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    Monday, September 29th, 2014
    9:16 am
    A Question of Time
    Question of Time, Ecc3
    The question that is asked the most: we hear it every day,
    "What time is it?", they want to know, and then they go away.
    It's time for bed or time for work or time to feed the fishes,
    It's time to take your medicine, or wash and dry the dishes.

    Time in seconds, time in hours, so many freckles past a hair,
    Depending on the Zone, or whether Daylight Saving's there.
    Time is measured many ways, from minutes to the months,
    Time is what keeps everything from happening at once!

    A time to live, a time to die, a time for having fun,
    Clocks and calendars alike, all scheduled by the sun.
    Intervals that can't be hurried, will not be denied,
    A season that we know is coming, as surely as the tide.

    If there ever comes a time when time will be no more,
    I wonder how we'll know to quit, or when it was before.
    Do we hurry? Do we loaf? It depends upon the time...
    Had we started earlier, we'd be finished with this rhyme.
    Thursday, August 14th, 2014
    2:37 pm

    I too, am subject to her fantasies
    Flinging things around,
    Leaving in their wake impediments of gloom.

    I too, am subject to her frowns
    And paralyzing tides
    Clattering chaotic in their underwater shelves.

    I too am subject to her cries -- those waves
    Of night that unify her thoughts,
    Those ground swells of death

    And scenes of twisted light
    The gray goddess weaves
    And furiously imparts into her mind!
    Sunday, August 10th, 2014
    11:24 am
    Tuesday, April 15th, 2014
    2:01 pm
    Letting Go
    Living life to the full on the slippery bank,
    Excitement and danger like a tiger in the tank!
    The adrenalin full flowing, the wind in your face,
    Try anything once, and don't let up the pace..
    On a gut wrenching high, always out on the town,
    But knowing for sure what goes up must come down.

    When your candle of yearning is lit at both ends
    and you earnestly struggle at making amends..
    To regain control of your life and your fate
    To vomit forever what looked good on the plate.
    You find out the monkey for sure isn't frail,
    And the part of the tiger you have is the tail!
    Saturday, April 12th, 2014
    9:15 pm
    History/Herstory (Poem)


    Passe-Partout(if history were written on rings of trees)

    If the rings of trees could write or speak the past and history

         Of the proud and the meek

         Of the strong and the weak

                History would not be written by the victor

    It would be written by a just passé-partout of earths earliest ancestors

         For the rings of trees

                Would hold skeleton keys

                       To the many locked tomes

                             Of history

         For the rings of trees would be like a picture frame

                Framing in

                       Like a carpenter

                             The building that houses

                                    The gallery

                             Of veracious paintings and delineations of old antiquity

         For the rings of trees would become the paper for this very purpose

                The true account of herstory

                       Unfettered by consciousness

                             And chauvinism and bellicism

                             And preconception and illiberality

    1:43 pm
    Differences (Poem)


    Difference Is Not Damning

    The tree stands out among a background of evergreens

          Its branches barren

          Till the coming of spring

    Some would look upon this tree as worthless

          For it does hold the beauty of leaves

                 Tell that to the birds

                 And the chipmunks

                 And the squirrels

                        Who reside in is form

    Too often

          In the human world

                 Very much different than the natural world

          Difference and standing out against the backdrop of glib commonality

                 Is seen as worthless

                        Or even dangerous

    What if the roles were reversed?

    What if it was a lone evergreen against a backdrop of barren trees?

    It would be the outcast

          Like the lone Goth kid

                 Against the backdrop of their

                        American Family

    Or for that matter

          The lone business college graduate

                 Suit and tie in all

                        Against the backdrop

                               Of his flower-power parents

    Difference is not damning

    Difference is beautiful

    Because in a room of two

          Both are different

          If they are not the same

    Friday, April 11th, 2014
    7:30 am
    Rite Writing
    The fiery finger of GOD wrote The Law
    in the tablets of stone,
    And once a year the blood of a goat
    did for their sin atone.

    That Old Covenant they had was for
    the purpose of teaching a lesson,
    and now we have a better deal,
    'cause the blood is real,
    and we're no longer guessin'!

    The gentle finger of Jesus wrote the
    Law of Love in the dust on the ground.
    His forgiveness of the woman adulteress
    was an act of this truth so profound.

    He was the one who became the goat for us,
    and also the ram in the thicket..
    He is the Lamb that covers our sin,
    and gives righteousness to the wicked.

