing almost imperceptibly.
Forgive the disappointments of the past;
anticipate the snowy, bell-shaped bloom.

Oh, could they bloom into a burst of bells,
white, showy, to reward our patient mode,
and reinforce the lesson we must learn?
What is magnificent is worth the wait,
and know the elements of withered past
are no more likely than bright blooms to rule the day.

Return

Those things undone lie dormant for the day.
Now what awaits bears outcome and surprise.
Life's scene obscured by mist along the way,
a different point ofview seen from the skies.

Tomorrow will reveal small details I forgot,
perspective enveloping what has passed,
reveals some of what is and what is not,
astonishing to see fresh what was seen last.

Dear things that were in absence set aside,
resume, adjusting to small changes taking place.
Let go of expectations; take the ride.
How soon returns the rhythm of life's pace.

Talk

Small talk, test the waters, or just recreate;
baiting or bonding, pass time while we wait.
Trash talk: we oppose you, but only in fun,
find counter for each issue under the sun.

Idea talk, learn and share what we've learned,
reminiscence talk, how the world has turned.
Business, talk. quite a different course,
the agenda, convince or perhaps, trading horse.

Talk with romance, seeming more to be sought,
though sometimes with pain the sharing is fraught.
We express some with silence, some with our walk;
we meet and receive, and we talk, and we talk.

Kinder Reminder

There's a gentle voice in the morning,
whispers things I wish I'd said,
if my brain had given some warning,
my mouth would have uttered instead.

Like, 'My guests are tired and weary.
This does not have to go on so long.'
Though the company is so cheery,
they may need rest more than a song.

A God that's forgiving still holds me;
perhaps a next time will occur,
when it isn't my conscience that scolds me,
when I've thought and spared him and her.

So, Voice in the morning, I'm grateful,
that you gently give me advice.
My action won't be lastingly fateful,
and I'll learn to be thoughtful and nice.

A Bridge Begun

What we have waited for, we evidence;
a massive chasm's spanning has begun.
Manmade structures dot magnificence;
the gouged bank, dwarf-like, its foothold won.

Delayed, and why? A landmark overruled?
Preserving nature and tradition's state?
The daunting task too much for work force schooled?
No, greater feats around, we celebrate.

Just look, the vast expanse of rock and stream,
now to be conquered by concrete and steel,
and as the flowing waters flash and gleam,
a new span will cross water known as Still.

The current span holds history and esteem,
engineering providing the lift to allow,
the river passage, work or passtime's theme,.
How will this old bridge be affected now?

Along the street the river's parallel,
just a glance discloses the grandeur,
the project underway the turns foretell
for the picturesque community of yore.

Can it be, the lessening traffic flow.,
may permit increasing stroll and view,
of sparkle and antiquity's bright glow?
Homebound workers unimpeded travel through.

The practical and the nostalgic meet,
where waters, the grand St. Croix River flow.
Stillwater may be blessed with quiet street,
while feet and eyes still her enchantment know.

Memorial Day

Cold north wind pierces when we looked for glow,
soft; warmth of spring that brought the flowers bright;
placed for dear ones we used to know,
walk with, talk with, share the day and night.

Anticipate the honor and salute,
to those who, willingly risked their lives,
gather near the graves of those whose youth,
was lost to shield children, homes, and wives.

Short holding on of winter's icy grip,
while bravely bloom tulip and daffodil
assured outset of summer's annual trip,
crop in the field and picnic on the hill.

With signs of newness, then, anticipate,
while recalling in honor lives now past,
believing life goes on, appreciate,
the message that life will forever last.

Oh, yes, cold winds will change once more to mild,
new life will appear in woods, on farm.
Spotted babies, we may see in the wild,
and will enjoy the sun and day that's warm.

Encore

I anticipated, attended, elated,
to share the occasion with dear family
grandchild graduating,
one planning and waiting,
a new home initiating ,
gown's choosing, I'd see.

Their thoughtful planning many miles spanning,
granddaughters and daughter in church joined in song,
so their mom could be present
during visit, with joy spent,
with music's support lent,
visit's privilege prolong.

The rehearsal, a pleasure, added to treasure,
with relaxed enjoyment of director, quartet,
the theme honoring care,
of the Father, declare,
His love everywhere,
His children's needs met.

Loving song, when performed, ears thrilled and heart warmed,
as they blended their voices in sweet harmony.
The solo's clear soaring,
harmony's skilled mooring,
the melody's scoring,
beauty, hear and see.

As they raised in rejoicing to beloved God voicing,
they honored with singing the God they adore.
The harmony blending,
to my spirit sending,
I would stay the grand ending ,
and bid it "Encore."

Special time spent together, moved on like the weather,
and the mist on the windshield said too,
"Time to touch is now ending,
though thoughts of love blending,
say that the presence wending,
will return." Say, "Encore."

Rail and Trail

Dense, heavy black and puffing smoke,
rasping song of wheel on rail,
bell's clang, steam whistle, coal and coke,
forerunner of Cattail Trail.

round water tank on upright posts,
providing steam for power,
farms and factories, waiting hosts,
lumber, produce, steel and flour.

Depot, now rustic, then received
telegrams from regions far.
Passengers their bags retrieved
to exit or board their car.

Circular band stand once held forth,
local orchestra, speech or song.
For a time, children got their dime's worth.
with the mini train bell's ding dong.

Once again the Cattail Trail
celebrates community.
Local merchants, without fail,
offer hospitality.

Now sporting a bright replica,
of the depot glossy red,
a shade for Farmer's market,
friends' visit, papers read.

Gathered near the Apple River,
see activities galore ,
from petting zoo to bargain giver,
by the Free Press, club, and store

These days, we heartily cheer for, use,
where ran the chugging singing rail,
Stower's name honored, we did choose
for the beautiful Cattail Trail.

Worth a Try

Today, again stand up and try,
thankful that it is not so hard,
that solid earth and open sky
surround sure steps, limits not barred.

For there are those, weak stumbling, lost,
to whom sure footing would be prized,
who, finding peace at any cost,
would utter deep thanks undisguised.

Lets ask for each firm step the Guide,
to make the way what would be best.
We ask the Helper at our side,
accomplishment and then sweet rest.

What freedom just to make the choice,
a gift, the strength to follow through,
to make us want to raise our voice,
in thanks for good, affirm the true.

Honors to Dad

Whose shoulders are those that carry the lad?
Horsy-back man for a little girl?
The fellow who finds what it means to be Dad,
guides while being part of the whirl.

The role of the earner, young shoulders bear;
a leader in living they need.
New things come for some, for babies to care,
to play with, as well as to feed.

A big hand to hold while a toddler learns,
to face the big world all around,
who does his part with the wages he earns:
"Daddy's home." What a special sound.

It may be time wrong, shame-faced, to admit,
or time to proudly announce what he's done.
Daddy can make something worthwhile of it,
by lesson learned, wise words, loving fun.

Someday, that big hand, shaking, may hold,
the hand of his daughter, giving the bride.
And "Grandpa," someday, not seeming that old,
give a new boy or girl horsy ride,

A fast-moving world: demands just pour in,
and he'll accept the good and the bad.
Through the music of life and also the din,
there's a special honor for Dad.

