School Days

Five days a week, the same old thing.

Principal yells and school bells ring.

Girls in skimpy clothes strut on by

Baggy-jeaned boys give them the eye.

Lockers get jammed and locks freeze shut.

Each excuse begins with a “but”

Pencils break and pens oft run dry

Janitors shake their heads and cry

Teachers, though, withstand the onslaught

Simply doing what they’ve been taught.

Stand tall at the front of the room,

Never touch: for it seals one’s doom.

Speak clearly, with strong conviction.

Precise words in perfect diction.

Hands at bay, despite temptation

To spank brats into submission.

Count the minutes until relief.

Run to the john; answer the chief.

Call parents to give the bad news

Knowing that you will face abuse.

Teachers teach, despite suffering

Five days a week the same old thing.

Sepia World

Caught in a dark, sepia-toned world,

A desperate child cries in the night

Yearning for a mother’s love unfurled

Strong enough to scare away the fright

Hiding in corners to block out the fears

The abandoned child screams silently

Not bothering to wipe away the tears

He clings to dreams with such certainty

That reality flies far away

Swept up in a swirling gust of wind

The child’s home, a staircase of decay

The child’s heart, believing to the end

Mother, are you ever coming back?

I am so hungry, cold, and weak, that

It is hard to breathe.  Your love, I lack.

You left me nothing: not coat, gloves, or hat.

His cries float into the starless night

Reaching no friendly heart.  He gives up.

No more do the ravages of night

Disturb the boy.  Empty is his cup.

A Sad Tale

            

Poor little child! A magical maiden?

A lonely waif. Lost her mother,

adrift from her father, unloved by

         stepmom and sisters.

Poor little child! What can she do?

Sweep, clean, mend, cook, launder, sew

until fingers raw, body exhausted,

        and poor head aches.

Evil sisters to a ball, leaving Cinderella

behind, poor thing. Handsome prince

back in town, looking for love

        meant to last.

Cinderella sings to birds, lovely friends,

who sew a dress with finest thread

and call godmother to work her magical,

        mystical tricks.

Dressed so fine in carriage rich

off she goes, to meet the prince

at festival dear. Dancing arm in arm

        they fall in love.

Time flies by. Looks exchanged.

Love blooms to marvelous heights.

Clock strikes. Time to flee

        back to her home.

Work and work for sisters mean.

All she does is cook and clean.

Another ball for ladies fine,

        but she can’t go.

Poor Cinderella left at home.

Magic works and off she goes.

Sees the prince dressed so fine.

        They dance and dance.

Love deepens, but time to leave.

She runs to catch her special ride.

Lost a shoe of minuscule size.

        That’s just too bad.

Prince decrees all must try

special slipper on. Ladies grieve,

feet too big to squeeze inside.

        It’s way too sad.

Cinderella smiles, steps up tall,

slips in tiny foot. Prince rejoices,

finds his lost lovely love.

        They woo and wed.

Moral is:

Beauty comes when least

planned, so keep your eyes

    expectantly wide open.

Mother

Gray hair that once was brown

Straight that used to curl

Not combing or brushing

Not washing or rinsing

Just tangling on her head.

Body so frail that once ran

Legs that can’t even stand

Not moving or twitching

Not lifting or stretching

Just resting in the bed.

Eyes that once so clearly saw

Every mistake, every flaw

Not blinking or closing

Not focusing or watching

Just staring straight ahead.

Mind that once measured

Each phrase, each meaning

Not thinking or dreaming

Not pitting or planning

Just forgetting all said.

Voice that once spoke

Of family and friends

Not whispering or shouting

Not bragging or lying

Just lost in a void.

Gone now.

Laid at rest.

Still.

Silent.

Peace at last.

Testimony

     

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I’m here to testify.

“Amen,” you say, “Amen.”

