Sunday, November 27, 2016

A Great Big Heart 11-27-16


Here sitting on an old park bench,
I watched the folks walk by.
They scurried here and scurried there
for something else to buy.

Surrounded by bright colored lights
were reindeer and a sleigh.
I saw a girl searching 'round
and this I heard her say,

"I can't find Jesus anywhere.
The stable's not in view.
The shepherds should be somewhere here.
The wise men should be too.

"Where is Christmas?  Where is Christmas?"
she came to me and asked.
To answer her great question seemed
a hopeless, futile task.

I thought awhile before reply.
I hoped it would suffice.
I felt so dumb and speechless but
I offered this advice.

"You know that Christmas isn't Santa,
nor presents under tree.
It isn't fancy colored lights
nor anything we see.

"You can't find Christmas in the mall
or here along the street.
And Christmas isn't green or red.
All that is just deceit.

"Impressed, I am, how smart you are.
You question everything.
I'm glad you know of Jesus' birth
and why the church bells ring.

"No, Christmas isn't what they think
and these folks must admit -
if Christmas isn't in their hearts,
they'll simply never find it."

She stood there quiet for a bit,
then turned and walked away.
She walked in thought quite slowly, so
I prayed she was okay.

I hoped I didn't puzzle her
or tear her dreams apart...
But then she turned, called back to me,
"I have a great big heart!"

I didn't see her after that
but knew she'd be okay.
This bench and I hold memories
as others run astray.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, November 19, 2016

You Know Me Well 11-19-16


My breath on pane
is all in vain.
It's bitter cold outside.
With fog on glass,
the hours pass.
I swallow deep, my pride.

The plume atop
my quill would stop
with only me to thank.
There are no herds
of rhyming words.
My frozen mind is blank.

I pray to God
but find it odd
that rhyme's don't come to me.
At any cost
I am so lost.
Is this just meant to be?

But it is rare,
that I would dare
to leave before I write.
Though inkwell's here
words disappear
on parchment through the night.

Not thinking 'prose'
my words are froze
just as it is outdoors -
with barren trees
all stripped of leaves,
like extinct dinosaurs.

Now I confess
that I digress
from what I want to say.
It sure does seem
I'm losing steam.
My poem drifts away.

Should I explore
my mind some more -
that's vast as the frontier -
or let you think
I'm out of ink
and end this poem here?

Oh, what's the use
for such a truce?
I'm finished anyhow.
I sure can tell
you know me well.
You're raising one eyebrow.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Saturday, November 12, 2016

Come With Me 11-12-16


Please come with me while we stand tall
and give to those awaiting call
who haven't any hope.
My tears run as a waterfall,
pour off my cheeks for one and all.
I don't know how they cope.

Now Susie is a dancer
She's nine, but now has cancer.
She's on a newer drug.
The days are slow.  She sits alone
'tween night and day in twilight zone.
She needs someone to hug.

Meet David with clef palate
who plays on old wood pallet
each long and boredom day.
His mother doesn't have a house.
He's shy and quiet as a mouse
and has nothing to say.

Meet Bobby Jean who's starving -
while turkeys we are carving -
for our Thanksgiving feast.
She needs some clothes and needs a bath.
She did not choose this endless path.
Of these, she is the 'least'.

Meet the Muslim boy, Abdul.
He's beaten hard and it's so cruel.
He studies the Koran.
If you were him, you would be too
and studying a twisted view
to be an evil man.

Please come with me while we stand tall
and give to those awaiting call
who haven't any hope.
My tears run as a waterfall,
pour off my cheeks for one and all.
I don't know how they cope.

©2016 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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