My Song

I wrote this song so long ago
The years gone on the fly
I poured my love out on the page
I'm sure I must have cried

I've strung it up and strung it down
And tuned it back and forth
Played it for the crowd and kin
Sold for all it's worth

Now I open up my Martin Case
To give it one more try
The crowd is waiting noisily
They love it when I cry

The hall is quiet and empty now
the lights are low and such
Just sitting with my old guitar
And the tune I've played too much

The wisdom comes upon me now
While sitting in my pain
What you write to show your love
Should ne'er be worked for gain

For then your love is just a tool
To fill your wallet spare
And though your coffers my be filled
Your heart will then be bare

Songbird

I love the re-birth that happens on our hill every year.
The songbirds are starting to come back after two years of decline.

Every spring, our yellow Labrador sheds her beautiful winter coat.
We brush her in the evenings and leave the hair out on the bushes.
The birds then come and take it to build their nests.
You can spot the nests in the green canopy by the yellow fluff.
The joy it gives this dog is amazing, that the bird babies have
a soft bed because of her. She is so gentle natured.

In honor of spring and the songbird’s return, I am reposting this poem.

The Little House That Sways In The Wind

I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live behind your house,
In the little house that sways in the wind.

I remember the day when you first came to stay
At the house on the corner of fifteenth and main.
I sang you my song and fluffed up my fluff
To show you I’m little but I’m very tough.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live in the little house that sways in the wind.

I watched as you played when the weather was nice
And as the snow covered the ground once or twice.
I laughed as you ran like a cat from the rain
And was sad when you fell, crying in pain.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live in the little house that sways in the wind.

I see you each day that you set off to school
And welcome you back in the mid-afternoon.
I look for you putting the seed out to share
And sing my song clearly so you’ll know I’m there.
I know you don't know me but I am your friend
I live behind your house,
In the little house that sways in the wind.

Solstice Moon

Under the solstice moon
We danced in ragged rings
As dogs sniffed the wind
With noses in the sky

There the breath of God
Drifting through Orion’s Belt
Took our humble prayers
Through footless halls night

Lo the power washed us
And lifted us on high
Where the sun will come again
Reborn upon the wheel

So Frankincense smoke slow
Float upon the winter air
The tally of our needs
God’s grace to fill once more

The Climbing Tree

We ran all day and climbed the trees
Without the fear of falling
But with respect for gravity
And always felt it calling

We rode in cars without air bags
The steel dashboard projecting
On slick hard seats in front and back
With no seatbelts protecting

We ate the food called poison now
And still grew into Titans
Because we ran or rode our bikes
And did our own fist fightin’

We heard an independent call
And hated slavery’s chains
We roamed at will and rode the waves
And suffered freedom’s pains

That one or two were taken out
Pursuing freedom’s verve
Was caution tale and understood
And served to steel our nerve

Yet now the children prattle by
In uniforms once earned
A tear comes to my wizened eye
And lesson hard is learned

The pain that you’re protecting from
Was once a stage of growth
So choose between a man or child
You cannot have them both

To The Veteran

For every hero on the stage
On parade or in the grave
With medals pinned and glory flags unfurled

The humble serviceman by scores
Packs the caissons, Guards the doors
Sails sea and sky across the troubled world

Comrades in arms who heard the call
And stepped across that line for all
Knowing well that fate might call their name

They crossed that sword mark in the dust
For freedoms sake and God they trust
And did it not for fortunes gold or fame

So on Remembrance Day give thanks
To veterans past and current ranks
And Praise Eternal God that they were there

Oh quiet heroes, every one
Without your hand, naught would be won
Pray our acclaim, the purest badge you wear

The Fight

This is a story about bullies and those who are bullied. Sometimes a bully gets his.

The first four and a half years of my life were spent between
my Grandmother's farm and Air Force bases.
When we moved to Bergstrom I was big enough
to wander off by myself when I pleased.

We lived in officer’s quarters but since my father
was only a Warrant Officer our bungalow for six
was bounded behind by a big drainage ditch
and the Non-Com families’ duplexes.

There was a big kid that lived directly behind me.
For some reason he didn't attend school with the other kids.
He was seven but could throw a rock with dread accuracy
from a hundred feet.
He probably turned out to be a serial killer or a major league pitcher.
"He" would wait for me to come out my back door and
"He" would nail me with a rock.
Needless to say I learned to get out of the house and
into the neighborhood to play without him knowing.

One fine October day my mother sent me to the park with
a special treat for a mini picnic.
The sky was the kind of thin blue sky with a crisp dryness
that makes Austin so attractive.
That morning she had baked bread and roasted fresh peanuts.
Then she made her special peanut butter.
The kind of peanut butter that dwarfs duct tape in stickabilty.
You had to be very careful with her peanut butter and eat it slowly.
It would choke a whale if eaten too fast.

So there I was, carefully balancing a slab sandwich
topped with at least a half inch of the best damn peanut butter
you have ever eaten, walking to the swing set park at the end of the row.
The slab sandwich was relatively the size of
a bed pillow in my small hand.

I had just taken a seat on a swing and was formulating the
logistics of eating such a formidable treat when
there "He" was, coming down the ditch, hurling threats and curses.
Sort of like the Jabberwocky in Lewis Carroll’s poem
but armed with a big tree branch that had been
trimmed along the ditch the day before.

