Friday, August 30, 2013

A Poet's Lament or Damn It All Anyway


To be so prolific can be quite horrific
I may be manic and cause a big panic
If  I've  an idea and no pencil or pen
No paper to write on, no tablet plugged in

I'll scramble around while words fall like tears
I try to remember to use my mind's ears
The trouble with that is the words usually come
From deep in my center, my heart and my tum

My mind's ears don't hear the words in just the same way
There's a loss in translation, a meaning astray
To lose a good poem ruins a chance for a friend
Someone to relate to, an ear you can bend

Then to try to rebuild it is seldom effective
'Cause the brain gets involved and becomes too selective
'Course, thinking too much becomes so reflective
And  you're left with a poem that's simply defective !



Thursday, August 29, 2013

The Touches of Love

The touch of a finger to the inside of knee
A light sense excites and invigorates me
The brush of my lips to a bare shoulder blade
Can not be bested by stuff that’s man made

An arm ‘round the waist and holding it tight
Tip of my toe on instep so slight
Cheek to breast softly and beat of a heart
Palm on a thigh, a tender impart

Of acceptance and love, of honor, respect
Those touches add meaning we just can’t neglect
They help to ensure that feelings unsaid
Don’t go unnoticed, or devotion unfed

Legs intertwined, just resting at ease
Holding a hand as we drift off in peace
Fully embracing, trying to be one

Alive in the moment.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Eventually - Buyer's Remorse - Too Late



The stuff that I ordered a few days ago
Arrived on the doorstep today
Another box of packing and paper
With a doodad or gadget to play

I love buying stuff and waiting
It's a great way to pass through a week
But the fact of the matter if I thought much about it
Is the stuff is not what I seek

It keeps me from seeing the moment
It keeps me from watching a bee
It keeps me from realizing the one that I love
Is being pushed far away from me

As I insert another mail order
Into a slot in my mind
And I know it's there and it's coming
I can avoid being kind

I don't have to tell him he's handsome
Or take hold of his hand as we drive
Or cuddle with him or rest in his arms
Or even pretend he's alive

I know that he needs affirmations
As most good men do in their way
But I can avoid doing anything nice
If my order will be here today.



Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Through The Eyes ...




Through the eyes of a man a woman is beauty

Through  the eyes of a man a woman is pure
Through the eyes of a man a woman is holy
And through those same eyes a man is made sure

Of his place on the earth and why it's created
Of his place on the earth and what he's to do
Of his place on the earth he'll provide and protect her
And in his place on the earth he'll deeply love too.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

Bridget

Bridget is walking on little girl’s feet
Pushing toy lawn mowers on driveway concrete
Last week she was doing “take a step, take a seat”
Now she’s walking “take a step and repeat”
Two little pony tails up in the air
Fine as an art brush, a baby’s thin hair.
I love all my children and grandchildren too

I’d give my life for them. It’s what I would do.

The Book of Prayers - Part Two .........................copyrighted

Here is Part Two.  My heart breaks each time I read this and remember the pain - and gratitude - of writing it.

O Lord, I'm so humbled, so small and so weak
I read these intentions, they cause me to seek
Your healing and counsel for others, not me
My selfishness fades with each one I see:
       My aunt who lies dying with no love of you.
       Please guide her and bring her to your life anew.
  
       A young boy in trouble at home and at school
       Please give him a father to show him the tools
       Of manhood and meaning, obedience and care
       For self and for others - a cross he can bear.

       A man in depression pleads for his life
       To return to the days when he had a wife

       A woman I know, in trouble she cried
       Please God, I beg you, take this child inside.

Oh Lord, were it not for your personal pain
The cruelness upon you, for which you once came
This book would ring hollow, just wishes in ink
But because you too suffered, we feel a strong link
        A prayer of thanksgiving, a prayer of delight
        And one just in praise of things going right

        A plea for an answer, beseeching a sign
        A thanks be to you for love that's divine

We're able to come, to kneel and to know
By pouring our hearts out our backs will unbow
The comfort that comes from our faith in you
Gives comfort in moments of sadness and blue.

While making a place to share and give thanks
Which you did also with those in your ranks
The lows and the highs of life on this earth
We share with you gladly, our calling from birth

I thank you, dear Lord, for guiding me so
For setting that book out, for wanting to go
So deep within me and help me dig out
To let me find out what life is about.


