A Poem Worth Reading!

A POEM WORTH READING

And sharing!
(Author unknown)


He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion,
Telling stories of the past.


Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.


And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his buddies listened quietly
For they knew whereof he spoke.


But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For old Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.


He won t be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.


He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.


When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.


Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.


Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Someone who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?


Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?


The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.


While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.


It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.


Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?


Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end?


He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.


For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.


If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days.


Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."

'Twas the Night of Thanksgiving . . .

Twas the night of Thanksgiving and out of the house
Tiger Woods he came flying, chased by his spouse.
She wielded a nine iron and wasn’t too merry,
Because a bimbo’s phone number she found on his blackberry.

He’d been cheating on poor little Elin,
And as each day went by another whore came out a squealin'.
He’d been on Holly, on Jaimee, on Rachel, on Cori,
On Joselyn, and Kalika, TMZ had the story.

From the top of the world to above the fold,
Tiger’s ever more sordid tale, it was told.
With hostesses, waitresses, he had lots of sex,
And when he wasn’t hosing them, he sent them hot texts.

He crashed his Caddy, but didn’t call OnStar,
Yet he played “spank me daddy” with a skanky old porn star.
He’s been naughty, so with Santa he hasn’t a chance,
Except the big lump of coal like the lump in his pants.

But despite all his crying and begging and a pleadin',
Tiger’s wife went right out, bought a new home in Sweden.
And I heard her exclaim as she packed up the Escalade,
If you’re going to get laid, then I’m going to get paid.

Now she’s not pouting, in fact she’s of good cheer,
Because her prenup made Christmas come early this year.

"The Christians and the Pagans"

By Dar Williams

Amber called her Uncle, said “We’re up here for the holiday,
Jane and I were having Solstice, and we need a place to stay.”
And her Christ-loving Uncle watched his wife hang Mary on a tree,
He watched his son hang candy canes all made with red dye number three
He told his niece, “It’s Christmas eve, I know our life is not your style.”
She said, “Christmas is like Solstice, and we miss you and it’s been awhile.”

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their Gods and goddesses.

The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch
Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, “Is it true that you’re a witch?”
His mom jumped up and said, “The pies are burning,” and she hit the kitchen
And it was Jane who spoke and said, “It’s true, your cousin’s not a Christian”
“But we love trees we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere”

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And where does magic come from, I think magic’s in the learning
Cause now when Christians sit with Pagans only pumpkin pies are burning.

When Amber tried to do the dishes, her Aunt said, “Really, no, don’t bother”
Amber’s Uncle saw how Amber looked like Tim and a lot like her Father
He thought about his brother, how they hadn’t spoken in a year
He thought he’d call him up and say, “It’s Xmas and your daughter’s here”
He thought of fathers, sons and brothers, saw his own son tug his sleeve
Saying, “Can I be a Pagan?” Dad said, “We’ll discuss it when they leave”

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old,
And making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold.

A Solstice Tribute

Oh, stirring star of solstice time.
Your radiant hours are few.
You turn and strike the New Years chime,
We owe our lives to you.

These darkest days of Winter,
We miss your warming rays;
But every year this hemisphere
Returns to brighter days

Since olden days the human race
Has feared your warmth would die?
The evergreen is ever seen
As hope we will survive.

Oh, ancient drums stop beating,
And superstitions fall.
It’s time for reason’s greetings.
For PEACE, goodwill to all.

"Gentle Arms Of Eden" by Tracy Grammer and Dave Carter

On a sleepy endless ocean when the world lay in a dream
There was rhythm in the splash and roll, but not a voice to sing
So the moon shone on the breakers and the morning warmed the waves
Till a single cell did jump and hum for joy as though to say;

This is my home, this is my only home
This is the only sacred ground that I have ever known
And should I stray in the dark night alone
Rock me goddess, in the gentle arms of eden.

Then the day shone bright and rounder til the one turned into two
And the two into ten thousand things, and old things into new
And on some virgin beach head one lonesome critter crawled
And he looked about and shouted out in his most astonished drawl.

This is my home ... (Refrain)

Then all the sky was buzzin' and the ground was carpet green
And the wary children of the wood went dancin' in between
And the people sang rejoicing when the field was glad with grain
This song of celebration from their cities on the plain.

