More recent poems-- I've been writing a lot-- still haven't typed them all

Fort Ticonderoga

The rebel moon shines strong and bold

On the little band in the morning cold.

They do not march: they creep along.

There is no drum to beat a song;

But the movement is organized, and strong.

The fort—the goal—comes into sight.

All men are ready for the fight.

There—the signal—the leader’s call-

And as one man they rush the wall.

A gun explodes, another, three;

The watchman shouts and suddenly

The men inside are jarred awake,

Aware of the attempt to take

Their home. Too late—hopes of defense have died:

The patriots, armed, are now inside.

The British soon wisely surrender,

Yielding every last defender.

The sun is rising on the hill;

And the morning is once more quiet and still. October 27, 2007

Orange, red, brown, gray;

Splendor shining in each ray

Ends another day.   November 3, 2007

The Pharisees thought that their good deeds would earn them a heavenly place—

They didn’t know you could only go through God’s marvelous grace.

Don’t we serve a wonderful God? He died, rose the third day,

And called us all to come in faith, and follow Him in the Way. November 4, 2007

Currently Listening Hide'em in Your Heart Praise & Worship for Kids see related

My Most Productive Day

           All right-- for the bidding today, we have... a love poem, inspired by my best friend's girlfriend, Jennifer Wolfinbarger. Next up, we have a poem quite similar to My Deck, but ending in a... well, should I tell you how it ends? And finally, a poem taking after Whittier's writing style. Well, not exactly. You should read these for  yourself.

Green Bean Love

I taste the hostess/waitress love

Their jams knock me to realms above

But when it comes to wedding drums

Give me a green bean on the stove.

I love to sit and eat sweet tarts

But when it comes to giving hearts

Martha Stuart couldn’t do it

She must know the green bean arts.

I don’t care, really, how she looks,

Or if she’s strong, or versed in books:

All the “have-to” for my better half

Is being the best of green bean cooks.

So when I saw her, pot in hand,

And learned her cooking was not canned,

I grabbed a spoon, and very soon,

I saw she met my one demand.        October 4, 2007

The Stream

Silver creek,

Dangling feet,

Tinkling leak,

Sparkling, sweet.

Sliding by,

Smoothing rocks,

Mirroring sky,

Soaking socks.

My heart yearns,

Wants to know,

Why it turns,

Where it goes.

October 4, 2007

             My Journey 

Walking backwards through the plain

The colorful sea of life

Driving slowly in the rain

Without a car, or wife.  

I miss the things that other men

          Have granted that they’ve got—

I’ve got, and had, and then again,

          I’ve unhad, and I’ve not.

I learn what I have always known

          (And still know now, or no)

But the more I learn, the more it’s shown

          How little I see, and so…

I’m moving on, and live each day,

          But never reach tomorrow.

My fate is set, thus I will stay                         

          And go through joy, or sorrow.     October 4, 2007         

A New Poem

The Scare

Halloween night,

Flighty child, with a light,

Timid, standing on the porch

Between the witch and the orange torch.

Knocking feebly on the door-

Once, gently, then once more.

Chains rattle, floorboards creak,

From inside a stifled shriek

Floats out on the frigid air.

The white-eyed child doesn’t dare

To stay, but finds that he cannot

Move from his ill-fated spot.

The door opens, and out pops—

A princess, offering gum drops.

The boy expels a long-held breath,

Thankful for his escape from death.

Tennis Match Over a Canyon

The ball went flying all about—

Deuce, ad in, deuce, ad out.

When neither claimed himself the win,

One strutted to the canyon’s rim.

“Look,  this  game will never end—

So come, and wager this, my friend:

The winner takes the other’s wealth;

His welfare, happiness, and health.

Everything I own, I bet-

Now there’s a deal you’ll never get.”

(To himself: “I’ll be rich now.

I’ll have all pleasures laws allow.”)

The other:  “Are you sure, dear sir?

Earthly treasures may allure.

But even so, who would give all

To such an obviously close call?

The first: “Would you not have rights to boast?

Besides, you surely know I’m toast!

Hurry up; my mind may sway:

Decide to play, or not to play.”

The other man gave in at last:

He would play, the die was cast.

The ball was in the air once more-

But not in frolic, as before.

(Still, it skipped smoothly there and here.

It knew no pride or inner fear.)

Wait- that backhand- it was short!

The first man gave a sort of snort.

He dove, his racket full extended-

Beautiful stroke; the match is ended.

But look!!! The man who won it all

Through pride had a colossal fall.

Facebook won't let me do anything, or my computer won't... Contest had no particpants.

Anyway, here's  my poem:

Dialogue About a Garden

“Bare ground, in that little place—

Why not graced with flowers fair?

There is only empty space.

“Around are blooms (fragrant too)

Thousands, every shape and hue

Truly a majestic view.

“Awww…

“It’s hard to see perfection

Marred by such a minor flaw.

Certainly, it begs correction.”

“Not at all—it is the most important part!

It is where all the leaves and flowers get their start.”

          “Now the reason becomes plain.

          Without soil, the plants are vain.”

“Behind all true beauty is character, and the heart.”