Saturday, August 24, 2013

The Book of Prayers - Part 1 ................... copyrighted

At our place of worship, we have a small sanctuary for personal prayer.  Outside of it is a book in which people write things they wish to pray over or that they would like others to pray over.  Before going into the sanctuary one day, I was reading the book.  The result of those moments of reading are this poem.....................

It's noon on Tuesday, my usual time
I come to God's chapel to seek His divine
Guidance and mercy, His hope mixed with love
I come to this chapel drawn in from above.

My troubles are many, complex and acute
My heart is so heavy with worry and doubt
The table before me holds schedules and books
And a tablet to write in, in which I now look.

It holds pleas and beggings, desires and angst
It holds love for others, some cares and complaints
It's full of the human conditions we know
It's full of our longings, our hopes and our woe.
              Please pray for my mother who struggles with fear
              My son and my daughter, my heart holds so dear
              My neighbor with cancer, a friend with no job
              A general intention for grace brings a sob.
              Grant victory for one who is struggling to live  
              A day with no fighting, a gift one can give
              To honor the dead, our son left in 'Nam.
              A grandchild is coming, watch over the mom.

END OF PART 1


Soul Mates.........................copyrighted

I love the beautiful analogy of two trees growing together and two people sharing a life together.  This is the result of that love.

Soul Mates.  Hear the words.  A convergence of two.
Growing in ground, sharing the sun.
Merging in love, twining their limbs
Becoming stronger as they mature.

Two trees, sprouting apart
Small and thin, taking nourishment from the earth
Larger they grow, leaves shading their trunks in summer
Hunkering into the winter, longing for spring warmth

Each season sees change, a new spurt of growth
Reaching higher, becoming stronger and clearer
About their place in the ground, their place in the sky
They touch, leafy tenderness blowing one into the other

They learn to appreciate the sense of the other close
As they grow, the tenderness becomes desire
The touch becomes part of them, no wind is needed
For they are entwined.

Sometimes, during storms, they pull apart
Their branches following the wind, their trunks bending
The storm passes, the branches come back together
A little different than before but closer still 

For the storm has stretched them
The seasons come and go
Ever growing, ever joining
Each other more closely, more entwined

They shade each other, they share each other
Were one to fall, empty space where the other embraced
But the limbs still reach to where the other was
Slowly filling in over time

Strange to be whole as another's eyes see
But strong from the ground below
For the roots from the one have nourished the other
And the life goes on ..............



Cantoring Today !

Cantoring today at 4 o’clock
Come on over, find your rock
Be it temple, be it church
Come on by, begin your search

You can sing along with me
Or just sit and wait and see
You may be moved, you may shed tears
Perhaps today, you’ll have deaf ears

I’m not to judge, I’ll only sing
It’s up to you, the you you bring
I’ll be glad to see you there

Why do I ask?  Because I care.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Grandpa's Shoes

The twins came running through the garage into the kitchen yesterday.  “Grandma,” they asked in unison, “How can Grandpa be in Heaven if his shoes are still here?” 

Grandpa’s sandals were on the floor by the door in the garage.  I just hadn’t moved them.  I didn’t want to.  They were a comfort to me there – I could see them.  Like the kids, his sandals gave me the same question, “How can he be gone if his shoes are still here?”

So I let them be.

But the question stands.  There is so much of him here.  He hung the pictures – I leveled them.  He kept  the garage neat and his coffee can full of nuts and bolts and wire things is still there.  The maple tree he planted in the back yard still grows leaves every spring and seems healthy.

So where is he?  Why am I sitting here alone now that the kids have left?
Anger wells up inside me.

“Damn it Paul, why did you have to leave?  I’m lonely and I want you here!” 
The clock ticks softly on the mantle and I hear a car go by outside.

And then – a voice – no, more like a breeze comes through my heart.
“I love you.  I’m sorry, sweetheart.  It’s okay.  I’m okay and you will be too.”

I sob and cry out, “I don’t know what this means and I’m afraid, I’m afraid!"

“Have faith, my love.  It’s okay and you will be too.”

And the clock ticks softly on the mantle and a few houses away, a neighbor dog barks a welcome to his master.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

The Wood Carver - Thank you, Darlene,for introducing me.

