My 75th Birthday Was Yesterday!

        (May be sung to the tune of "76 Trombones")

Two hundred and six
old bones led
the big parade.

With a couple of
patellar knee caps
out in front.

With a hundred and one
wispy-white hairs, still
blowin' in the wind,

who says that
poetry writing
is done !?

So, bring on the pens,
pencils, paper and the
computer pads -
and be sure to
have them
close at hand.

For, here comes another
poem - just
     right-out-of
           the-blue

with words
      heard louder
            than
                 ever before!

A PRAYER AT NELSON MANDELA'S 2013 FUNERAL

Beyond the absence, there is hope.

Beyond the pain, there is healing.

Beyond the brokenness is wholeness.

Beyond the turmoil there is peace.

Beyond the hurting there is heaven.

Beyond the silence, beyond the silence . . .
    God Speaks:
          Be strong, let your heart take courage,
          All you who hope in God. (Psalm 31)

GMC

As a child
my friends and I
had disagreements galore.
Mostly during the long,
hot summer months.
Look at that Good-Made
Chevrolet someone would
holler, as a bright-red pickup
roared past.
(The truck had the letters GMC
boldly emblazoned on
it's engine hood.)

        I knew it stood for
               General Motors Corporation

A Woodland Lesson

I hold, in my cupped hands,
an Ovenbird. I picked it up
from our backyard deck this
morning. I must have collided
with our glass, sliding door . . .
thinking the reflection was an
opportunity to fly into the
clear blue sky. I will keep it
for a while, then bury it in
the perennial, wildflower
garden.






                   A  Woodland Lesson

        An unregal,
                   diminutive creature
                          bearing a subdued,
                                        orange crown -
                          quietly walks along
                                        on forest carpets.

            And,
                   when ready,
                           incessantly
                   calls forth loudly -
                           to whoever
                                 might give heed,


                             Teacher,

                              Teacher, 

                                         Teacher.

MOURNING DOVE

Do I hear a sound to something
           brushing the air overhead?

Could it be a drone?
      No, they keep their distance . . .
                                usually.

This time I hear two!
      Doves stay in twos.

Forever creating feelings.
      Reminders for one to keep a
            subdued presence.

A certain calmness
      for the soul.

And - for how long?
                                  Forever . . .

      Oh, I do,
               
                   do,
             
                       do.
                                               -Dedicated to my
                                                dearest.

Does Fracking Matter?

                        Does tracking and
                             removing oil
                    from under the ground -
                               matter to
                        the environment?
                           You Betcha!

      This is a true story that happened to a friend
            of mine. I won't mention his name.

I was visiting Art at his house. We were standing on the edge
of his black-topped driveway and I noticed many small ant
hills on the edge of the drive and commented on how busy
those creatures were!

He said, Yep, busy as ants they say - twice a day I sweep all
their little piles into the grass. 'Tis a little frustrating.

I commented - "Art.  It could get downright dangerous standing
here. Can't you imagine the big cavern that must be down there?"

Nothing to worry about, Clem . . . they are just little ants . . . 

Two days later the phone rang.  Clem?     "Yes Art . . . "

This morning, I went out to get into the van and the left front
wheel had sunk to its axel.

IT ALL BEGINS WITH A DREAM

I have a plan to begin, in a formal way, to meet with
children, youth, adults, and seniors in order to learn
with them the beauty and ways of nature. This I have
done on my own, or with a select group of acquaintances,
for much of my life.

Now, I wish to do it as part of some organization like
our local nature center.

I am pushed along the path by such people as Henry
David Thoreau, especially after reading the following
passage taken from his Journal entry of November 2, 1860:

         I think it would be worth the while
         to introduce a school of children to 
         such a grove, that they may get an
           idea of the primitive oaks before
         they are all gone. Instead of hiring
          botanists to lecture to them when
         it is too late. Why, you do not now
             often meet with a respectable 
              oak stump even, for they too
                        have decayed.