Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Near, Yet Far 2-10-16


Oh, where has that young child gone?
Where now is that young boy -
the one with cute and chubby cheeks,
the one with eyes of joy?

His eyes were blue and innocent.
His skin was pure and smooth.
Obeyed, he did, his parent's rules.
His heartaches, mom would soothe.

He listened with attentive ears
and he obeyed advice.
Some thought he was a bit naive,
but he was simply nice.

His peers would laugh, make fun of him,
his pants short, second-hand.
His shoes had worn up through the soles
inviting stones and sand.

He often sat in deepest thoughts -
just God and him alone -
discussing unknown future times
that only God had known.

So work, he did, through day and night
with utmost sacrifice.
But forty years was all for naught
and it would not suffice.

His father died, then mother too,
on sad and lonely days.
Her words of comfort vaporized
in many tear-filled ways.

A glimpse of him, I thought I had
inside my soul of gloom -
and moisture filled, again my eyes,
inside my life of doom.

He lived in distant era, so
removed from current time -
I can't go back.  Corruption is
a crass and dirty crime.

If, for a moment, I could fill
his worn-out humble shoes,
I'd long to stay again right there.
I know that's what I'd choose.

I'd seize upon his innocence
before those truths that are -
but I stare into mirror now,
for boy that's near, yet far.

The one with cute and chubby cheeks,
the one with eyes of joy -
oh, where has that young child gone?
Where now, is that young boy?

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, February 6, 2016

Givers & Takers 2-5-16


Inside this world of hate and love
of sour and dessert,
so many 'take' while others 'give'.
with sacrificial hurt.

Some lie to get just what they want.
Some steal and get their way.
And they don't care what we endure
or what we think or say.

Some, out of spiteful, angry hate,
think they are tough with gun.
Some reach the bottom very fast
and murder just for fun.

I see myself and know I'm not
a 'taker' like the rest.
I know that I'm a 'giver' and
I live among the best.

I once had climbed on pedestal
and stood up straight and tall -
but then I saw what Jesus paid
and that He gave His all.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Thursday, January 28, 2016

Penned With Love 1-28-16


Back in a corner, where she hid,
I met a little child, I did.

She was a quiet, fragile child
who never laughed and seldom smiled.

Her eyes were blue, her hair light brown,
but she was hurt and feeling down.

Her clothes were tattered, filled with holes.
like many people and their souls.

I spied her tears when she had cried.
I had not known her mother died.

Her age was eight, or maybe nine.
Her troubles were much more than mine.

I knelt down close to her and said,
"Have you a home?  Have you been fed?"

Despite the crowd that gathered 'round,
our space was quiet - without sound.

I reached deep down in pocket and
I held your poem in my hand.

I opened scrap of paper proud,
then read your poem right out loud.

My eyes became a fuzzy blur.
I know you wrote it just for her.

She reached for me with all her hurt.
I hugged her back, ignoring dirt.

Words can't replace a bed and food
but fills with joy, the attitude.

I haven't seen her for awhile,
but know your poem made her smile.

Though some write many, some write few.
We've penned with love our words to view.
So write your rhymes unselfishly
with kindness, care and empathy.
And don't be hurt when I'm away
out sharing poems day to day.
Much better than some silly toy,
your words, for some, give real joy.

Back in a corner, where she hid,
I met a little child, I did...

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, January 16, 2016

My Old Hometown Church 1-16-16


There's something that perplexes me
as I, my mem'ries, search,
right here among familiar pews
in my old hometown church.

It's been so many decades now
since I have been around.
Those many years have faded fast
with oh, so little sound.

I sit a-spell and reminisce
in silence that remains,
from walnut pulpit up in front
to stained glass window panes.

The cross behind the pulpit hints
a show of halo's glow.
It seems to be inviting me.
There's much I still don't know.

My eyes drop down in front of me
upon a hymnal book.
I hesitate and ponder some
before I take a look.

Those tunes and words come quickly as
my sorry psyche swims
to words of His "Amazing Grace"
and more familiar hymns.

Familiar are both floor and walls.
Familiar are the lights.
Reflecting back to faces though,
my deepened grief ignites.

So many friends I cannot see.
They've moved or passed away.
No, time and change are not my friends!
How did I go astray?