The man in this story found his niche’ late
And the love of his wife helped him to create
The most beautiful carvings of trees and of trolls
Of boots and of clowns and small paper rolls

With fences and cattails and guns made of dowels
And men and of women and ducks and small owls
His works were displayed as pieces of art
She’d taken great care to set them apart

A man finds his talents as he moves through his life
Often in spite of or because of his wife
And what usually remains when the whittling’s complete
Is a piece of the man you are happy to meet

To touch what he touched and look at detail
To notice a knuckle or ear or shirt tail
The patina of basswood with rose colored stain
The texture of beard is the work of the grain

You sense as you put the last piece back in place
The heart of the man who could carve with such grace
And know that you like him and admire his art

Someday you’ll tell him and a friendship will start.

Wrong Turn? Hah!

I’d made a wrong turn - not a big deal
To someone who spends so much time at the wheel

Been rode pretty hard and put away wet
Emotionally raw, stomach upset
Praying for peace and a confirmation
That my ordeal would end with an affirmation

When just up ahead, walking along
A pair from my past- turn that was wrong?
Oh, I think not – a purposeful ruse
Allowed me to see – not be so obtuse

The workings of fate or karma – a sign
You call it whatever,I’ll call it divine
The odds they would be there?  You do the math
That time of the day, that part of the path?

From the moment I saw them, I knew I’d been heard
 I stopped and we hugged with hardly a word
We’d been directed and brought to this place

A wrong turn?  A chance?   No way.  It was grace.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Good news - I think

Hello Doc-ingStation readers.  I have news.  Selected posts from this author will be published by nationally known author, Karen Salmansohn.  Her website / blog is 
www.Notsalmon.com

Karen speaks nationally and is often a guest of Oprah Winfrey.


Monday, August 19, 2013

I May Be Wise BUT Sometimes........

I am a wise man
      But not always so smart

Sometimes I speak quickly
      Not using my heart

And although what I say may have a good point
It's the way that it's said that gets a nose out of joint

Wisdom unused is not very wise
Words unconsidered may just be more lies

I must keep in mind all hurts from the past
      That color the way words are heard and how fast
The walls will go up when a feeling returns
      A feeling of danger of emotional burns

And tailor my words with that person in mind
That's wisdom, my dear, and also quite kind.

The Joy of True Love


The joy of true love doesn't tie, doesn't bind
The joy of true love is invariably kind
The joy of true love creates beauty and space
The joy of true love is part of the grace

By which life has it's value
And we have a worth
Completely  intrinsic
It's a reason for birth

The joy of true love frees one to attain
All she's intended to be and to gain
The joy of true love gives freedom and prays
The lover be happy through all of her days

The joy of true love puts lover ahead
Of wants and of wishes and hopes and instead
Of self serving, it's selfless and knows it will miss
The hugs, the hand holding and feel of a kiss.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Decisions

This man is special
This man in true
This man will love you
And all that you do

Not because you’re so perfect
Not because you’re so wise
Not because you’re so beautiful
‘Though you are in his blue eyes

But because he saw something
But because he saw your heart
But because he made a choice to
And his choice became a part

Of his soul, his mind and body
Of his being to his core
That he’d love you until the day he died                                                                                                                               
You can’t ask for any more.

Saturday, August 17, 2013

Anger Du Jour...................copyrighted

It seems we’ve adopted     
As a method to cope
With the highs and lows of our days

A tactic that keeps us
Unable to hope
Instead we stay angry and lay

In wait of conflicting opinion
Alert for dissent in the ranks
On guard against

Someone or something
We think will siphon some gas
From our tanks

I call it Anger Du Jour
Because it can change every day
Some days it might be political strife

Some days it might be Ken Lay
Of course, right now I’m dating myself
Ken Lay’s been dead for awhile

He plundered and stole from investors
Who cried, “We hate you but we sure like your style.”
I digress as I often will do

Let me return to my point
Anger Du Jour prevents us from acting
By keeping our nose out of joint

We don’t have to try to improve things
If Anger Du Jour has its way
The only action that we have to take

Is to throw a good fit each day.