Scattered Showers Morning

Wet yard peeks from the dripping bower;
a new day has begun in gentle June.
Bent, but lifts its bright head, the flower,
with rain, sees the world again in tune.

New day, with weariness behind her, dawn,
with freshness, bidding energy anew,
enabling parting with happenings gone,
again,attempt at what's worthwhile and true.

Sad mind that thinks a happy thought may laugh;
the choice in actions, not outcome, the key.
Our problems shared, it's said, are cut in half,
joys shared, are multiplied, soon we can see.

Bright sunrise coyly slips behind the cloud,
we'll hold the glowing to keynote the day.
A choice we make can let us live out loud.
though unexpected showers dot our day.

Beginnng the Week With Rain

Monday lifts her head into the rain--[
no umbrella breaks the dampness there--
and shakes the dripping cold and dull refrain
from her sodden, saturated hair.

The thunder peals across the valley wide,
and bids each dark and shaking tree to bow.
in futile pleading the onslaught subside,
and sunrise glow upon the far hill's brow.

Greenery along the pathway seems to speak,
a message a bit unwelcome to this mood.
If we will unwrap a brand new week,
wouldn't a smile of welcome do some good?

With proper measure of contrition then,
though most reluctant to admit the fact,
that without rain, no blooms would grace the glen,
and soil would be dry, unproductive, cracked.

So, like the week that starts out wet and dark,
foretells of good that can thereby take place,
again, we'll see the produce in the park.
and "showers that bring flowers," makes its case.

Return to Time We Knew

The embers red, for those who choose,
glow brightly on the waking grate.
Sky still half-dark, hints rosy hues,
though to early birds, it's seeming late.

It's easy to recall when days,
by season change are pushed ahead,
arrived early for our usual ways,
sun, impatient, burst forth, fiery red.

Now silhouettes of frost-killed flowers,
dry stubbles in the flower bed.
When darkness offered more sleep hours,
time for school, or business instead.

Leaves rustling crisply in the breeze,
desert the branch, toss on the ground.
Brightening morning peeks between the trees.
Saplings, green, spurn foliage curled and brown.

Hopes lift for those whose sleep is dear,
the blanket a comfort in this clime.
Morning hour gained this time of year,
turn back our clocks to standard time.

Patience Tested

I tap my foot, don't want it heard;
it looks like we are running late.
Aware of time, don't say a word,
not hard if you remember--wait.

Remember when impatience won,
and you the hoped for outcome lost.
Well, was it best--and was it fun?
We learn this way to count the cost.

But I was up before the dawn,
made sure I wouldn't make us late,
if my part was depended on.
Now here I am, obliged to wait.

Do all things come to them who wait,
I have often heard it said.
With peace, even if we're late,
I still come out ahead.

Awesome Visit

You welcomed me and let me see,
I stood, all shabby, foul and poor,
the son You planned for me to be,
admittance gave me through Your door.
And then You took me to Your side
and lifted me up on Your knee.
I would have shrunk back, run to hide;
Your powers, realm, You sowed to me.

As I approach now, eager, glad,
wider still, the vistas grow.
Like a newly enlightened lad,
more of You I learn and know.
With Your people I would share,
bring the wonders shown to me.
Perceive cold shoulders-- do I dare--
though I would see them glad and free?

Dilemma, now, where do I turn,
to share what You would teach yourself ,
risk the encounter, face the spurn?
Put Your dear teaching on the shelf?
A friend of God, as Moses stood,
When I meet alone with You,
and bring to other men, I would,
with You, I trust, You'll show me too.

I'd like to bring a friend along,
but they don't seem to see Your face,
perceive Your light or sing Your song.
Help them find You by Your grace.
I'd share with them Your truth so bright,
Your love encompass everything,
Holy music, blitz of light,
awesome surroundings, praise to sing.
At a loss to say or do,
Astounding Father God, it's you.

Summer Progress

June has drawn to a close, looking back on the days,
I recall some of what has been done,
Much that is not done stares me in the face,
as I rise to another bright sun.

I'm looking for wisdom to measure my days,
the depth and the width and the length.
What can be added to lack in my ways?
Is there wisdom and order and strength?

I throw up my hands in surrender again,
to overcome motivation's short length.
One answer comes, grant it, and amen;
The joy of the Lord is my strength.

As summer comes on. pick it up once again,
trusting Father for strength to go on.
The joy for the day comes from doing, and then,
I see that "begun is half done.

Doors Closing and Opening

"A new door opens," it is said,
when the door closes we would pass.
Step with confidence; lift up your head;
could a clue be in the looking glass?

With open eyes we may look inside;
let perspective sense a loosened grip,
releasing our attitude of pride,
into the scene, some needed hope may slip.

What new thing may the now-vacant place,
fill with momentum, build again with verve?
That which disguised its timely face,
obscured by the self-deceptive curve.

Around the corner, there it may be found,
by the apt eyes of an ingenious one,
seeing the mark, attractive , timely, sound,
likelihood in what is not yet done.

Should Providence step in and make the way,
and inspiration grasp the able mind.
may be, from within, one day--today?
the open door, replacing closed, we'll find.

Music on the river

The river once more comes alive with verve,
where yesterday the reeds waved languidly.
Just listen; hear tones sound and swing and curve,
inspiring feet to tap, prompt sociability.

Prompting some young feet cartwheels to turn,
while get-acquainted conversations raise,
Bluegrass nurtures souls with its return;
strum of banjos, country and modern ways.

Oh, balmy summer night, host festive mood,
the plans to bring community a lift,
combining music, laughs, refreshment food,
memories for participants, a gift.

The cattails quiver as the beat goes on,
as ripples gently lend their background strain.
Attendees, glad prevailing showers are gone,
mercifully delayed, until wee hours, the rain.

Longing, the soul of the community,
fulfilled with ingredients for memories.
As the river flows, enjoining to the sea,
May tomorrow add its effect to these.

Morning Welcome

When morning tints the skies,
my heart in gladness cries,
that You are there, so wise,
Who made it all.

You, who my feet can guide,
not to disaster slide,
You are at my side,
in peril, not fall.

The eyes and ears You made
savor each hill and glade,
songs of birds, tones arrayed,
Day's hopeful call.

You touch the heart and mind,
bid us in beauty find,
even in pain inclined
to Your safe wall.

Those friends held in my heart,
work, learn and play, all part,
of this great work of art:
Your gallery hall.

County Culmination

With forethought and vision,
order and precision,
another production takes form.
Attend to tradition,
new practice rendition,
ideas expanding the norm..

From experience proceeding,
to a goal leading,
to coordinate events, they press on.
From grass roots to center,
to prepare what they enter
days until entry day quickly gone.

Like farmers market's bounty,
we see judged in the county,
the quality and beauty produced.
River music's rendition,
to redwood deck tradition,
Time for local talent, a boost.

Then to poultry and cattle,
busy roads' hub bub battle,
Equine events draw a crowd..
Booths for sales or promotion,
commerce or devotion,
some advance a cause, fervor endowed.

