Toy Guns

we loved toy guns
on christmas morn
the smell of caps
a holster worn

some were shiny
silver or black
injuns or tigers
provided to wack


favored toys
designed to kill
though just in play
a power thrill

we humans sing
let freedom ring
as kids we learned
the gun is king

Christmas Mystery

born to poor
the story goes
a simple man
a simple life

his legend lives
in written word
his thoughts inscribed
for all to hear

and yet a mystery
still endures
though not of powers
long bestowed

more the question
how his church
though wrapped in faith
could lose its soul

and how the men
who preach his word
defend the pain
that they impose

Apology

it seems i heard
in days of youth
of signs observed
of sinful ways

and as i grew
the story gelled
though not betrayed
by godly men

a subtle screen
in silence rose
and you were lost
a banished soul

and still today
the truth obscure
though all aware
of buried guilt

so you alone
must feel the pain
of pious scorn
of love denied

Afghanistan

a distant land of rock and sky
of snow and ice and sun-baked earth
a place unknown before the strike
a place beyond the reach of time

a landscape carved by brutal force
that raised a stoic ruthless tribe
still wary of the outside world
and wed to laws that we decry

a place to hide from civil men
a place to stoke the fire of hate
invaded by an allied force
their legions rise to welcome fate

but can our soldiers offer hope
for what the modern world upholds
or is our war to free this land
a futile cause of death and pain

The Sycamore

it rises high above a stream
near the edge of woods and field
there it stands through wind and rain
through heat and snow and winter chill

from just a seed this tower grew
though many threats have come its way
from browsing deer to insect hordes
the tree endured beyond our days

and throughout life its gifts abound
from summer shade to winter den
its leaves refresh the air we breath
its branches reach to usher in

by spring the songbirds flit about
and flickers drum its hollow wood
in fall the nuthatch circles round
as raptors scout the fields below

in winter's dark the white wood gleams
and seed filled globes adorn its crown
through ice and snow the seeds await
their chance for glory in the sun

Midwest Summer

it comes in waves
by early june
the heavy air
oppressive noon

thunder rolls
a short reprieve
but sun returns
the rain now steam

mowers hum
but birds retreat
the songs of spring
suppressed by heat

as summer wanes
the greens now brown
gold and purples
cloak the ground

when fiddlers sing
and cicadas call
we yearn to feel
the tide of fall

Memorial Day

parades and cookouts
warm sunny skies
swim clubs open
as summer arrives

air shows thrill
speeches and prayers
soldiers march
past cheering crowds

beneath the fields
young bodies rot
their courage praised
their lives denied

and through the years
the cycle runs
more glorious days
more youth in graves

Trail Athletes

many hikers
young and old
pound the trail
to reach a goal

perhaps a summit
yet unscaled
or record time
around the loop

along the way
their senses keen
eyes ahead
muscles taut

most decline
the pleasing views
no explorations
slow their pace

aerobic stress
is what they seek
the woods and fields
a changing blur

as they pass
absorbed in pain
we amblers yield
and mourn their loss

Storm Clouds

to the west
a darkness builds
in boiling rows
of white and gray

a southern wind
has primed the air
before its clash
with rushing chill

soon a flash
of distant heat
inflames this wall
of brooding cloud

and fear erupts
within our souls
born of memory
buried deep

will we survive
the coming storm
or fall beneath
its raging path

Iceland

an ocean isle
of fire born
above a ridge
of spreading sea

beyond the sight
of native soil
a hidden land
of ice and rock

within its core
a fury builds
as molten crust
explodes above

and from this rift
a plume of ash
that flows aloft
to distant shores

and there it chills
the soul of man
for nature gives
and takes as well

Trial of Life

could it be
as many say
that life on earth
is just a game

a fevered trial
to reach our goal
a test of will
to save our soul

that all is done
beneath his gaze
our faith to prove
along the way

oh what a field
on which to play
this complex web
of life and death

to claim that this
is just a stage
denies our place
in nature's realm

Fragrance

the frozen ground
has thawed to mud
the cold dry air
a balmy haze

as spring arrives
a fragrant breeze
of lilac blooms
and winter's kill

across this land
the odors blend
of petals sweet
and ripe decay

for in these weeks
a surge of life
amidst the death
of yester spring

Blessed are the Poor

blessed are the poor
for they shall suffer
they shall face critics
and they shall be silent

blessed are the poor
for they shall rely on hope
they shall seek comfort
and they shall be patient

blessed are the poor
for they shall know hunger
they shall welcome charity
and they shall be grateful

blessed are the poor
for they shall endure pain
they shall receive pity
and they shall feel shame

yes, blessed are the poor
for they shall lean on faith
they shall trust god
and they shall count on heaven