Friday, August 16, 2013

The Stops On The Journey

The stops on the journey of birth throughout life are not destinations but waypoints
We dock for awhile to replenish our stores, repair the sails,  recaulk the joints
And these are the times when we are at peace  when life’s seas are exceedingly calm
The wind is not blowing and the storms aren’t enraged and we can sit in the shade of a palm

Then we set sail – a choice of our own or perhaps we are forced from the pier
The death of a loved one, an illness, divorce and our life’s boat is tossed on its ear
Seasick, we hold on and pray that the storm will abate, another safe port will be found
In time it does pass and as we tie up we take stock by looking around
We find there are remnants of this and of that and the water around us is filled
With the pieces of life that we knew from before along with our tears that were spilled

And we have another time of just living; no crisis to cause us travail
But out here there are no weather reports to predict when our life’s boat must sail  
It’s surely for certain that only too soon, upheaval will fate us again        
And the key to surviving this journey intact is our faith in the Lord, not in men

Our time in the ports provides us the rest to survive the most difficult day 
And the day that we know our journey’s complete we’ll look back and probably say
The adventures that formed and shaped us were the times when control was lost

The comfort we had was in prayer, faith and trust and in God’s will no matter the cost.

Being An Angel

Having been touched by so many
     Today begins my turn to give
Help me to keep my heart open, O Lord
     Grant me the joy to just live

For I have been blessed by their softness
      Their caring, their love and their touch
It is time to give back to any I can
       Because I have been given so much

Thursday, August 15, 2013

A Hand on the Pillow

Lying there in semi - sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep

Upon the pillow next to me
My hand just goes as if to see
If her hands are resting there
Or if the pillow is still bare

Another day, O Lord please fill
With hope and grace and divine will
That we may find the way with you
With struggles light and sorrows few

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

My Prayer for Daisy Dog

Lord, I beg you.
Please keep Daisy well.
In heart, mind, body and spirit.
She is a good girl and is loved deeply - and missed.
Thank you for her, Lord.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Absolutely astounded at how a "wrong turn" is actually so right.  How beautifully cool!

Monday, August 12, 2013

A Story in Rhyme from Corn Days 2013

The band had started early – just warming up, I guess
The night before had left the grounds in quite a state of mess
But things were getting going and folks were coming in
I saw them as I ate some corn and wiped butter from my chin.

A couple for the ages – they’d been around the block
And love endured where youth had not as years came off the clock
Gingerly they walked out front onto the matted hay
He put his arm around her waist and they began to sway

He held her close and nuzzled her and kissed her on the cheek
They tottered just a little bit because she was very weak
They smiled the smile of complete love and adoration too
A life spent in union with the other – just as lovers do

And as the last refrain was played, they stopped and gave a glance

They waved to us and walked away.  They’d had their final dance.

The Choices of Life -slightly amended

I choose generous over judgmental
     I choose empathy over anger
          I choose dogs over cats
               I choose loving over demanding

I choose process over product
     I choose a daisy over a rose
          I choose reliable over uncertain
               I choose trusting over suspicious

I choose warmth over distance
     I choose giving over getting
          I choose prayer over ambivalence
               I choose peace over fighting

I choose genuine over phony
     I choose just over unfair
          I choose doing over watching
               I choose depth over shallowness

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Angels Watching Over Me

   As I did yet another loop around Muirfield Circle, I met two angels.  Rosalee and LaVonne, aged 83 and 92 respectively.  I've discovered that angels are not always supernatural.  Sometimes they are flesh and bone.
   We shared some of our stories with one another as we walked and they offered encouragement and hope in many ways.
    We never have the opportunity to relive our pasts but we can recognize the need for change moving forward.
    I will give more.
        I will love easier.
             I will hug longer.
Thank you for reading this.  If you enjoy it, please pass it along to your friends.  
     Love,  Doc.

The Hostage

Having a daughter has made my heart a hostage.  There is no greater love a father can hope for than the love of - and the love for - a daughter.  Thank you, sweetheart.  Dad

Corn Days -Saturday night

Serving spaghetti dinner at St. George and in come my mom and my favorite (only) aunt Char.  Soon after, daughter, son-in-law come in with 4 grandchildren.  They came for 2 reasons - dinner and love- both of which are valid.  My heart is joyful.  I am loved.  A man asks for nothing more than that.  I am greatly humbled.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Funeral lunch


A funeral lunch today for 125 mourners.  Many hands did a good job.  A prayer by ladies of love and care for well being of pair of hands that were missing - and missed.
Spent the evening helping to make 20 gallons of Jenice Westbrook's spaghetti sauce recipe for the Corn Days Spaghetti Dinner.