Work and celebration,
we observe culmination,
of the season's efforts, hard won.
To the midway they wander
or rush, their time squander,
worth it all in the county fair's fun.

And, over all shelters,
through showers or swelters,
the Father, enabler of all.
Providing producing ,
talent unloosing,
and allowing glad hearts, have a ball.

Dealing With the Load

When things pile up beyond our power,
we seek as we should all along,
for strength and wisdom for this hour,
we still want Him to fix what's wrong.

When clouds are gathering all around,
and no bright spot appears in sight,
look up now while He may be found;
a different way may come to light.

While tension mounts, no answer clear;,
on our own resources we rely.
We work and look. Can help be near?
It's powerlessness will bring strength by.

Hope, born of what God's done before,
appears before a change takes place.
The weakness at my very core,
prompts me to humbly see His face.

"Let go; let God", my freedom brings,
with guide, just walk steps of today.
With weight released, my spirit sings;
with lighter heart, I make my way.

The Would and Should

Airwaves buzzing with atrocities,
national debt is at a record high.
Virtue is exchanged for fun and ease.
what future is there for you and I?

Like the fog, dense in early morning,
vision is all skewed and vaguely dim.
Do we avoid or do we heed the warning,
see possibilities as gone or merely grim?

A new day begins in our small corner;
what difference we can make is small,
but do we set ourselves up as scorner,
what small efforts may a woe forestall?

Beyond the goals of men with might in mind,
there are those who seek the common good.
Every wind however turned can find,
in God's hands, the better "should" and "would".

Snipping Wilted Flowers

I'm snipping blossoms that have faded,
so fresh, new ones can be seen.
Those bent by rainfall, sad, unaided,
though battered, now may rise again.

Could be with some ways we cling to,
covering new ones that could rise.
Could we cut them off, life bring to
new ones to show their glad surprise?

So, come then with your clipping shears,
Oh, You Gardener of our heart.
Leave the wilted, hopeless fears,
so we will see the new growth start.

Prepare Last Night--not there yet

I seek the key; it lies with me,
to start the day out right.
To make the choice with pen or voice,
I must prepare last night.

Through weariness to plug away,
leave order in my trail,
perhaps, not let accumulate
the load that makes me fail.

How to emerge from tasks piled up,
disorder in my way?
Just start somewhere and finish that;
it is a brand new day.

So Don't let me forget this warning,
or let it slip from sight.
I can be creative in the morning,
because I was thorough last night.

Surveying at the end of day,
what needs now to be done?
I can begin a chosen way
to work in the new day's sun.

Stepping or Stumbling Stones

We stumble on a stone we do not see,
or fail to judge its distance, depth or height.
A stepping stone, however, well may be
one we've judged secure by sense or sight.

The block that bars our way is often times
caused by no thought to seek a way around.
As we stand stymied by too steep a climb,
we may have detoured if the way were found.

A look into eyes that disparage me
may be failure to see frailties they defend.
Not only I have vulnerability;
possibly, in empathy, could be a friend?

If stepping stones when found in company,
and to the difficulty then applied,
instead of stumbling blocks, perhaps we'd see,
surprising-- a way to the other side.

Staunch hand to hold may well prevent a slip,
negotiating gap and treacherous mire.
Apprehensions lose their fearsome grip;
assurances new points of view inspire.

Dream on

Oh, the wonderful things that I think of to do,
if only I could find the time.
How I'd travel, produce and see it all through,
when the order of life is sublime.

It seems, though, that efforts can only bear fruit,
when I place each foot on the ground,
and move it in sequence, good sense to compute,
progress step by step, known and sound.

Though dreams are just lovely and begin the plan,
it's order and effort that wins.
So, I'll begin to apply this as soon as I can,
Not cling to my put-offing sins.

Winner, In a Way

I tap my foot, don't want it heard.
It looks like we are running late.
Aware of time, don't say a word;
not hard if I remember--wait.

Remember when impatience won,
and I the outcome really lost.
Well, was it best? And was it fun?
That's when we learn to count the cost.

But I got up before the dawn,
to make sure we would not be late,
if my part was depended on.
Now, here I am, obliged to wait.

Do "All things come to those who wait?"
I have often heard that said.
If there is peace while we are late,
I'd say I still come out ahead.

Father's Talk

He sent the gospel, Precious One,
directed us to love and share,
with every one beneath the sun,
and Only He brings meaning there.

When touching us with conscience's nudge,
or comfort for our brokenness,
He Himself our thoughts can judge,
bring us to faith or fault confess.

Words He inspired and they wrote,
can serve to draw us to His knee,
where He may clarify and note,
how His words of truth apply to me.

Precious words I heard and read,
meditated, repeated, memorized,
Became real when to my heart He said,
"You are My child, beloved and prized."

Words they wrote, and words I read,
led me on my hesitant way,
to look for Him, my hopes near dead.
His words were clear to me that day.

And so I read and hear and sing,
the loving message I perceive.
The words that to Your child You bring,
"Come, and live what you believe."

Fall Festival Events

Cute moppet photos the news paper prints;
compare to lovely ladies, try a guess,
which is which in growing years passed since,
each was small, age five years old or less

Read on, will the medallion soon be found?
Who will Miss and Little Miss Amery be?
Much planning and hard work will abound,
as we celebrate our community.

Remember years gone by with exhibits,
depicting farming and homemaking too,
when the old high school grounds were the setting,
for vying for the ribbon that was blue.

With changing times, crafts and art are featured,
by the river, groups offer their wares,
serve turkey, brats and homemade pastries,
lively music regales with its airs.

With hardly a parking spot left in town,
spectators eagerly await the sound,
the first band and the crack of starting,
for treats tossed out, the kiddies gather 'round.

"I love a parade," expressed by many,
embellished floats with queen candidates
and reigning queen and queens from nearby towns;
many a small girl their waves emulates.

Up close some candidates for office,
shake hands, pass out brochures and smiles.
A fall that is leading to election,
they'll smile and shake hands for many miles.

The dignitaries of the town are honored,
while clowns bring laughter to the gathered throng,
awaited until last, equine performance,
then off to the carnival, come along.

A heritage we prize in smaller cities,
identifying with the present and the past.
A privilege to gather with our neighbors,
and honor traditions that can last.

Celebrating Fall

Miss Autumn's coming, drops her hints,
among the foliage ruddy glints.
The morning fog lifts to reveal,
air with a mellow fall-ish feel.

A new trail in the summer made,
opened to view the leafy glade,
reveals red jewel, seed case matured,
Jack-in-the pulpit's next year secured,

Ferns green, although some curling brown,
most, fresh and feathery, swish their gown,
Woodbine, clings to the sturdy trees,
peeks, red tips catching autumn breeze.

Miss Autumn's coming, welcome mat,
moss on rocks and pathways cushion,flat,
eases the step as we approach,
Madame Winter's glorious coach.

But, wait, each day has its own gift;
long before summer's warmth shall lift,
we'll dance Miss Autumn through the leaves,
a celebrant, not one who grieves.