I cross my hands and cry

The Lord, our God, is here

I see Him in your eyes

with a fire hot to sear

and drown out all your cries

He loves us, don’t you know

He calls us to follow

His straight path and to grow

in love.  He brings a glow

a radiant glow of love

so pure, so strong, so fine

that we look up above

and are blind by His shine

but don’t worry, my friends

for we can easily

cross over, make amends,

climb the heights, dizzily

basking in His wondrous

gift of spiritual life

spreading a bounteous

blessing to man and wife

children, bow down, I pray

I place my hands and sing

calling His love your way

and the joys He will bring

Halleluiah, Amen

Halleluiah, my friend

Halleluiah, again

Halleluiah,  the end.

Salvation

Witness

As I stumble my way

Toward everlasting salvation

Tripping over my faults

I search for the golden path,

Elusive, as always.

Sometimes the path lies ahead

Shining like the sun

With God at the head

Beckoning me home

I feel His impact

A rosy glow inside

I rejoice

Through my own admission

The patch fills with holes,

Boulders that turn into mountains

Seemingly insurmountable

With my feeble

Human skills

I reach for God.

He’s there, but distant

Or so I think

My march continues,

One day after another

Always, always reaching

For His hands

For home

For my heavenly reward

Salvation

Witness

Night Dream

Death came knocking upon my door

‘cause I was feeling mighty poor

and then I gazed in that firm face,

the scariest in human race.

“Come, my true friend,” to me She spoke,

to which in tears I quickly broke.

“Please, not now,” I heartily cried.

“This must not be the day I died.

For I have much I want to do

to better live all through and through.”

“Come, my best friend,” She said again.

And soon the room commenced to spin.

Around and around we both went

until my life was nearly spent.

“Arise,” Miss Death quietly said,

and lifted me from the still bed.

Golden rays shone around my head

telling me that I sure was dead

settled in a heavenly place

staring straight at God’s kindly face.

Smiles lit up my worshipping eyes

“Come to me, child,” He softly cries.

Into His open arms I fall,

breaking Dream’s terrible dread pall.

I arose with first light of dawn,

knowing I was not yet Death’s spawn.

But given chance to live again,

I choose to be full free of sin.

So praising God, to whom I sing,

of goodness that the Lord will bring

to simple souls who promise love

with our heavenly Father above.

The Rails are Calling

The rails are calling me

Clickety-clack

I’m yearning to be free

Never look back

Black engine rolls along

Puffing my name

Grunting and groaning strong

As in fame

Cities, fields, and hills fly by

Magical blur

Free as a bird, I cry

Contented purr

Look outside!  See new things

Happiness abounds

Wonderful offerings

Mystical sounds

Engine picks up the pace

Fly, fly away

Wind blows against my face

Feeling quite gay

My heart echoes the sound

Of wheels on track

Knows I’ll not be around

Take a new tack.

I’m yearning to be free

Clickety-clack

The rails are calling me

Never look back.

The Saints Went Walking

The saints went walking down my street

waving flags and shouting, “Amen.”

They marched to a steady beat,

calling children, women and men

to join God’s growing army squad.

Beaming bright with an inner glow

they stood, maybe forty abroad

and aligned in six even rows.

“Come, join our ranks,” they loudly cried

and sang the most heavenly tune.

My neighbors hopped aboard the ride.

I waited, not brave to commit too soon.

Just as the parade passed me by

a rainbow appeared high in the sky

and a horde of angels asked, “Why?”

I fell upon my knees to cry

and beg for forgiveness so kind.

One young saint raised a mighty hand

and grace flooded my trembling mind.

I knew then, that in all the land

I was called to follow God’s way.

I stood, strong from heavenly grace.

With steady legs I did not sway

as I rushed to find my own place

among that blessed saintly band.

So now with them I proudly say

to doubters across all the land,

“It’s time to jump aboard God’s way.

It’s now or never,” I demand

of all who just bow down to pray

without sincerity at their hand.

It’s not enough just to obey.

So with the saints I now march by.

Open your heart, ears, hands, and eyes.

Don’t stop to think or question why,

Just step right up.  Win the great prize.