How many times can God convict
me of my wicked ways?
How many times did I pretend
and did not give God praise?

I crave and plead that time turns back.
It rips my insides out!
It makes me blame somebody else.
It makes me want to shout.

There's something deep down in my gut
that I can't sanitize.
Confession comes, repentance looms
with something in my eyes...

As I stare squarely at myself -
and you know how it goes -
the lightning strikes and thunder roars
as levee overflows.,,

But lonely tears are wiped away,
for love will always be,
as grace holds all of Heaven up
throughout eternity.

My long, sad tears dry from my cheeks
as I, my mem'ries, search,
right here among familiar pews
in my old hometown church.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Sunday, January 10, 2016

From One Hundred Word 1-10-16


The picture, envisioned from one hundred word
was written with rhymes in a poem then heard,
by one lonely soul who was starving for love
from having no knowledge of God up above.

And then came another, another one too,
until it was heard by much more than a few.
When multitudes heard it, they had ne'er a choice
but hear His soft whisper, His Heavenly voice.

Unknown was the one who had written that poem
so others could hear of our Father and know Him.
And all because one little poem was heard -
and picture, envisioned from one hundred word.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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(note:  there are one hundred words in the poem above)

Friday, January 1, 2016

Of Rocks & Truths 1-1-16


The rolling seas will rise and fall.
They call to one and all.
The waves will splash, forevermore,
those giant rocks on shore.

Emotions thoughts will come and go.
They ever tempt us so.
But lies still fail to even prod
those solid truths of God.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, December 26, 2015

The Old and Lonely Poet 12-26-15


On edge of arid desert set
a trailer aged in rust
with tires flattened long ago
and covered thick with dust.
A friend I'd known for many years
had lived alone inside -
and if his lamp was burning, then
I knew he hadn't died.

The lamp seemed always to be lit
but never did complain.
Then sure enough, I saw him there
through dirty window pane.
The Great Depression hurt him so.
I saw it in that place.
I saw it in his lonely words.
I saw it in his face.

The mental stress that he went through
was far too much to bear -
and would have been for anyone
if they were sitting there.
But they were not.  Just he alone
survived his great ordeal.
And his reward?  An empty can,
a cold and meager meal.

The old man couldn't hear too good.
The years had quickly passed -
so catching his attention, I
tapped loudly on the glass.
It seemed to take forever, but
he made it to the door.
Black cobwebs hung from corners and -
newspapers hid the floor.

He greeted me with friendly eyes,
skin wrinkled deep from sun.
He made me feel welcome, though
his work was never done.
I visited for quite awhile
as he kept at his rhymes.
He changed his thoughts, his lines, his words
at least a thousand times.

I said, "It must be good enough."
Replied he, "Not at all.
It doesn't capture God's great love.
This needs an overhaul.
For God is love and God is grace
in absolute perfection -
so how can I write something less
to add to this collection?

"This poetry I write for God
must always be perfected -
or basket, full of waste, is filled
with poems I've rejected."
I fell asleep while sitting there.
I woke at 3 AM
and heard him mumble something like,
"...to change the hearts of them."

Observed, I did, his wise old ways.
I'd learned all that I could -
but never measured up to him -
my writing, not as good.
I saw his great intensity.
I stayed with him for days.
I watched his sacrificial work
I saw his humble ways.

He strove to write in perfect words,
expressing his rare love
for all of those who'd done him harm
from politics above.
Forgiving them of evil deeds
had given him such peace -
that each and ev'ry word he wrote
became a masterpiece.

Though sometimes folks still speak of him,
he never set his goals -
to elevate his unknown name -
but rather save the souls -
through writings that should touch the hearts
of other eager men -
who draw attention to themselves
through selfish, prideful sin.

I once decided to return -
to visit one last time.
The old and lonely poet, though,
had written his last rhyme.
The years have passed.  Such great respect
I had for that old man.
Could I improve my poetry
for God?  He proved I can!

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Sunday, December 20, 2015

Christmas Snow 12-20-15


When I was just a little lad
I heard my mother say,
"There's nothing like a Christmas snow
that falls on Christmas day."

And so one Christmas morning I
was curious to know -
if lawn would still be grassy green
or covered up with snow.

My room was dark.  My bed was warm.
Some sleep was in my eyes.
But hurried, I, to fin'lly see
my Christmas snow surprise!