Devil Bones

a clever force
corrupts our soul
finding bones
in layers of rock

giving pause
to wayward minds
deluding them
that man evolved

but faith endures
as science fails
for in our book
the truth is told

beware the men
in reason's grasp
they test our will
they steal our hope

In Praise of Margaret

a mother's face
in common dress
a pleasant voice
in tempered tone

she could stay
to spin her tales
perhaps from towns
across this land

but there she is
in danger's reach
beneath the veil
or armored vest

entrenched in war
amidst the thieves
her presence cool
her stories told

though pompous oafs
from safety rage
her courage yields
a glance at truth

Spring

the thaw begins
and fragrance spreads
a hint of green
where browns had ruled

what falls now soaks
a soup of life
and that which grows
restores the rest

lives begin
while others end
a season of hope
an unbroken chain

The Face of Evil

a vicious foe
ingrained in youth
a ghostly being
of evil born

we fear his voice
from down below
a call to join
his wretched league

for he exists
as villains do
to counter good
to crush our faith

so he and god
in struggle joined
to win our soul
for ever more

this vital war
pervades our life
this image forged
in sharp detail

alas we learn
in reason's light
this war unfolds
within our mind

Great Plains

rolling plains
of muted color
stretch beneath
a deep blue sky

land of wind
and violent weather
sun-drenched days
and star-filled nights

from the tallgrass
to the mountains
northern spruce
to southern pine

once a rich
and flowered prairie
grazed by bison
born of fire

now a realm
of quilted farms
of corn and wheat
and cattle raised

viewed by hawks
and vocal migrants
on their flights
above this land

endless vistas
greet the traveler
distant hills
and painted skies

Guilt

a human trait
this steady pain
questions asked
of choices made

enduring doubt
for what was done
for what could be
for what ignored

an endless wish
to change the past
to have done more
to have said less

some will never
shake its grip
this human vice
this selfish pain

Solitude

though social beings
we need our space
to clear our head
to charge our soul

for in our groups
we are not free
questions posed
attention sought

but some decline
to seek escape
their needs demand
a willing foil

and some condemn
our time alone
as if our needs
degrade their own

a threatened joy
this solitude
as others strive
to make us whole

Would You or God

what would you do
if you were god
with all the might
to change this world

would you stand by
as tyrants reigned
as children died
for lack of food

would you look on
as slaves endured
while armies raped
while tumors raged

would you ignore
the scourge of greed
while others toiled
immersed in shame

no you would not
condone the pain
and one concludes
neither would god

Nostalgia

there comes a time
when all is known
the mysteries solved
our passions tamed

our only goal
to close with grace
as time unfolds
and bodies fail

it's then we dwell
on days of youth
when all was new
and we were free

our memories vague
obscured by time
embellished joy
and buried pain

Celebrities

human gods
walk this earth
adored by those
of lesser means

their talents praised
and faults excused
their privacy lost
in glory's name

rewarded well
for who they are
their lives unfold
in sharp detail

could we survive
without these gods
or must we feed
on their demise

When

when will you leave
as you did before
when all seemed lost
when all went wrong

why do you stay
after all these years
though distant now
as time unfolds

what keeps you here
against my will
haunting my dreams
invading my soul

Winter Guests

if they knew
would they stay
to face the threat
of ice and snow

or would they fly
to warmer climes
as humans do
to soothe our souls

we'll never know
what choice they'd make
since in their lives
no thoughts arise

and so we watch
as they endure
without complaint
in winter's dusk

February

hints of spring
along the ice
a higher sun
brings little heat

patience tried
with spring in sight
but grays still rule
and buds still wait

chill endures
as winter holds
then geese move on
our hope restored

Innocence

a simple time
a place of joy
a second home
immersed in love

roses bloomed
squirrels to feed
beans and mets
and coconut cake

a cheerful voice
a checkered dress
trips downtown
adventure bus

welk and friends
melvin's mock
gramps amidst
his tools and trains

even now
decades hence
I still can hear
her playful game

eenie meenie
minee moe
catch a nigger
by his toe

Haiti

city of dust
city of death
so much lost
so much pain

horrid scenes
before our eyes
they make us see
they entertain

strangers come
from every land
to offer hope
to ease the pain

what can we do
from worlds afar
but share our wealth
and pray in vain

Why

why should I weep
when he left us here
when all that he wanted
came to be
why should it bother me

when his goal in life
was to meet his king
why should I cry

when he believed that life
was a means to the end
why should I grieve

when the lesson learned
was not what he meant
why should I weep
now that he's gone

Tropical Man

born beneath
oppressive sun
across a dry and
hostile land

our bodies built
to manage heat
our minds to stir
a wanderlust

so off we roamed
to distant lands
beyond the range
of our design

creative minds
released our chains
and led to worlds
of ice and snow

and now we miss
our ancient home
when winter chill
invades our soul

After Life

they did not die
they were laid to rest
in grassy fields
where flowers bloom

they did not die
they left this world
for sheltered graves
in earthen wombs

they did not die
they guide us still
from quilted beds
in sturdy rooms

they did not die
they watch us now
with blinded eyes
from cement tombs

they did not die
they just passed on
to gated parks
where flowers bloom

Winter

a biting wind
the crunch of snow
barren trees and
star filled skies

songless birds
the hoot of owls
a southern sun and
the promise of spring