    The literal truth comes first,
    and leads to the abstract truth of the poet,
    And the things recorded in His Book
    have a deeper meaning: Don't you know it?

    It may not be just what you think,
    because the language was once confounded,
    But it will surely enlighten your eyes,
    if your brain hasn't been impounded.
    Thursday, April 10th, 2014
    11:35 pm
    Happy for Individuality (Poem)


    Day #34-Individuality

    Pink and white

         Western sakura blossoms of spring

    Branches and blossoms hanging down

         Pointing to the earth

                Through gravity

                       Like wedded rain falling from invisible clouds

    The vastitude of all the metal framed forests

         In all the misnomered commonwealth's of capitalism

                Pale in comparison to the beauty of this single tree

                       Whose white blossoms

                              Like snowflakes

                       Are a multitude of color in comparison to the pale of the cities

    This single tree and its unique artistry is easily over looked

         In the hustle of factory lives

                Like the individual beauty of a person is lost to the urbanization of                  


                       Conventional vacuity

    12:46 pm
    Brain Train
    Brain Train by Bob Smith of Foreman AR

    It doesn't have to use big words or veiled innuendo,
    Nor does it have to meter up enlightening crescendo.
    But poetry should teach, or pose premeditated thought,
    Making clear with words so dear, what everybody ought.

    The lines don't have to be so long, but when it's just a dabble,
    My train comes to a Crossword and turns into a Scrabble.
    It doesn't have to use clichès, like "Beauty is as Beauty does",
    But the eye of the beholder shouldn't always fill with fuzz.

    It doesn't really have to have a punch-line or a grabber,
    but poetry that doesn't rhyme has a tendency to blabber.
    Even so, Poetic License is like the exception to the rule,
    The fun of saying it diversely is our most portentous tool!

    The subject of the rhyme is like a trip from here to there,
    Hopefully the journey doesn't leave you in the air.
    Of course when it leaves you laughing, you'll probably be back..
    To say the poem o'er again, and get the train back on the track.
    Monday, April 7th, 2014
    10:43 pm
    Alone with Depression (Poem)

    Widow Willow

    A lone
                 Tree exists in the dark ground
    Surrounded by
                 Luscious grass

    It is sullen
          For it appears as a willow
                 Two L’s
                 Replace a D
                        And the sullen nature is seen with a human face
                               In deep sadness at the loss of her life partner
                               Estranged now from the wholeness of her mate

    So often the lonely and destitute are left alone
          Even in a luscious life of green
                 Many colors of happy beauty we perceive from the outside
                 The lone widow willow is left in their loneliness
    All the beauty around them is achromic
          This is the power of depression
          This is what to fight

    For depression is not cured by desert oasis
          Beautiful and plentiful
                 It is still isolated by the sands of ignorance

    For the lone trees
          Plant yourself around them
                 Not intertwined in interaction
          Just plant yourself so that you are there
                 And they are no longer alone
    10:40 pm
    Introspection about Nature (Poem)

    Stand a Mile In Their Roots

    The dense forest stands before
          I stand amidst and in front at the same time
    No trodden path of previous wanderers
          The trees are the only natural residents of this land

    The trees stand together
          Far apart or close
    They are together in this colorful growth

    They stand there together
          Performing their photosynthesis
                 Expelling the achromic oxygen
                 And ingesting carbon dioxide that we eminate

    We stand with them as symbiotic neighbors
          Surviving on each other’s gifts of air
    Yet with the urbanization of cities
          These forests with trees will be mere history in the future

    If the roles were reversed
          Would the trees lose us to the annals of their history?
                 Written on our skins
    5:53 pm
    Tree of Degrees
    Tree of Degrees by Bob Smith of Foreman

    Little by little we take the land,
    Wondering how to understand.
    Babes and youth and adults too,
    Forks of life are sorting through.
    Chewing the cud of what it means,
    Swallowing knowledge like turnip greens.

    Little by little we grow and store
    How two and two add up to four.
    Digesting all the relevant fact,
    Trying to keep the train on track.
    Washing down the bread with wine,
    Brings elation every time!

    Step by step the tree is bent,
    Shaped by learning's pure cement.
    Inclined up to the higher ground,
    Washed ashore by Thinking's Sound.
    Adding branches; some with fruit,
    Settling down and taking root.

