Sunday, June 3, 2007
Bear with me gentle reader
If you're inclined to look,
Or perchance scan these pages
you'll find within this book;
I lack the gift good poets have
That express their thoughts in rhyme,
Or portray mental pictures
That make good poems sublime.
I also lack the talent
That bring good poets success,
But with simple inspiration
I've tried to do my best.
If there's one simple poem
That you'll enjoy and read,
Then I will be rewarded,
And be well paid indeed.
The skilled artisan plys his trade
When making gifts for girls and boys,
The teddy bears and sleeping dolls,
The jumping jack and tinker toys;
And visions of a happy face
He sees when fitting things in place.
At work he often visualize
The noise and clatter Christmas morn,
The scampering feet and whoops of joy,
With din of drums and tooting horn;
With the completion of each toy
He feels a thrill of childlike joy.
Electric trains and spinning tops
Brings joy to many a little lad,
But first he has to wait until
It has been proven by his Dad;
Sprawled on the floor he has real fun
In showing Junior how it's run.
We grown up folks sometimes gives way
To pent-up feeling we retain,
And thinking of our childhood days,
We wish we were a child again
When looking back to days gone by
When we had just some simple toy.
The trees all crystallized they stand,
As if a fairy's magic wand
Transformed them in the silent night,
and left them sprayed in silvery white.
Tall slender saplings once so straight
Bends low beneath the icy weight,
And old king Sol's first morning rays
A dazzling spectacle displays.
White birches stand beside the hill,
they droops beneath the icy chill,
And fallen icicles below
Lies shattered on the crusted snow.
The alders and the willow trees,
Crackle and shimmer in the breeze,
But in the noonday sun's bright glare
Their coats of armour disappear.
Dame Nature with her magic wand
Spreads charm and beauty o'er the land,
But none is more unique and neat
Than trees transformed by frozen sleet.
I always have remembered, tho' it's many years ago
When I would kneel these simple words to pray,
As my Mother morn and evening would recite each
And I'd try to repeat every word she'd say.
"Now I lay be down to sleep", it was just an evening prayer,
Said in simple language children understand;
And methinks the prayers our mothers taught us
Often helps us through,
When we at times do need a guiding hand.
"Make me good Dear Lord I pray,
Keep and guide me through this day",
Just a daily repetition, nothing new,
Yet it is a recollection, little words I
Said each morning and quite often hurried through.
Where ever I have wandered, on the land, or o'er the sea
Some childhood scenes have followed all the way;
And the memories I cherish most was by my
As she first taught me these little prayers to say.
Have you ever watched a batter,
Poised, and with his bat all set,
Filled with eager expectation,
And in keen anticipation
For that home run he may get?
Have you ever been an angler
Casting with your newest flies?
All the art you knew in fishing
You were trying, hoping, wishing
For a speckled beauty prize.
In the spring you'll see a robin
Gleaning straws to build a nest,
She has no idea of quitting,
And in due time she'll be sitting
With her nestlings 'neath her breast.
Life is filled with expectations
At whatever stage it be,
Youth's ambitions and romances,
Planning, scheming, taking chances
In eager expectancy.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Songbirds from the south are winging,
Children's skipping ropes are swinging,
Gurgling brooks are merrily singing,
Spring is everywhere;
O'er the mill-dam water's flowing,
Hark, the farmland cattle's lowing,
And the night winds softly blowing
Whispers "Spring is here".
Cease my soul thy sad repining,
See how bright the sun is shining,
It's no time for peevish whining,
Vernal Spring is here;
Banish all misgivings, doubtings,
See the tiny buds are sprouting,
Soon there'll be the annual outings
To the country fair.
Spring means life and resurrection,
Spring means flowers in true perfection,
Bursting out in each direction;
Fragrant is the air;
Springtime brings us consolation,
Spreading beauty through the nation,
May we each in our vocation
Its full beauties share.
When the early morning sunlight
Sweeps across the towering hills,
And the valleys are resounding
To the waterfalls and rills;
With the fields bedecked with daisies,
And the orchards dressed so rare,
Then we see the Master Workman
When we see the unique pattern
In a leaf or lily bell,
Or some magic work of nature
In the woodland or the dell;
If our eyes detect real beauty,
It is then we'll understand,
that the Master Workman's art is
Unsurpassed by human hand.
Could we climb the highest mountain,
And survey the landscape o'er,
There we'd see the earth's true pattern
As we never saw before;
Lakes and streams, the hills and valleys,
Rolling plains and mountains high,
A panorama of this earth spread out
Beneath an azure sky.
There's no lack of beauty in a
Rainbow's arch suspended high,
Or the tinted clouds at sunset
Midst a flaming western sky;
From the early morning sunlight,
'till the sun sinks in the west,
Morning, noon and night the Master
Workman's art is manifest.
Photo: Albion Falls, Hamilton. Few people are aware that half way between Toronto and Niagara Falls is "The City of Waterfalls" - namely Hamilton. To date 81 waterfalls and cascades have been found within the city boundaries making it possibly the city with the most number of waterfalls in the world for its size of a half million people. Many of these waterfalls can be reached by hiking the Bruce Trail through Hamilton.
It is peaceful in the country
In the early morning haze,
Where young lambs skip and frolic,
And the lowing cattle graze.
The old farm looks so peaceful
With snake fence running through,
And the early morning sunlight
Reflects the sparkling dew.
It is peaceful in the country
"Neath the midnight stars at night,
Ere the morning star arises
To usher in the light.
There the scarecrow and the fairies
Meet for their rendezvous,
'Til the rooster crowing loudly,
Proclaims the night is through.
There is beauty in the country
When nature waves her wand,
When Spring in all it's splendour
Spreads beauty o're the land.
O're hill and dale and valley,
In woodland and the dell,
Creation joins in chorus,
"God created all things well".
I'm thankful for my many friends,
And rightly so,
For in this life so much depends
On friends we know.
I'm thankful for the friends who dwell
Along each street,
And absent friends who wish me well,
But cannot meet.
I'm glad that this old world can still
Boast countless friends,
They are the sowers of goodwill,
May I be worthy of each friend,
Both old and new,
And may success their way attend
Their whole life through.
And when at last life's journey ends,
And day is done,
It's then I hope to meet my friends,
And thank each one.
The popcorn vender is a man
Who needs no special art,
But two strong arms and sturdy legs
He needs to push his cart.
He trudges 'long his daily route
With slow determined pace,
And now and then he halts to wipe
His hot perspiring face.
The children playing near their homes
Observes him on the street,
And with a coin clasped in their hand,
They scampers for their treat.
He serves each one a bag of corn
So crispy, moist and sweet,
And with a smile for every child,
He proceeds along his beat.
The children are his customers,
He never robs or cheats,
At every block the youngsters flock
The popcorn man to greet.
And when the sun has sank to rest,
He homeward wends his way,
And there he rests his aching feet
Until another day.