I knew I couldn't out run him and fighting an armed
thug twice my size without a weapon of my own
was suicide so I stood my ground,
armed with an open faced peanut butter sandwich.
I was only four but already battle hardened.

A war movie I had seen once came to my mind
with the Officer ordering his men "HOLD, HOLD, FIRE!"
As he raised his arms to deliver a blow with the branch,
I closed ground and delivered an open palm strike with my right hand.
A hand that was filled with perhaps the stickiest substance on earth.

The instantaneousness of the results was amazing.
The branch dropped from his grip as if God Himself had swatted it away.
He stumbled backwards like a dog that had suddenly gotten a box stuck over its face.
(That’s another story)
There was a long second before he realized what had happened.
His hands began to tear at his face in a futile attempt to
remove the deadly mask of whale choking peanut butter.
The peanut butter had filled his mouth, nose and
glued his eyes open but covered.
He finally got a part of his mouth free and was able to get a little breath.
The low but growing wail that came from that small hole
caused the dogs in the vicinity bark furiously.

After he had drawn another small breath there was a pause,
then a scream so blood curdling that it could be used as a torture device.
He then began to scream "I'm Blind! I'm Blind!"
Wives and Mothers ran to the ditch to see what had happened
and there "He" was.
Smeared peanut butter and torn chunks of home baked bread
covering his face and hands.
My mother helped the hysterically sobbing "him"
get home and 'he' never bothered me again.
The word got around.
The other bullies never bothered me again either.
"Did ya hear about that litte Beto kid...Yeah, he blinded a kid."

Lonely Whistle

When the rain's just right and the wind blows hard
From the south southeast you can hear her whistle
Moanin’ low up Cypress Draw in the dusky air

She’s movin’ on to places strange and far
With a poundin’ diesel roar that shakes the earth
Throbbin’ low up Cypress Draw in the dusky air

I stop my toil for a brief sad moment
Listenin’ hard till she’s gone again
The mem'ry floats up Cypress Draw in the dusky air

Some day when the rain and the wind’s just right
I’ll make my way down to those tracks
And lay in wait down Cypress Draw in the dusky air

If I screw my courage up enough
To grab that box car flyin’ by
At a breakneck clip up Cypress Draw in the dusky air

Then I’ll ne’er look back and ride that flyer
Till the sky falls in and the mountains crash
And just my ghost walks Cypress Draw in the dusky air

Ode to Mrs Olson who always had faith in me.

I remember the hat Mrs. Olson wore
As she rode the bus each day
She’d bought it downtown at Woolworth's
I've forgotten how little she paid

But she cherished its presence above her brow
And was whole when it was in place
It was decked with flowers and Irish crochet
And it shielded the sun from her face

Yet under its brim was the sun itself
As she beamed to the world her love
And rode the bus to St Mary’s
To light candles for those now above

I’d sit as her escort and she’d talk of life
While we wended the bumpy miles
She taught me of duty, and Gods Holy Hand
And to always speak sweetly and smile

Then one chilly morning she wasn't aboard
So I queried the bus driver’s thought
And exited there in the middle of the block
He’d barely just got the bus stopped

I fairly flew as I raced to her door
And knocked, but got no reply
I went around back and found her gone
Then I sat in the garden and cried

I smiled and spoke sweetly, how I’d miss her so
To ne’er see again her bright face
And went to St Mary’s when they laid her to rest
With her hat set neatly in place

The Shadow of the Passing Sky

Did you know me?
I was there
Though you only noticed the breeze
Or the sound of water
Falling in the distance
Yet underneath your steps was my work
That all I ever needed was a nod
Or truthful remark, be it good or bad
Still, it was too high a price for you
So I faded, broken and forgotten
To trespass your path no more
It has no consequence
As one retires another comes
The passing wheel of sky continues on
The broken lay in the shadow of its passing
To be known no more

Places

I sat upon my duffle
On the shoulder of the road
And looked back in the distance
At the path that I chose

The places that I’d visited
Some for just a time
Others where I’d tarried
Many were sublime

But there were other places
Where wreckage marked my way
And sorrow fell upon me there
Like water falls from rain

I wished that I could travel back
And start my walk anew
With wisdom that I did not have
When memories were few

But that alas was not to be
And so I rose again
Trekking towards the sunset
As the path was darkening

Then realized the wisdom gained
Was mine to use right now
And felt a springing in my step
Quickened by the Tao

And glancing back to where I’d been
When sorrow had me bowed
I saw the weight I’d carried
On that shoulder of the road

I could not pay for what I’d done
However hard I tried
Seems forgiveness is a virtue
That’s best when self applied

So now I’ll greet each traveler
With that same grace I found
And share the wisdom of my path
With those who’ll stick around

The Old Man's Drawer

An old matchbook and a napkin ring from a place we went to dine
Some socks with holes and some thin t-shirts that he swore were still just fine
Some old wrist watches unrepaired and a ring that didn't fit
Are what remains of a life well lived that the others didn't get

You may have passed him on his way and said good day and all
And never known how your lives were blessed by this gentle loving soul
Now I sit alone with his memory as the others have gone home
And the mourning swells in my heart and eyes as it settles in "He's gone"

It's for myself alone I mourn for I am left behind
But hoped I'd find him in the end adorned in glorious kind
Then hand in hand we'd wend the way to where there's much to learn
And from whose gate and starry path this traveler won't return

Dog Joy

Dogs are, that they might have joy

That in God's service, labor here

Bring us peace, as a child well raised

And love so freely without fear