    In time a haven for views to nest,
    Little by Little comes the Rest..
    Storms have altered our physique,
    and by degrees we grow antique.
    So we who once were just a seed,
    Have now become a different breed!
    Thursday, April 3rd, 2014
    6:36 pm
    Daily Stress (Poem)

    Trees and Daily Life

    A lone tree on the horizon
          At the forefront of ta grey cloud saturated sky
                 A lamppost at the forefront of that
                        Taller than the tree only because perception dictates

    Both stand as monuments of stalwart perseverance through daily standard weather and wear
    Overtime the lamppost will die a lifeless death

    The tree will remain a symbol to take what the world gives
          And remain standing
          Even when rain and wind bedash its trunk
                 It remains
                        Only to be toppled by man-made influence
                               Or calamitous nature patterns

    Take the daily ordeals of life as a tree
    Wednesday, April 2nd, 2014
    9:34 pm
    Happyness and Trees (Poem)
    Day #26-Learning From Trees

    A tree
                Leaning like the Tower of Pisa
    All visual data suggests instability
                But the roots are deep and strong
                There is still much life in its trunk
                            And limbs
                            And leaves
    I like trees
    Forever ambiverted
                Stoic and isolated
                Or in the fray of a forest
                            Intertwined with its brothers and sisters
    They can be stoic and still at times
                Statues created by Mother Nature’s sculpting hand
                            Existing longer than the statues of man
                            Eating through rock
                                        And steel
                            Sustained by only a little water
                                        And a little sun
                                        Self sufficient

    We can learn from trees how to be more life sustaining

    Or they can be wild and free at other times
    Resurging after a destructive fire
    Or a destructive axe                 
                Becoming fuel for natures fires
                            And man’s fires

    Wild to our imaginations
                The branches becoming nightmare hands in the dark of a black forest
    Wild in growth
                No controlling influence telling it where
                            And how to grow

    We can learn from the trees how to be more independent
                And less controlling

    We can learn from trees
    Tuesday, April 1st, 2014
    9:33 pm
    2 Metaphors (Poem)

    Hanging Empty

    A broken bird feeder hangs crookedly from a barren tree
    Red with clear plastic
                 Picked clean or dumped out
                        Taken for what it’s worth
                 Leaving it to hang in silence

    The image is sullen and sad
          So similar to how many of us treat others
                 Even occasionally
                 Even without sociopathic intent

    The red and clear bird feeder hangs
          Swaying in the light breeze
                 That refreshes the lungs of you or I
                 But leaving the emptiness of the vessel more apparent
                        For the weightlessness of the plastic container allows for greater manipulation by the wind
                        And for the pull of gravity to be weakened

    The truth in metaphor reminds that the empty void of the soul in loneliness and affray
          Opens the vitality of a restful mind to greater
                        And manipulation by the winds
                               And gravity
                               And a capriccio of time
    Saturday, November 2nd, 2013
    3:42 pm
    Ducks in a Row..

    Ducks in a Row - 2Cor11:19 

    To suffer fools gladly is a daunting endeavor,
     And I surely won't do it for long or forever..
     A mistake now and then, or occasional lapse,
     Is human, but keeping it up is for saps!

    Everything in its place, and a place for all things..
     Not knowing the Word(s) is what laziness brings!
     Whether giving directions, or singing the song,
    Not knowing the Truth is emphatically wrong!

    The climb up the Mountain of Learning is tough,
     and the slide down the Valley of Error is rough..
    But unless you perspire at least eighty per cent,
     Sound thinking is just what you gave up for Lent!

    The computer goes tilt when the info is wrong
     and if you're off key it just ruins the song.
     The Mountain of Logic will certainly grow..
     But for sure you must have your ducks in a row!

    Sunday, October 27th, 2013
    10:54 pm
    Little Bean

    Something grows inside of me.

    I've read all the books

    They tell me how at 10 weeks it now looks.

    The size of my thumb

    It's not longer than a piece of gum.

    30 more weeks a baby you'll be.

    I shall become a mommy when this being comes out of me.

    What will I do if something goes wrong?

    What if my body won't alow me to carry you for so long?

    I worry constantly over this little bean like thing.

    I have hopes of holding it live and healthy to which I cling.

    I'm unhealthy and sick and ill.

    What if I can't ever carry you despite all my good will?

    If this little bean dies inside of me, so shall I this I know.

    If this tiny baby dies, from this world I shall also go.

    If you sweet child die,

    So must I.

    For thumb sized or no,

    Already I love you so.

    Sunday, October 20th, 2013
    3:52 pm
    A Little Poison..

        Just a little poison in a pot that once was clean

    Is like a broken piston in a modern day machine.