We'll trip down trails with lively feet,
without the humid summer heat.
We'll thank Father for the seasons all,
and join Miss Autumn at her ball.

Woodland Trail

What we have loved, the woods' unconquered charm,
spring's wild flowers, dainty discoveries,
uncurling ferns, blackberry, with thorns arm,
within the shadows, are rich mysteries.

With passing spring, obstructed by small brush,
the view is limited to what is near.
Pure mystery is a rustle in the hush;
unsafe stones and bees do not appear.

Loved scene of thicket hard to penetrate,
now made unhealthy by a tiny pest,
the tick, once thought to merely irritate,
its harm those sick or disabled will attest.

A remedy for this predicament,
a man who loves roaming in the wood,
appalled that a tiny bug can prevent
access, without threat, to enjoy the good.

A trail: Those pests are known to wait astride
low brush and tall grass their victim to attach.
With purposeful effort and vigor applied,
we prevent harm potentially worse than scratch.

So, then, a flimsy mower and an axe,
along with pruning tools just kept on hand,
the nature lover armed with needed facts,
encounters the obstacles on the land.

Would he detract from nature's fair display,
by trimming out the foliage that conceals?
less, than we might think to take away,
freed up flora enhances what one feels.

Green paths cut among the plants and trees
not only give us view but keep away
those pests that we avoid to fight disease,
give welcome to friends to share the day.

Now fern and fungi, berry bush and moss,
apparent when thick brush is trimmed away,
adds to our enjoyment, not a loss.
God's wild creatures borrow it each day .

So, stop on by our woodland walking trail,
enjoy the hidden haven of the fawn.
Step quietly; you may see nesting quail,
a piece of nature greeting every dawn.

Warning When Needed

Father, Father, the bridge is out!
I see the peril ahead.
A car already traveled past;
they may be hurt or dead.

My son, you should have warned them;
you fear they are hurt or dead.
If you had given warning,
Guilt would not be on your head.

If another car comes by,
warn them while you can.
If they avoid the danger,
you've save a woman or man.

Oh, Father, they didn't believe me,
and they drove right on ahead.
I fear the worst has come to them;
they could be hurt or dead.

Now, Son, I see you did your best
to warn of peril ahead.
Though you don't know the outcome,
no guilt is on your head.

Faces of Fall

Wetness reflects the lights on city streets,
runs down the window panes in rivulets,
joining like tributaries, into sheets,
grass cushion every footstep wets.

Leaves swirl to cling to rock and brick;
unbridled clouds reveal and hide the moon.
On fences, remaining grape leaves flick,
skeleton of winding, verdant June.

Day brings surprise, streets we see washed clean,
the lawn, a scattered, random work of art,
soon to be raked, baring remaining green.
Evidence of seasons' change touch the heart.

Again, the Lord of seasons keeps the pledge;
seedtime and harvest in their order pass.
The beauty, dark and light, in sky or hedge,
glory in the sky and trees and grass.

The harvest moon gives tangerine display,
as in the night the geese their parting call.
The rain, the cooling trend, leaves' bright bouquet,
show Father's preparation in the fall.

Dear Deer

What slender legs stand trembling in the brush,
bid by your gentle mother, "Fold and rest."
Beneath the spring leaves, a shadowed hush,
the dappled veil mimics your coat, spot-dressed.

A firm tap of tiny hooves, she leaves;
and you, new babe, by nature's orders clear,
by obedience that refuge receives,
assures, again, survival of the deer.

Without a sound, the narrow nose appears,
flanked by fan-like ears on either side.
Your heartbeat speeds, but compliance steers,
and your God-given instinct says, "Time, bide."

Damp tender touching from a mother's tongue,
releases you to nuzzle and draw near,
the mother's milk provided for the young,
tiny muzzle wrinkling blissfully, dine here.

Small tummy full, no danger, Mother sees;
slim legs, now fortified, surprise with verve,
you leap and skip delightful under trees,
like a bouncing lamb, maneuver bump and curve..

Will you grow up to bear an antler crown,
first spikes, then points, an awesome count to see?
Or, growing up to be a doe look down,
upon a spotted baby, two or three?

Oh, mother deer, with care, to left and right,
please judge the speed and the proximity.
Watch that your babies, mesmerized by light,
won't be the next roadway fatality.

From innocent and sheltered bouncing fawn,
to desire of trophy, sportsman's gourmet meat,
viewed with thrills, your graceful image drawn,
the artist and the child, your beauty greet.

One of Her Favorite Things

A small nail clippers caught her eye,
a kind you seldom see,
its handle/file, with embedded rose,
in glossy blue translucency.

Just out of her teens, she didn't spend,
what didn't have to be,
but useful for the baby too,
she bought it happily.

It cut so smoothly, on and on,
endured years faithfully.
For a gal who mislaid many things,
in her purse it would always be.

Children whose little nails were trimmed
grew up; still it was in use.
A new purse--exchange the contents,
first in, little clipper, she'd choose.

9-11 disaster, flight rules changed;
Next spring , first time overseas.
Security on their x-ray caught,
clipper's image, "turn over, please."

She argued that it was so dear,
the decades of its use.
Security yielded--remove a file,
a weapon if terrorist would choose.

Its little blade and spring intact,
it still cuts and looks nice.
She owes its perpetuation,
to hearts not made of ice.

Improved perception

Perceptive, discerning,
details in the world's turning,
the cares and concerns of our dear friends.
our family may be aided
by our attitudes upgraded,
what's worthwhile many slights aptly mends.

Rice Pudding

Rich golden brown aligns itself,
in patterns randomly,
atop production of rice and eggs,
old-fashioned enticement see.

Nutmeg breathes out its spicy waves,
while sweetness modifies.
Mellow, not inciting raves,
but warmly satisfies.

It takes over an hour;is it done?
"Just wait; it's not a race."
In nostalgia or just impatience,
it modestly takes its place.

So, Father, over gatherings,
where memories are renewed,
we bow our heads and thankfully,
repeat, "God bless our food."

Awesome Order

Oh, Gift of Vision, in its aspect bright,
allowing me the light and shades and hues.
To take a pen and of its glory write,
color both to rest in and to use.

Gift of perspective of our time and place,
a new look, to open points of view.
Reality, to savor and to face,
creation's glory and our task to do.

Oh, that gracious, all encompassed Power,
motivated by His love of all the world,
the subtle changing of each day and hour,
the mellow rising moon, dawn's light unfurled.

And, oh, the eyes to see, the heart contain,
mysteries and sights and sounds displayed.
His ever-awesome, unrepressed domain,
in ordered month and week and day arrayed.

Autumn Drive

Cascading grapevine and woodbine of red,
decorate the brown roadside bank.
When elm and ash appear gray and dead,
these longer lived climbers we thank.

Blackberry brambles, red vivid sumac,
skirting fence rows the mower has missed,
too far into autumn now to come back,
faded sunflowers are by the frost kissed.

Four wheels go whirring down country roads;
we can savor the autumn display.
Our worries behind, leaving the loads,
this nostalgic and colorful day.

Who grants such days to reminisce,
share humor, thoughts of life and love?
The Father, inventor of simple bliss,
foretaste small of delights above.