This is my home ... (Refrain)

Now there's smoke across the harbor, and there's factories on the shore
And the world is ill with greed and will and enterprise of war
But I will lay my burden in the cradle of your grace
And the shining beaches of your love and the sea of your embrace.

This is my home ... (Refrain)

Life's Short

LIFE’S SHORT, CAN’T WAIT, GOTTA GO, TOO LATE.
IN’NA HURRY, HURRY UP, DON’T QUIT, SHUT UP!
FOLLOW ORDERS, WHAT’S WRONG, TIME OUT, TO LONG.
STAY STILL, IN’NA MINUTE, LOVE’S BLIND, WIN’NA PENNANT


NOT NOW!

LIFE’S SHORT!
TOO SHORT!
DAMN IT ALL!
DON’T STALL!

DON’T LISTEN . . .
LISTEN!
YOUR CHOICE,
LIFE’S SHORT!

A Far Better Place . . .

As has been said about so many
And will be for ourselves I’m sure.
She’s in a far better place now
Than she’s ever been before.

We go through life a struttin’
Proud of what we’ve done.
Now here we are a strugglin’
With no place to hide or run.

Our bodies started falling apart
Oh, a long time ago.
At first we thought it would go away
We’d just have to take it slow.

Now we realize t’was the start of a process
Of which we’d only read.
Too bad at the other end
We only end up dead.

But you have to stop and cogitate
And let your mind revive.
You could get old, forgetful, and feeble
And still remain alive.

So don’t wish for yourself or others
A life so very long.
Unless you wish also for
A mind that’ll remain strong.

More Poetry from Pam Phillips . . .

AND WE GRIEVE

The names scroll ghostlike up the stadium wall
And we grieve
And some of us cry for lost love or lost innocence
Or lost illusions of safety.
And some lash out to reclaim what was never ours:
The absolute power over our fate,
Absolute knowledge of right and wrong,
With the certainty of those who have never
Asked too many questions
Or thought too deeply
Or known how much they don't know
And how much we can never know.

The real answers aren't easy enough,
Don't make us feel enough better than everyone else,
Don't win elections or legitimize phony ones.
Understanding is indecisive, compassion weak;
We shield ourselves with ignorance and call it morality.
Hold a hero's hand and rattle sabers;
Declare war on anyone who gets in the way
Of the swagger of the world's top dog,
Top gun, top preacher,
And be morally outraged at all
Who beg to disagree.

Poetry by My Friend Pam Phillips . . .

NEWSPEAK

"Clear water" policies dump mountaintops into creeks,
turn them to slurries;
"Homeland" spies turn on citizens
While real spies are outed in revenge.
Military defense makes havens for terrorism
And provokes guerrilla war.
Newspeak lives: tyranny is freedom,
Deficit-building is balanced budgeting,
Gifts to the rich aid the poor.
Starving the states saves their people,
Program cuts increase aid,
Belligerence demonstrates compassion,
Pettiness shows greatness.
Stolen elections make mandates and
Liars deserve unquestioned loyalty.

Lying is truth.
The President is king.
Politics is justice.

Never Satisfied

The homeless man, who must live in a tent,
he longs for even a shack to rent, and
a leaky roof just over his head,
Maybe a cot, or even a bed.

The man, who lives in a rented shack, says,
“If I e’er get out, I’ll ne’er be back.”
He wants a cabin, whose roof don’t leak.
Maybe then, life won’t be so bleak.

The man whose cabin is way too little,
hasn’t the room to dance and to fiddle.
He needs more room just to do his thing,
And besides, she’s expecting this Spring.

The man, who lives in a nice sized house,
has lots of room for a family and spouse.
‘e wants to live out, ‘way from the city,
but can’t find farm or ranch . . . a pity.

The man who grows corn, way out on his farm,
views retirement with a bit of alarm.
A farm’s no place to lie by the fire.
We’ll need a big house just to retire.

The man in the mansion has lots of time,
drinks rum and Coke with a squeeze of lime.
Three weeks of leisure each Summer is spent,
camping . . . fishing . . . all in a big tent.