A Place For Love

I came upon a place today
Secluded and serene
A soft space beneath the trees
Where two could be unseen.

The sunlight dappled through the pines
And cast its warmth around
Rusty red, old needles lay
And there was not a sound.

I found myself with you, my love
My mind brought you to stand
Among the grove with me alone
And we were hand in hand.

We sat upon this sacred spot
We talked of hopes and cares
We laughed, we hurt, we cried, we dreamt
As only lovers dare

And closeness came to us today
A unity of two
As time went past, we knew that we
Would be among the few

Who find true love within their lives
The other half complete
The half full glass of love and life
Flows over, is replete.

We kissed a kiss of deep friendship
Of love beneath the pines
And then we went our separate ways
Together, one last time.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

The Dance

He opened his car door and slowly arose
Shook off the age stiffness and
Pushed his glasses up on his nose
Walked very slowly around to her side
Using left hand to steady himself
He opened the door for his bride

She turned in her seat and slowly got out
Her husband's hands guiding her up and about
He stepped back a little, I noticed
As she straightened and fussed
A small wrinkle in her blouse
Her hair a bit mussed
Then they came back together 
And walked with arms hooked
Into the office for appointments they'd booked

My heart fairly leapt with joy at this sight
This tableau of devotion and love burning bright
And I knew, as I realized I'd spilled on my pants,
I had just witnessed the most beautiful dance.

The Promise - Saturday, 3-August-2013

Peace be with you, my son
    I have no words to comfort you
Just know that I am, always was and always will be
    Each of my children is special to me
And you are no different
     You are hurting now and will for awhile longer
But you will come through it
     You will be a better, softer, more loving man 
As a result of this
     You will be more giving and forgiving
You will be kinder and more compassionate
     You will love deeper
You will understand

Monday, August 5, 2013

Dogs Go To Heaven

The past seven years have provided a lot of fun, companionship, affection and love. I am forever grateful for Coco, Hanna, Gracie and Daisy – and, although I did not know her, the memory of Blondie.


Coco (see “Doc’s First Poetry Post” dated Sept. 9, 2009 – titled “For a Brown Dog) liked me from the very moment we met and she trusted me – and I trusted her. A wonderfully gentle giant, she would seek the comfort of the covers at the first peal of thunder.

Her deep throated barks at the bird nests under the deck were a greeting – not a grousing. A proud girl, she was distressed when she could not control her bodily functions as she weakened. We tearfully laid with her on the vet clinic floor as she slipped away and we cried on the way home. Dogs go to heaven.

A couple of years of peaceful life ensued with bicycle rides and an occasional geo cache. What happened to us?

Hanna was her dog – or perhaps better said – she was Hanna’s person. A goofy blonde lab, she was charming in her habits and quirkiness and a mild-mannered lovely girl. Her passing was another afternoon of deep sadness, tears and an emptier house and hearts.

Gracie came into our lives fully grown, black and beautiful with a long, lustrous coat. Her name fit her perfectly. She was grace filled. While she wasn’t with us long, she stole our hearts with her smile and her beautiful eyes.

Again, we sat with her on the floor as she slipped the bonds of her broken body and we cried.

I never met Blondie but I have memories of her. She was loved and I heard the stories and I have seen her photos. She was a rescued dog and then she became a rescuer for the one she loved. Smart, talented and able to play ball with herself. I am sorry I never had the pleasure of her company but she is still in my heart. Dogs go to heaven.

I miss Daisy. She is a good girl and I told her so many times. The consummate athletic dog. If she were human, she would be an Olympic competitor for speed and agility. She is a champion good sport for an 8 year old granddaughter.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

The More Things Change

Today is the 4th of August in the year of our Lord 2013. This marks the 11th month of my 61st year and life is an adventure to be cherished. As I continue on the path set before me, I wonder who I shall meet today. Someone I can smile at or perhaps offer a word of encouragement. This morning, I offered a simple "good job" to a young lady performing her allotted task as the church emptied out and she beamed up at me and said a quiet "thank you." Kindness matters and though I can be a horse's rear end - those who truly know me know that that is not my heart. My heart is kind and I care about others - deeply. It has been quite a while since I have posted anything. That is about to change. The creative muse is strong in me. I have missed her. I welcome her back.