Moving Through Fall

We're moving on with branches bare,
except a few of firm tenacity.
Into the woods, now, if we compare,
a whole new world of flora we may see.

Feet stir rustling leaves along the way;
take care, dead branches hiding, now unseen,
may catch the foot of one whose eyes should stray,
and knees find hard packed ground with stones between.

Due caution taken, marvel at the new ,
revealed since summer foliage now is gone.
the bracket fungus shapes come into view,
Medusa hair-like forms on logs sag down.

Blue sky shows where leaves last week held sway;
a few red leaves still bright along the ground.
Tenacious woodbine clings, random array,
red berries, of Jack-in-the-pulpit found.

We're moving on, fall scenes explored;
departing birds softly regale the sky.
With grapevine wreath, pumpkin and bright gourd,
we welcome change as autumn marches by.

Happy Time Change

It's coming, "rolling around ", they say,
that extra hour of sleep we've waited for.
Before we know it, the full light of day
will be here when we venture out the door.

It comes on the weekend, how well planned,
not late for church, perhaps an hour too soon.
With cause for smiles, outside we may stand,
the watch not reset before last night's moon.

Speaking of moon, we shouldn't sense surprise,
when this evening, at another hour,
when we expected sun, the moon will rise.
We'll use Polk-Burnett or Excel power.

Monday, when the yellow bus arrives,
daylight will be in force to the delight,
kids who dread dark mornings all their lives,
now will be shocked: at supper time it's night.

The older folks, --Who can they be?-- remark,
"God's time,", standard always was ok.
Did they forget the evenings' delayed dark
was pleasant? Oh, well, God rules night and day.

Waiting Room Waiting

Should I tear a phone book page;
the waiting is so hard.
I could do some origami;
I've learned some of it by heart.

I won't resort to the waste basket;
I wish I'd brought a book.
Paper folding would have helped;
there's none anywhere I look.

I'd fall back on imagination;
no object is necessary,
except this pen and paper,
thank God for ones I carry.

If the doctor should appear soon,
innovation won't be drawn on,
and all the ways I thought up,
to use the time that's gone on

will lightly be forgotten,
as I go off on my way..
Oh, no! I realize this paper
could have saved my stress that day.

Could have avoided my coveting
of the innocent phone book page.
could have allayed lowdown temptation
for the waste basket, shame and rage.

"Be prepared," will be my byword.
Remember what went wrong.
Whenever I will be waiting,
I'll just take a book along.

For His Presence

Be with us, within us,
around us, above us.
We seek You;You keep us,
can know that You love us.

You make each occurrence
turn out for the best,
when we love and trust You,
our worries find rest

Oh, help us to know You
and see with your sight.
Your will be our motive,
Your presence our light.

So, with You within us,
around us, above us,
we may learn to love,
with the love that You love us.

Greyhound

The overhead, the under bin,
the seat behind the driver,
hoping one's seatmate is thin,
and trip early arriver.

The scenery surpasses far,
what's seen when in the air,
less strenuous than trip by car,
paid early, lesser fare.

Some social camaraderie,
may be found, in chosen space.
Some come and go, in folks you'll see,
if frequent stops take place.

Express, an option, may be found,
if city is large enough.
More hours, smaller city bound;
just sleep if waiting's tough.

Enjoy scenery, clouds or sun,
we advise you, take the bus.
To maximize your travel fun,
the driving, leave to us.

Trip

Traffic may be congested;
weather ahead in doubt,
preparation process tested,
with planning winning out.

The roadway is before me;
I don't know where it goes.
Each side glance echoes glory,
the cornflower and the rose.

Away from city traffic,
the open route and broad,
exploring geographic,
features, greatly awed.

How glad I was to travel,
moving as I learned,
seeing the land unravel,
my heart with wonder turned.

Though groping, stumbling a bit,
I sensed the light of day.
The end I do not know of it,
but there's wonder on the way.

Firewood

Wood this season varies
from what I've used before.
Is it just summer's disuse,
or moisture, branch, or core?

It takes some getting used to,
kindle quickly, smolder a while.
Starting medium I choose, too,
Paper, cardboard, scraps from pile.

Seems, when wood is dried in sunshine,
it gives off a warmer glow.
Of course, a recent rainfall
means time to ignite is slow.

Wood from conifers just crackles;
use with care, and limit rate.
Balance with less volatile fuels,
reducing its danger state.

While process of heat I ponder,
the scent of wood fire emits,
what I recall with wonder:
past returns in chunks and bits.

Meeting the Lord

On knees by the chair at the end of my table,
I received what You purchased for me.
What You planned when You sent Your Son to the stable,
to grow up, give His life on a tree.

The stories they told, and I heard, and I read,
came to life, and I recognized You.
When my heart was ready, what You did and said,
helped me begin to find what is true.

Guide My Day

It's only by your wisdom, Lord,
we weigh the word and deed,
to cast our pearls before the swine,
or help the one in need.

There must be balance, but only You
bestow the needed light
to guide the effort that we do,
a help or wasted plight.

So guide my feet today, dear Lord,
be it daily work or smile.
Should You desire, it's a word,
if You will banish guile.

My motive, glory be to You,
or help another one.
I'll thank You for clear eyes to view,
today, what should be done.

Hanson Christmas

There was Helmer and Hjalmer and Oscar and Carl,
seven laughing girls, hair romped to a snarl.
There were Edna and Agnes and Butchie and Karen,
Wed-haired Aunt Waura, who, coats we were wearin',
made over from Mama's to lovely fresh style.
Grandpa, white-mustached, looked on with a smile,
awaiting the opening of gifts he had made,
doll cradle, bow-gun, toys with glad hours he'd paid.

The boys in plaid jackets, pants of corduroy,
big ones giving small ones a toss, bringing joy.
Harold and Velores with colorful ways,
her gift wraps unique, his productions we'd praise,
welding the useful from what had been trash,
and his hearty laugh would burst forth in a flash.
Uncle Pete would charm children with tales of the wood,
with cute little creatures both naughty and good.
Hearty Uncle Hjalmer and Auntie Christine,
his manner, faked gruffness, her bearing pristine.

Soon, even the children, absorbed in their play,
would be drawn to the aroma of feast on the way.
The roast and roast poultry, seasoned, cooked to a T,
table soon surrounded to capacity.
Competition to move from kids' table that ensued,
was hushed by allurement of delicious food.
Mashed potatoes with gravy seasoning flawless,
the dressing to excel would border on lawless.
Lefse buttered, some defile it with sugar or jam,
Lutefisk , transluscent but firm, thank you, Ma'am.
Cranberries, glistening, bring tang to the taste,
and Auntie's plum pudding would not go to waste.

Oh, the delicious pies, pumpkin, apple, mince meat.
ice cream kept cold in canvas freezer, what a treat,
and whipped cream piled high, whipped in the new Mixmaster,
finish of the feast; to the tree, who was faster?
The story of Christmas Mama read reverently,
reminding us Christmas was more than a tree.
And Dad, for a change, from his overalls free,
would offer his lap to a daughter like me.

