One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.
If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I'm not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.
The vastness there before God's Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child's birth
Is the path that I see first.
I'm not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I'll dream of the lands so wild and free.
The music of Irland calls to me,
Where Kathleen's heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I'll shed my tears lest he should fall.
As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They'd live in peace forever more.
The battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney's hand,
The Civil War for Freedom's right
The Alamo where comrades died.
At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land.
I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father's life did change
When the family business he assumed.
Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.
I'll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother's birth
The most precious land to me on earth.
I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.
The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I'll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I'll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?
With the help of the wind
The tree leaves produce their song
While the range vent clatters along
August 19, 2010
MY THANKS TO YOU
And the Sun rise too
Are all Gifts
But the Gift of Love
You sent to Us
Upon that Christmas Morn
Was the Greatest of Gifts
We could Recieve
Once more I Thank You God
Blue Bells, ring their songs of praise,
Golden Rods, give brilliant rays,
Daisies, dancing all in fun,
Asters, bowing in the sun,
Poppies, tossing laughing heads,
While Johnny Jumps up from his bed.
But For You
You tagged me
And said such nice things
I’m at a loss for words
Perhaps I need to call for help
Won’t you help me choose
Joseph S., Carol B., Tami M., Stella S.,
Mike J., Vince S., Stacy R., Lainie G.
Maggie O., Lynn M .and Michaela P.
Who, oh who should it be?
I know! I know the perfect selection
Won’t you all join with me,
I introduce to you my Friends
Our very own ' Poetrysoup Origination.'
For without them we might never have met.
So while they take the stage
Let’s all give them a hand, and say
“Our thanks to you and God Bless.”
I must thank a special friend
For a beautiful poem he wrote
But I believe he gives me to much credit
For what he accomplished on his own.
A beautiful family, a whole new life
And the courage to tell the world of his strife.
In doing so he gives others the faith to take steps on their own
And begin to rebuild, what they once thought was gone.
God was there for him and if I helped in any way
I thank the Lord He allowed me to lend a hand that day
Tag Mike....We give you our love for now and always.
I'm thinking of the little birds
That fly away in fall,
And return when the balmy breezes
Make their beckoning call.
Today they fly above the clouds
Snow dancing in their faces,
Searching for a place to land
Where the sun shows it's graces.
Tomorrow they will take to air
To find the snow has gone,
And return to my little tree
With bright and cheery song.
Is my goal,
Is an odor to me,
In a tree
Is a home for me,
Is candy you see,
On a hook
To me is bad luck,
Makes me sleepy
Is my fun time call,
In a tree
Is adventure to me,
Answers you see
Are funny to me,
Of course on this night we are supposed to be asleep so Santa
could come, but we hadn't been home from Midnight Mass very long, and the
invigorating cold was not conducive to sleep. Even the hot chocolate did not do
much to help sedate the excitement.
We were hoping for sleds that year. The snow was perfect for
sledding especially like we did it. We tied out sleds on behind the car or pick up
and were pulled through the hills. We got our sleds. My dad and my uncle made
them for us.
No television and only in the late years were we allowed to use the
radio. Batteries were to expensive for frivolous use. We spent many hours
playing cards or games.
I took time out and went to high school and college and got my
My aunt taught there only one year after the Federal Government
turned the schools over to the local government.
The last time I was back there the out buildings had been moved and
Indian families were living in them. The school was dirty and unkept.
Now the school is gone. The ancestors who once walked these
dusty plains are gone. The Indians who were there when I was a child are gone.
They are Ghosts. Ghosts whose faces can be seen in the clouds.
Ghosts who still chop wood on those sub zero nights. And the drums we heard
in the middle of the nights are still beating. They beat as strongly as the heart
beats in a healthy body. The laughter of the children still echoes under the
The life blood of a culture, of a nation grows thin. The Battle of
Wounded Knee was the last battle to be fought between the white man and the
Indian on the northern plains. It's cries still echo across the land.
My foot prints in the creek did not last any longer than those they left
in the dust. But in my memories, this mile and a half by three quarter mile haven
still lives. And will live forever as a piece of unrecorded history.
He's just an ol' cowboy
With a heart big as the whole out of doors.
But time has exchanged
His home on the range,
For a garden and five acres to mow.
He still rides the range,
Each day at three,
With John Wayne, Gabby or Tex,
When he closes his eyes he's there by their side,
Somewhere out in the west.
He's there in spring
At the rendezvous site,
When the mountain men all converge,
He'll share their whiskey, adventures and lies,
Till they give into that wandering urge.
He spent one winter
In the mountains way high,
His cabin the size of a den.
He was cozy and warm, tucked safe from the storm,
Until a commercial cut in.
He was there when Jessie, Frank and the gang,
Hit the bank in a small Kansas town,
He ran for the sheriff
Drew his six guns and waited,
Expecting to mow them all down.
On trails he did ride
With Goodnight and Chisum,
His job, To bring in the strays.
Like a coyote he'd croon by the light of the moon
To the cattle at the end of the day.
He froze in Alaska as he panned for gold,
Burned brown as the prairies he trod,
Fell along side Jim Bowie
At the Old Alamo,
And is buried deep 'neath the Lone Star sod.
He tried to avoid the Indian wars,
But rode with Reno
At the Little Big Horn,
The chaos he saw made his skin crawl
And wasn't ashamed as he knelt there and bawled.
His days they were great,
And granted still are,
For he met a new friend today.
He walked by a bookstore, saw Louie Lamour
Now new adventures are coming his way.
He sits in his chair with a confident air
And turns on his TV at three.
He rides with his friends
Till the commercial cuts in
Then he takes out Ol' Louie and reads.