Saturday, April 22, 2017

Rose-petal Mother 4-22-17


The morning dew settles
like tears on rose petals.
They cry out for time to return -
and beckon lost seasons
of God-given reasons
as sad notes on my guitar yearn.

You're queen of the givers.
It brings to me shivers
that I was so selfishly made.
Your name defines 'humble'
as my words now crumble
on flowers that I now invade.

Your hands were like Heaven,
unselfishly given,
beyond just the people you knew -
from city to country,
from wealthy to hungry -
and all of the rest of us too.

As butterflies flutter,
I still try to utter
some truth of your beautiful love.
But now, it is just us -
and words don't bring justice
as sunlight spills down from above.

Those simple deflections
of sunlight's reflections
now glimmer like diamonds at play -
in memories briefly
that I see routinely
as if they were just yesterday.

I am not deserving
of all I'm observing
in memories coming to mind -
surrounded by perfume
with roses in full bloom
recalling that you were most kind.

I'll always remember
that freezing December
when I erred and brought you to tears.
When you found me straying,
for me, you were praying -
and over the many long years.

Some mothers are brand new,
but none can compare to
my rose-petal mother, that's true.
While laughter was looming,
our smiles were blooming.
There's none other better than you.

I do so adore you -
shall always continue.
I'd never trade you for another.
Up deep from the earth-plow,
what words can I sing now?
I love you, my rose-petal mother.

Alive still, your caring,
through rose petal sharing.
So many, I can't see them all.
Afloat on the breezes,
each rose petal eases
the pain of the weak as they fall.

Your petals continue
to live on without you.
They float around ever so free.
Like soft downy feather,
I don't wonder whether
some petals will fall upon me.

It's not at all easy
to sing thoughts so deeply
when sung with my dusty guitar.
I find I've distorted
all good you're recorded.
My rose-petal mother, you are.

And it's not by my choice
I miss hearing your voice,
so moistness now covers my eyes.
With fingers still strumming
I hear myself humming
while words get choked up in my cries.

With eyes very blurry
I'm now in no hurry
to vacate this most sacred place.
I can't be more lonely.
I wish I could only
receive one more loving embrace.

I love you so deeply
that when I am sleepy
see rose petals filling the sky.
My rose-petal mother,
my rose-petal mother,
I'll see you in Heaven...  Bye bye.

©2017 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Monday, April 17, 2017

Mister Dirt 4-17-17


At times abused
but always used -
so does he disapprove?
I should have known
he's left alone.
Himself, he cannot move.

He cannot walk.
He cannot talk.
It seems he is entrapped.
No working ear,
he cannot hear.
Could he be handicapped?

One might deduce
he's of no use
and futile is his time.
And I can tell
he cannot smell.
So poor, he has no dime.

Is he distressed?
Is he depressed?
His life seems very grim.
His name is 'Dirt'.
Should he not hurt
when we're ignoring him?

We pull his weeds
and plant some seeds -
then use the garden hose.
And with a flood
he turns to mud
as everybody knows.

When rain has poured,
we thank the Lord,
that food has filled our room -
then thank the sun
for what its done
when flowers are full bloom.

But how we hide
the dirt outside -
though we don't think we're mean.
Who understands
when washing hands
that we judge Dirt unclean?

We think we know
but wrath will show
when we are judged by God.
Who thanks that soil
for all its toil
when manicured our sod?

No one will thank
the Dirt's low rank.
We entertain with fun!
But Dirt, who cares
with your affairs
and work that you have done?

Can we not sit
and think a bit
of someone we have hurt?
Don't build a wall.
Please thank them all -
including Mister Dirt.

Apologize.
It's always wise
for we've all wronged someone.
Let's live in peace.
Let judgment cease
for God's work isn't done.

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Passed Quietly, the Waters By 4-12-17


The river stones were gathered 'round.
Their speeches and their words profound.
They thought they were the best on earth -
had much more value, much more worth.

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

The rugged stones had bragged aloud
below a soft and puffy cloud,
"We're mean and tough and really cool.
We are the best but you're a fool."

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

"Huge trees?  No match for guys like us!
You cannot answer nor discuss.
Our claims of greatness can't be beat.
This is our club - the great elite."

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

A tiger laid on rocky ledge
and peered below to river's edge.
The river stones looked way up there.
They were not scared.  They didn't care.

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

They laughed at the moon and at the sun.
They laughed until the day was done.
They laughed at all that they could see.
They even laughed at you and me.

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

One year they gasped and looked around.
The change in them was quite profound.
The years brought change that none could soothe.
Those stones were now, not rough, but smooth.

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

Most hadn't known just what took place.
Not many learned of God's good grace.
That it was His undying love
that showered down from up above,
that brought the rainbow and the rain,
that flowed downstream to ease the pain
of each and ev'ry hard, rough stone
so they might learn and might atone.

Passed quietly, the waters by.
Most stones just laughed and wondered why...

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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Friday, April 7, 2017

Give Us Barabbas! 4-7-17


What caught the attention of that obtuse crowd?
What made them determined?  What made them so loud?
"Give us Barabbas!"  Can you tell me why
the people had int'rest in that evil guy?

Was he more exciting and spectacular?
Was he their big hero - strong, muscular?
Could he break big log chains right off of his wrists?
And did he boast laughing- then shake both his fists?
Was his voice like thunder with tongue hard as steel?
Oh, was the crowd taken and how did they feel?

Was it because Jesus stood motionless there?
Was it because Jesus did not have a prayer?
Was Jesus too loving t'ward innocent youth,
Was Jesus judgmental in speaking the truth?
Was Jesus too caring with his healing hands -
or was it because He had much greater plans?

There's no rhyme or reason, so often it seems.
It boggles the mind to such endless extremes.
So why did the crowd have Barabbas set free?
And why was it Jesus who died... and not me?

©2017 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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