First Grandpa and Agnes's gifts passed around.
each child giving a hug for the precious gift found.
Embroidered jersey gloves, a bracelet with name,
boys,authentic tools, small ones: books or game.
Next came the mystery: who got our names?
one by one, eager opening by candle's flames.
Then an uncle, perhaps Hjalmer, in Santa Claus suit,
for years, saved for Christmas. We gave a glad hoot.
Apples and peanuts and striped candy cane.
Some sleepy eyes would droop, coats gathered again.
Some never were ready this late night to leave
the jolly glad warmth of the bright Christmas Eve.
The kitchen was bustling with cleanup and then,
would dishes that were brought here get home again?
No one left the hostess, though sleepy kids waited,
with mess that one person would be inundated.

Then off to the road in the thirty-seven Ford,
with four sleepy children and parents aboard.
Still waiting were stockings to hang up at night,
to be filled by brownies with practical delight.
Mittens all darned with new ones replaced,
blouse showing wear, with one trimmed in lace,
socks kindly knit, warm wool ones for cold,
good Daddy and Mama, their love warmly rolled..

This little great grandma recalls, with damp eyes,
wondering what precious grandchildren prize.

Love's Aspiration

Adapting to wishes of another,
act to cooperate with a brother.
If it's mutual, things will move,
better if it's done in love.
taught wisely by a patient mother.

Move to facilitate my desires
overt or subtle, sincere or liars,
without love, life is like briars;
add some love to lessen fires.
May we care what each aspires.

Accommodate or dominate?
choice's freedom facilitate.
They may well have learned as we,
what their proper way should be,
each one, respect, appreciate.

Father Guide

The author, You, of honesty and truth,
Who make our foolish subterfuges pale,
forgiving shallow viewpoints of our youth,
and kindly letting the unhelpful fail.

When wresting from the mass, deceptive twist,
a light on the straightforward aim, You shed,
and, with a conscience clear, unbind the wrist,
allowing a free spirit move ahead.

With Your guidance, impulse comes to act,
not only to direct, but empower.
What was hazy, confused, becomes fact,
and rescues from the error of the hour.

So, let us seek Your guidance and Your might,
that when the path, confused by influence,
prestige or selfish gain, imagined right,
may be guided by Your honorable intents.

Not only--joy!--empowered by Your Will,
But to be gently nurtured by Your way.
reproved with nudge, reminding me that, still,
I am Your child; help me not go astray.

Precious Reflections

As in our gratitude time we reflect,
on Providence that we might not expect,
watchful eyes and skillful hands moved to protect,
that Father God in need did provide and select.

A tiny emerging babe's life-giving coil,
threatened to snuff out the life it had sustained.
Then caring, careful hands did loving toil,
undid the tension of the cord, although untrained.

And sixteen years--yes, sixteen years--her life we shared,
the smiling, laughing, helping, reaching high,
sweet arms that hugged, abandoned, no love spared,
delight to heart, to spirit, ear and eye.

The joyful laughter that still tinkles in the ear,
the way her bright presence and her words could hold,
without keen eyes and skillful hands, had not been here,
nor through her life, the Savior's message told.

Another time, a grateful heart reflects,
when because of other watchful eyes and hand,
her mother, also, Providence protects,
when two huge semis faced where she did stand.

A tiny girl, not yet two, evaded watchful eyes;
the air horns--two--the mother gasped in fear.
Between semis pathways, threatening her demise,
a panic, attention slipped, failure to see or hear.

Then watchful eyes and skillful hands of men,
were there to snatch her babe from peril again.

And, would you believe this darling girl, a teen,
would overlook through traffic on the street?
A driver's watchful eyes avoided once again,
though bearing damage of his own, saved life so sweet.

Those incidents, not unique, still occurred,
on other occasions, in this precious life.
With care of the Father's hand, she then matured,
brought forth eight children as a mother and a wife.

But, sixteen years, though ending hard to bear,
are treasured for the joy and warmth they lent.
Her mother, also, had God not sent hands to spare,
we'd never have known the dear girl, life and love she sent.

Those that have known and seen their life and word,
just walking with Father God that gloom defies,
generations yet to come may know the Lord,
because of skillful hands and watchful eyes.

Her mother, had the Father not sent hands to spare,
we'd never know the dear girl, life and love she sent.
But, sixteen years, though not the ending, hard to bear,
are treasured for the warmth and joy, and light they lent.

Luggage and Heart

The season has sauntered in expected;
time has come for that familiar song:
what will I leave behind for winter?
I inventory what to take along

Only yesterday, it seems, the daydreams,
were vague and wistful, tentative and light.
I had both endured and savored winter,
when geese and songbirds took their annual flight.

Maybe, I thought, some day among the palm trees,
I'll enjoy the beach or view the bay.
I'll take along summer garb and trappings.
Now, here I am, looking at the day.

It's like going home, yet unfamiliar,
as I seriously contemplate the move.
Thankful the same Father's eyes are on me,
to guard and guide in His faithful love.

Surroundings, familiar, I'll adapt to,
anticipate, choose, and then join in.
Picking up my old ways as I'm apt to
expectations set aside, begin.

In ways I only vaguely dreamed of,
watching geese their annual passing by,
I'll set to preparing heart and luggage,
and I, too, will rise aloft and fly.

Brand New Day

It's a new day; it's a brand new day;
let my yesterday with lingering doubts,
and its disappointments fade away,
in sea, far off, or sky, its whereabouts.

New day,it's time to look you in the face,
in clear light of all possibility,
seeing what can be done with time and space,
for these two dozen new hours loaned to me.

Should it be sunshine or rain, no concern;
each state holds some possibility.
So, it's from within, the frame must turn,
allowing me another way to see.

New day, I'll face you with the lessons learned;
yesterday now made a useful tool.
A new view of reality I've earned;
today, again, attending life's real school.

Back End To

Though it wasn't what I wanted,
well, almost, just not quite.
I bargained for a light in front,
on my bike, it's a tail light.

It's not really a tail light
when it shines ahead.
Meant to give a warning,
it gives rosy light instead.

It may not have filled the order,
a little bit or maybe half,
Thinking of it makes me smile,
just when I need a laugh.

What else is there not just quite right,
hard to accept just now ?
The Heavenly Father may delight,
when humor shows us how.

Holy Day, Right Side Up

Christmas Eve, a little blue,
friends and family far away,
my own short comings with me too,
misplacing things my sad forte.

Not content to be in blahs,
I recalled my trust could lie,
not in jolly Santa Claus,
but a Friend who stays near by.

The gentle nudge, "You're off the course."
Inside, I peeked, and there was I.
instead of hope, nursing remorse,
not looking up, I grasped a lie.

The truth , my Friend reminded me,
is that it doesn't just get dumped,
although you must seek, it is free.
Self pity by His love is trumped.

So, set out, my Guide close by,
let Him help with faults excess,
take the accent off the "I"
remember, God's son came to bless.

So, recall my neighbors' smiles,
was it only yesterday?
Love was sent across the miles,
friendship shared along the way.

