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
of him, you didn't hear -
but I know this, you've read his work,
at least this poem here.

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

And that light now 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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