I threw my blanket off my bed
and slid off to the floor.
It still was dark - so ran into
my dresser's open drawer.

I didn't cuss, but threw a fit -
and then I hurt my shin.
My attitude was sinking as
I slammed the drawer back in.

I raced up to my window where
I'd peek outside to see -
if God had sent a Christmas snow
especially for me.

I threw the curtains to the sides -
I guess a bit too hard -
because the falling curtain rod
had caught me there off-guard.

My arm still hurt from dresser drawer,
my head from curtain rod.
And when I saw no Christmas snow
I blamed both mom and God.

It seemed I didn't matter and -
God had no longer cared.
So feeling sorry for myself -
I, out the window, stared.

All morning long, I trudged along
and dragged my little feet.
It seemed that Christmas, once again,
would turn out incomplete.

My sentiment and attitude
was not a gentleman's.
The tantrums I had Christmas day
had dwarfed all other ones.

I wasted more than half that day
before mom called to me -
and said, "Come quickly.  Look at this.
There's something you should see."

To my surprise, from up above
and falling from the sky -
a Christmas snow proved God loves me,
...but now I'm not sure why.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, December 12, 2015

From Across the Lake 12-12-15


The cabin built with sturdy logs
(that firmly stood awake)
was nestled snugly in the trees
beside this quiet lake.

A dim and amber light shone out
to greet the lonely eye -
reflecting off this tiny lake
here under cloudy sky.

Through window pane, that sorry lamp -
far off on other side -
had shone from on a tabletop
with unseen chair beside.

And faithful chair supported all
the poet's ev'ry task.
Yet that old chair is empty now,
"but why?" you maybe ask.

You wonder who that poet is
or why he is away.
You wonder if he writes at night
or all throughout the day.

But when he comes, the chair again
will groan under his weight.
And over many months and years,
his work will rhymes create.

Now you might think and may conclude
that you don't know of him.
But I know this - you've read his work -
at least one petty poem.

A glow begins to pour across
the sky in loving fun..
It reaches out so wide and far
with nearing of the sun.

Another light reflects off of
a paper holding rhyme -
and calls me from across the lake.
I guess it's about time...

©2015 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, December 5, 2015

A Snowflake 12-05-15


Born high inside a winter cloud,
a snowflake I became.
A snowflake small, defenseless and
too poor to have a name.
I opened up my naive eyes.
I had so much to learn,
but did not know the truth of life
or which way I should turn.

I was content with floating free -
as free as any bird,
until some other flakes whizzed by
and shocked me as I heard;
"Get out of here you stupid flake!
You're in our treasured world.
We're here to make a winter storm."
With that, they whipped and swirled.

Impeding them, they elbowed me.
My world turned up-side-down.
The wind was stiff and tossed me too
above a country town.
My glimpse at Christmas lights was brief
and couldn't be expressed -
as more flakes shoved me to the side
and wouldn't let me rest.

I wanted calm serenity,
but this is what they'd say;
"You bother us!  Get out of here!"
You're always in our way!"
They pushed and shoved and shoved and pushed.
I found it most appalling.
...And none of them had realized
that all of us were falling...

I saw a 'V' formation of
some southern flying geese.
If only I could hitch a ride -
then maybe I'd have peace...
I'd cherish, under tall palm trees,
the warming breezes felt.
But, if indeed, they're flying south,
I wondered, would I melt?

This life can be so burdensome,
this world so turbulent.
I prayed, "God, give me peace and rest"
as I made my descent.
I hovered over roadway where
I thought I'd safely land.
But then came two huge semi-trucks
that didn't understand.

The world had thrown me yet again.
My life became a blur!
But then I slowed and settled on
a Colorado fir.
And where were those insulting me?
It really was profound.
They melted under tire tracks
from traffic eastward bound.

High status, they had fought for but -
their efforts now have ended.
They said that I offended them.
I wished that they had listened.
They elbowed all their way through life -
for more space in the air.
But tell me, was it worth it all?
What did it matter there?

Retired now, I think of things
for which I am not proud -
and all the selfish thoughts I had
since falling from that cloud.
I think of times I prayed to God
and thought He didn't listen.
But Christmas lights around the town,
across the snow, now glisten...

©2015 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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