Father God shows, inside out,
His children have the victory.
Instead of sadness, a glad shout.
within our hearts, say," I'm set free."

Season Trade

In Wisconsin predicted heavy snow,
brings thoughts to me, the fires of home,
brisk stamping snow from boots, rosy glow,
both cheeks and firelight, subtly calm.

So chaste, yet tumultuous, it comes,
to shocked drivers, rendered briefly blind,
as gale shrieks and whistles, fingers numbs.
Tomorrow, fairy castles, you will find.

White beach here serenely greets the dawn;
sun's rise bodes the heat that's apt to be.
We tend to turn the thermostat less warn,
"just to" we quip, "reduce humidity."

So, all that's missed in crackling fires lacked,
now remedied by warmth, of sand and sea,
It's still ok our travel bags we packed.
Next spring, no doubt, unseasonable snow we'll see.

Acknowledged Gift

Is it over? Past and done:
we've given gifts; we ate the meal.
We thanked You for Your only Son,
and prayed for the appropriate zeal.

Could the deeds that we perceive,
as our response to your great gift,
be generous, pure as we believe,
results of the hope and spirit's lift?

Still,when the day is just half gone,
how small I am is clearly shown.
What mere good even work I've done.
The help I need is You alone.

How small the thoughts; I pray the lift,
to anything envisioned, sought,
could even slight way hail the gift,
the hope and freedom You have brought?

A Deserted Computer

Good morning, old computer, why are you cast off?
Microsoft has rejected, left you unsupported.
You were useful in your day, set to blast off;
now your future, not appropriately escorted.

They won't even receive you in recycle bins,
who even rusty cans give new life meaning
"Are you hazardous waste?" I ask myself, "what sins,
have made undesired, not worth new machining?"

I guess I'll have to buy the new one they offer now,
defeated in all my effort to renew you.
I hope that they will have improved things somehow,
since they became. so heartless to eschew you.

Farewell 2015 and Welcome 2016

Appearing as Grim Reaper as you leave,
the shining, fresh and new to take your place
with your form, now decrepit, sad, why grieve?

Our laughter and songs ask for no reprieve,
reluctance not expressed on any face,
appearing as Grim Reaper as you leave.

New aspirations mark what we believe;
transformed with time, now see this very place.
Your sad, decrepit form now goes; why grieve?,

May passing gleam of tapestry we weave,
come, causing backward glance a touch of grace,
though we see you, Grim Reaper as you leave.

Two thousand, fifteen, as it's time to leave,
In Hands we trust, we learned a year to face.
Your sad form, not so sinister, why grieve?

Two thousand sixteen's blessings we'll receive,
still knowing, both the good and bad take place.
While you appear Grim Reaper as you leave,
replacing fading with new-born, why grieve?

Shaping the Day

This day, how will it now unfold?,
What resource, force, its outcome frame?
Result, then, by form of the mold,
may Heavenly Father grant His name.

A fixture, ability to shape,
scaffold to reach and hold in place,
a bulwark, obstacles meet, escape,
guide by His wise hand, kindly face.

May His dear countenance, we pray,
shine on us and on those we love,
That is the light to shape the day,
molding our moments by His love..

Our structure, built upon the Rock,
Whose blueprints, orders, shape our plan;
we trust, our will will then not block,
that He may build His own new man.

The day begun, then not on sand,
by His children, enabled, and led.,
reach for His guiding eyes and hand,
to follow what He's moved and said.

Where is There?

When I've picked it up and set it down,
I would expect it to be there.
But, where is "there", now that it's there?
Do I this scattered outlook share?

I set it down, I know, somewhere;
it can't exist now, on thin air.
If you this tendency, too, share.
let's see if we can find where's "there."

We'll track it back, retrace our track.
Perhaps it's there, somewhere out back.
But, if I know I wasn't there,
I can surmise that's not "there's" where.

So, friend, if you would be so kind,
to share with me an ordered mind,
and where the "there" is, help me find,
I'd leave that "where's--there" mix behind.

Canyon Jaunt

Gnarly oak and clear blue sky,
invited down the rocky trail,
that someone smoothed, eased walking by,
so to unique land forms unveil.

Acutely curved arcs in the sand,
hoof prints of horses passed before,
lure us to further search the land,
scenes of pioneers' past explore.

The mind's eye pictures plucky folks,
determined westward forge ahead--..
an awe the rocky route evokes--
traveled, adventure, trumping dread.

A yucca, distant, points on high;
sage, desert willow screen the view
narrow window between rocks and sky,
each turn sees rugged plant anew.

Time short and energy now tapped,
the ranch still beckons, rustic scenes,
glimpse far off mountains, clouds enwrapped,
a vulture circles, hawk careens.

A venture, parting Joshua trees,
that welcomed me, unique, as well.
the ranch unreached, but returnees,
hail suppertime and dinner bell.

The west or east, humid or dry,
our Father's handiwork displays.
Fellowship shared beneath His sky,
adds to His creation in our praise.

Thanks for the Memories

Searching on the social media,
to find those precious kin.
Could diligence somehow lead you,
when hope's results seem thin?

Oh, rats! Why hadn't I taken time
to familiarize myself,
with the world wide system,
leaving it mostly on the shelf?

Aha! An agent of the form,
Dear communication buff,
abetting a meeting glad and warm,
happy--never long enough.

Hurray, response was on the way,
to actually see those faces.
Time's window small, allowed good day,
to meet in matchless far-off places.

An effort made, and cordial hands,
met ours and memories shared,
in vast and varied, unique lands,
What joy how we all cared.

The hours all too soon were gone,
reluctantly, was time to part.
Now, thanks and smiles still linger on;
for cousins of such warm heart.

Pelican

We saw your intriguing flight across the bay,
flight horizontal, your form a bit bizarre.
Your beak dominant, you made your steady way,
until your pathway changed, a la Renoir.

Artistically impressive your quick drop,
from level flight, dive perpendicular.
In you own good time to surface you did pop,
with a fish in that big beak, or three or four.

Perched picturesquely on the dock's rough post,
you pleased us with a perfect calendar pose.
With gulls, sandpipers, conch shells, beach did boast,
still the pelican a special charm bestows.

The wide-winged high flung flight we esteemed,
the jackknife dive startling unfamiliar eyes,
among wild surf where foamy waves near creamed,
emerging with the marine creature you prized.

Back on our pond of limited perimeter,
you made your appearance unexpectedly
randomly dashing across, shore to shore ,
catching small water creatures you could see.

Startling the snowy egret's shoreline stand
an ocean regular, you were out of place.
The small gray heron up the bank climbs sand.
Back to the bay side now, your element of grace.

By the Surf

Pounding, pounding, beating on the shore
comes the tide in foaming waves..
curly conches, mussels, clams galore;
their tiny fragments the beach pave

Should a stormy wind at sea tear loose,
these beings from their natural support,
the beach become their last of life's abuse,
except collectors their display should sort.

Another day, waves just gently lap,
reflecting sun and hosting pelican,
backdrop for sandpiper's skitter and tap,
Where sand castles collapse into the sand.

