Unclassified

Epitaph for Beach Bums

Imagine living by the sea,
Day in, day out,
Year in, year out,
The surging waves,
Wash away,
Everything!
Desire, ambition,
Joy, love, life,
Leaving behind,
A sandy pebble,
On the beach.

Beauttiful Houses

I admire those houses,
So large and so attractive,
But so expensive, too,
I would not wish to own one,
No matter how attractive,
My life so casual is,
That so formal seems,
I could not, would not,
Wish to change,
To be the owner of one.

The Prayer in Stones

Passing from the well-known ways,
I turned my feet upon a path,
Half o'ergrown and long disused,
Despite the weary turn of days.

There beyond man's brutal hands,
A somber monolithic prayer,
Raised some long-forgotten god
Still stood upon the graying sands.

Whose the hands that raised those stones,
In architectural design?
Whose the hearts that worshipped there?
Their prayer remains - of them, not bones.

Great Moments

One day as I stood gazing at
The clouds, so fleecy white and pure,
I thought how beautiful the skies were then --

So monents brave and beautiful
Transform out humdrum lives,
And stand like clouds in clear blue skies,
That we may see their beauty bright.

The things that we have known,
Of wrong and sorrow, seem to make,
Our daily life more beautiful
Compared to them.

The Chair

In polished wood, in rounded back,
A craftman's skillful touch, I see,
With loving care, he turned the wood.
And ev'ry imperfection culled,
The roughness of the texture smoothed,
He worked upon the final shape,
And finished then, he stained the wood,
An oaken tinge, a lovely shade,
And then a varnish, honey gold,
He soon applied, and smiled at this,
His work of art, his joy, complete.

Slow Minutes

So slow and sad, the minutes creep,
The lonely, gloomy hours drag,
And Time itself seems caught upon a snag,
Brgrudging it, it's freedom sweet,
That lets it move so swift and fleet,
While now it moves as if in sluggish sleep.

The Work of Living

Still up the darkened path,
The steps go climbing slow,
The way unknown, and strange,
Mankind goes toiling up,
The darkened steps of Time,
The sick, the lame, the children,
The youthful and the old,
They all must make the climb.

Only A Book

It's just a book, what's a book?
Most rarest gem to brighten days,
The treasured pleasure of a soul,
Within it's bounden covers lays.

Of Wisdom

The fairest rose, the rarest gem,
That may be found in all the world,
Is not to be compared with thee,
O Wisdom, born of Truth and Love.

Beauty Is ---

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, someone said,
But does a man see beauty in a she-bears face?
Or a male bear in the face of a woman?
But wait - another says, beauty is as beauty does,
But what if beauty is and does not do,
Perhaps beauty serves when man
Puts a mind image of beauty
Before a less than beauty,
Heeding Nature's demand to procreate.

River of Life

The river rolls majestically,
And ceaseless flows toward the sea,
In ev'ry wave, I see a life,
That moves ahead, through storm and strfe,
The lights along the river's shore,
Are like the joys that went before,
And like the hopes of future joy,
That love and happiness employ,
To give to life a brighter glow,
As down the stormy way they go.

Beauty's Perfection

In many times, that I have seen,
A certain little place or scene,
It has possessed a beauty rare,
That seized my heart all unaware,
A momentary thing -- it flees,
And may not come again to tease,
My heart, with heavenly desire,
For things behond earth's mud and mire,
But still the glimpse that I have caught,
Has all my sadder wishes fought,
And strives to keep my eyes upon,
That strange perfcction that has gone,
But still lives on within my heart,
In which all good must play it's part.

A New Day

The sun is rising, chasing night,
The day has started fresh again,
Now come, ye dreamers, lovers, all,
Let not this day pass, unfulfilled,
The dusk shall bring thee great reward,
Of dreams come true, of hopes made clear,.
Let each new day be just a spur,
And your ambition be so strong,
That you may not neglect the chance,
To help your heart and prayers along,
And do not leave undone those things,
That may your cause promote,
That none may say you lazy were,
When at the end you lay at rest.

Short Family Story

The husband,
Built a house,
We made a home,
The children came,
A happy home.

Then grief came,
The husband sick, gone,
The children still young,
The family held together.

But children grow,
Leave, make own homes,
The mother all alone.

The mother alone,
But not all alone,
The children care,
The friends care.

The mother has a home,
Not a house, but a home,
And friends and family,
She is not lonely.

Life goes on in
Such a quiet way,
A long story made short,
But not always sweet.

Remembrance

The soft purring of a cat in the dark.
The hushed quiet of a Sunday church,
The bright, red berries of the holly.
The brave colors of Old Glory,
The tender strains of romantic music,
The look of love in a girl's eyes,
The beaury of a garden after the rain,
The sweetness of a little baby's smile,
The many-colored beauty of an evening sky,
The sunshine of an early-morning smile,
The beautiful words, "I love you, dearest",
The wind-blown perfume of a thousand flowers,
The immesurable beauty of a star-lit sky,
The cheery sunrise twittering of the birds,
The buzzing whisper of a bee's song,
The cool breeze that bathes my face,
The sight of a many-petaled daisy,
The sound of your dear voice, beloved,
The word beauty of the Book of Psalms.
The bright glory of the orange-colored sun,
All these remind me of you, sweetheart.

The Question

Has it ever happened,
That someone waited,
Outside the door of no return,
Questioning, "Why say that?"
"What did you mean?"
But no answer comes back,
No matter how long or patient the wait.

But someday the door will open for you,
Then perhaps you will know the answer
But for you alone, you cannot tell another.
But suppose, just suppose,
An answer was permitted,
Another question would arise,
To haunt the questioner,
So forgive and forget,
There is no other way.