    Instead of running smoothly, it will not fly at all!

    It violates the flagpole, or drives you up the wall.

        Just a little poison in a pot without a crack

    is like misinformation in a sacred almanac..

    Separating truth from fiction isn't all that easy..

    Wheat & chaff dividing takes place where it is breezy.

        Just a little poison in a pot that doesn't leak,

    is like without a paddle when you're up the muddy creek..

    Like the fox that's in the coop, or the fly that's in the soup,

    Is the lack of knowledge in degrees from Aesop's College.

       Just a little poison in a pot we've grown to trust

    Is like a little leaven in a loaf without a crust..

    Unless you change the leaven, You've surely sealed your fate,

    But then you have to eat it all; Be sure to lick the plate!


    12:26 am
    Death, your method.

    Hello inmates welcome to your cells.

    Your heads' buried in the sand,

    Incapacitated by your own actions and very own hands.

    Welcome to your personally made hells.

    I'm sure we'll get to know you all here very well.

    Next cell to your right a crackhead sold her own daughter


    Forced sex for her cocaine, it seemed a good barter.

    She owes the dealer too much money and

    her sex won't pay his bills, honey.

    He'll shoot her in the head.

    She'll make a point to his other slaves to pay up once she's found dead.

    And to your left don't worry about him, the blue man they've already tried to resuscitate,

    we suppose here that, that booze and handful of pills to take him down was his predestined fate.

    Across the hall there's a girl who's pulled out her own feeding tube and I.V.

    It's because at 81 pounds she's still so very fat don't you see?

    Beside her another girl, don't worry about.

    She shoved her finger down her throat too many times, finally her esophagus ruptured and heart gave out.

    Don't scream, shout, cry, or pout.

    You joined our club willingly didn't you know death is all we are about?

    There's a teenaged boy down the hall other direction going nowhere better.

    Blood stains the sleeves of his sweater.

    We take turns betting how long it'll be 'til he finally gets it right

    I lost.

    I thought he would have gotten that bleed out artery before last night.

    Do you smell the burning hair and skin?

    A husband blew his cell up making crank in the bathroom.

    Take a bet on the crackhead, girl or boy?

    You might win.

    It'll matter not your soul and life are already ours.

    You've already been.

    There's no negotiations, no bail.

    This is life until death.

    Not a short term jail.

    We're already taking numbers gambling on your own last breath.

    Just waiting to take you to your own death...

    It might have been just the first time you stuck that dope filled needle in

    your arm, thinking to cause no harm this very day.

    Tonight you might have driven home safely drunk with no crashes on your journey's way.

    You might have just had one hit of that crack with your friend, unknowingly starting your end.

    You might have lost just a few pounds a little too fast.

    It matters not. Your life will soon be past.

    It might have been your first time this very day.

    This matters not to us we'll first take your soul and then your life eventually anyway.

    We've fooled brave men much more intelligent than you many times before.

    Words spoken could never be more true.

    Honey, there's only one thing you might can do.

    Start digging your way out as fast as you can if you're not too deep already.

    Never look back.

    When you stop forgetting to fear us, that's when we will attack.

    This is your last chance.

    Get out now if you can.

    Otherwise, it is until death we shall dance.

    It's not a long duet, a very short dance indeed.

    You've already planted seeds to a parasitic weed.

    Run, Run, Run as fast as you can.

    But if you're not fast and properly scared we shall catch you again.

    You see, we are the method man.

    The fallen angel.

    The prince of the earth.

    And with us if you can't escape you'll soon smolder in the bottom of our hearth.

    Make your choices wisely and give them lots of thought.

    You won't be very difficult.

    We've got you already mostly caught.

    Monday, September 16th, 2013
    8:33 am

    Sailing. 1Tim1:19, Jn6:21

    If the storms of life have rocked your boat
     and turned you all but loose,
     And you're upset and mad at those
     who've helped to cook your goose..
     Remember you're a vessel too
     Don't get shipwrecked in your mind,
    Listen to some sound advice,
     and to your ears be kind.

    Your boat won't sink or even founder
     If the Lord is there with you..
     And you can choose!..He won't refuse
     to join your motley crew..
     The minute Peace gets in the boat,
     you'll be on the Other Side..
     Your sails of fortune soon will fill,
     So you'll enjoy the ride!

    John 6:21 tells us "they willingly received [Jesus] into the ship; and immediately the ship was at the land whither they went."  Can't you just picture the rooster-tail on that ship! 

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