Should the evening not cool too fast,
sun set may hold the walkers in its sway,
leaving images of seaside that can last ,
long after lazy days have gone away.

You must have loved the sea that you would make,
so many creatures all so different and intersperse,
and love us too, to make them for our sake,
each beautiful in our Father's.universe.

Small Sonnet of Peace

Small sonnet, my dear neighbors I would pen,
to tell you of the peace I wish for you.
And, as we meet again and yet, again,
we'll more and more share varied points of view.

Admiring your homes and gardens bright,
and laughter of your visits, friendships share.
Your gathering socially both day and night,
as time goes by, more common life we share.

Maturity has come, and still we grow,
in knowledge, understanding, sense of fun.
Dear thoughts and often prayers take as we go,
recalling special ways of everyone.

Now, whether we are near or far apart,
you leave a residue to bless our heart.

Singing Days Songbook

Today I found a songbook that I sought,
containing songs of childhood memories.
Renditions of them never can be bought.
but now we'll play and sing them if we please.

Spell-binding songs that no one ever hears,
that bright-eyed grade school pupils used to sing,
led by pitch pipe, melody adheres,.
What memories those back-looking lyrics bring.

My brother, his emerging baritone,
small tow head girl her soprano trilled.
Someone has made available this one,
a grand distributor my wishes filled.

A day begun with rousing morning hymn,
nostalgic songs and patriotic tune,
from countries far, rejoicing, sorrow grim,
by some, dismissed, when school let out in June.

But, glory, now the songs we children sang,
I will recall, the words and music own,
that someone sold online after so long,
when hopes of retrieving it had flown.

I'll hold it in my hands, the precious book,
of Heaven, country, home and fun inspire.
Now, if you're lucky, you may have a look,
and even sing from it if you desire.

High Desert Park

The park, among the desert high,
all interspersed with palm and hedge,
like an oasis caught the eye,
a pleasing mix of pond and sedge

My granddaughter so dear, and I,
set out to feed the ducks and geese,
ignored the warning we passed by,
that said, "no, no,no!" don't feed these.

Inattention being fault that day,
we took our buns and tasty crumbs.
It may have been to have our way,
we approached geese and ducks, cute chums.

Gobbling eagerly, what joy,
to feed our winsome feathered pals;
soon, seemed a waterfowl envoy;
we tried a fast escape, pall-mall.

Calm ponds, blue, spacious, numerous,
pretty, pleasant, therapeutic,
We thought we'd try again to press
our efforts of duck recruitic.

Again, they came our way en masse,
the geese hunkered down and hissing.
Their intent seemed to harass,
our generous aims dismissing.

We hastily threw down the bread;
tasty crumbs flew in the sun.
Our walk finished in victory,
easy to see who it was that won.

Now, let's regard the lesson learned;
a sign ignored is worthless.
Sunshine and exercise thus earned,
not being caught still is not mirthless

A Song Revisited

I can't believe I've heard the song,
I heard when I was young and sad.
Though I had felt old, and life seemed wrong,
its strains somehow made me feel glad.

It sang of restless loneliness,
and told me I was not alone.
So when hope came and happiness,
my thankful heart its tones held on.

It held the beauty of the song,
that shared the heart of brokenness.
When sunny days then came along,
I felt for others in distress.

It sang for me to hearts in pain,
who only feel misunderstood.
Now I hear it once again,
and thank God for the bad and good.

I've heard the song in sad and glad,
felt the hand that soothed the pain.
How thankful for the songs I've had,
that seemed to pass and played again.

Sins of Omission

When my friend,was in pain, I was a little busy,
finding the best way to wear my hair.
When my mentor was honored, in a tizzy,
forgetting the occasion, I wasn't there.

Now, these are things we can't turn back again;
I'll remember when my pain is felt alone,
that we've been warned when hurts go by unheeded,
the blame and consequences are my own.

Thanks for the opportunities I'm given,
to apply the humbling lessons I have learned.
Forgiven, even loved, assured of Heaven,
I ask, "Please keep my attitude thus turned.

Resilient Wisconsinites

A lamb we'll see as March arrives?
Or will it come in as a lion fierce?
When mercury soars or maybe dives,
sun, warm, glows or blustery winds pierce?

A theater of seasons we expect,
no want of variety, never dull.
Sometimes sit back; watch snow collect,
Surprise, sun melts it; and we have a lull.

Should change be lamb or lion fierce and bold,
sons, daughters, of Wisconsin take in stride,
the--somewhat--unexpected warmth or cold
prepared for biking or a late sled ride.

Our step;watch; what thaws may freeze again.
It isn't over 'till the grass is green.
With careful step, five will get you ten,
that you'll be glad another spring is seen.

Frazzled Flower

A little fragile flower bud,
peeped out of the snow.
"I'm looking for a sunbeam
to gently help me grow."

Sunshine thrust forth, full of power,
upon the bud bore down.
"You need strong light every hour,
if you with bloom would crown"'

"The sun is strong and too intense."
the bud began to droop,
instead of bloom, turned to defense,
unable to regroup.

Wilted, dry, upon the stem,
seeing need for drops of rain,
the little bud tried to reach them;
torrents drove him down again.

"I seek to open, grow and bloom,"
the bud said, overpowered.
"How shall I grow with no room,
where I may have flowered?"

"Is there not a Gardener,
who sees and knows my need?
Would He not gently help me grow,
where He planted my seed?"

Table of Contents

- Dreams
- I Sing Noel
- Income Tax Time
- Gloxinia
- Return
- Talk
- Kinder Reminder
- A Bridge Begun
- Memorial Day
- Encore
- Rail and Trail
- Worth a Try
- Honors to Dad
- Scattered Showers Morning
- Beginnng the Week With Rain
- Return to Time We Knew
- Patience Tested
- Awesome Visit
- Summer Progress
- Doors Closing and Opening
- Music on the river
- Morning Welcome
- County Culmination
- Dealing With the Load
- the-would-and-should
- Snipping Wilted Flowers
- Prepare Last Night--not there yet
- Stepping or Stumbling Stones
- Dream on
- Winner, In a Way
- Father's Talk
- Fall Festival Events
- Celebrating Fall
- Woodland Trail
- Warning When Needed
- Faces of Fall
- Dear Deer
- One of Her Favorite Things
- Improved perception
- Rice Pudding
- Awesome Order
- Autumn Drive
- Moving Through Fall
- Happy Time Change
- Waiting Room Waiting
- For His Presence
- Greyhound
- Trip
- Firewood
- Meeting the Lord
- Guide My Day
- Hanson Christmas
- Love's Aspiration
- Father Guide
- Precious Reflections
- Luggage and Heart
- Brand New Day
- Back End To
- Holy Day, Right Side Up
- Season Trade
- Acknowledged Gift
- A Deserted Computer
- Farewell 2015 and Welcome 2016
- Shaping the Day
- Where is There?
- Canyon Jaunt
- Thanks for the Memories
- Pelican
- By the Surf
- Small Sonnet of Peace
- Singing Days Songbook
- High Desert Park
- A Song Revisited
- Sins of Omission
- Resilient Wisconsinites
- Frazzled Flower