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Hal Deats Poem
They sat around the table,
ranging short to tall.
Hands were clasped in silence,
every head was bowed.
The day was drawing to a close
and as they sat to sup,
their father sat at table head,
his eyes were lifted up.
He searched the tender faces of the children in his care
and looked so deep inside himself for words that were not there.
The children waited patiently,
to hear the supper prayer,
and wondered how to thank the Lord for food that wasn’t there.
All the plates were empty.
The bowls were empty too.
They guessed that what they had for lunch was going to have to do.
Life had been a struggle,
their mom had not been well.
The load on Father’s shoulders
was a tough one they could tell.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head and then began to pray.
“Thank you Lord for loving us
and thank you for today”.
He didn’t ask for anything
as far as I recall.
He did not know that I was there, waiting in the hall.
The tears were running down my face. I slipped outside the door.
Such a prayer of gratitude I’d never heard before.
But what I saw before I left I’ll never see again.
When their father’s prayer was done the children said “Amen!”.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
We live our lives in pieces,
A little at a time.
Some pieces lived in sadness,
While others are sublime.
The bad times leave so slowly,
The good times leave too soon.
Some times we live in secret,
On the dark side of the moon.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
Off to school in morning dark,
Passing through the village park.
Caught the light at Hill and Main.
Crossed the tracks before the train.
Past the houses and the stores,
Up the hill and through the doors.
Sat in silence, row by row,
Watched the clock tick, slow by slow.
Heard the bell ring in the hall,
What I learned I can’t recall.
Made my way back down the hill.
Steps on sidewalk echo still.
If you step upon a crack,
Sure to break your mother’s back.
Turned the corner at our street,
Thoughts of learning in retreat.
Years have come and years have gone,
Boy inside me lingers on.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
Freedom Lost
Sane men know what’s going down,
but no one dares to make a sound,
and those who think this will not last,
should listen, listen, to the past.
Hear the sound of breaking glass,
the Crystal Night when windows crashed,
when those who knew just looked away
and thought that things would be ok.
The day the yellow stars were pinned,
the night the cattle cars rolled in.
The camps were there but no one knew
what evil was about to do, when good men looked away.
Or turn your ear to the land of Czars,
to hear guns crashing ‘neath the stars,
and hear the words of little men
destroy so many lives again.
Words of hope and change and such,
that never do amount to much.
But people listened and they learned,
their world on hollow words had turned.
The hammer and the sickle joined,
but freedom from their hands purloined, while good men looked away.
The sounds are building all around,
The sounds of footsteps on the ground.
The sounds of windows crashing near,
fires burning, shouts of fear.
Mobs are passing by our door,
all sounds the world has heard before.
These sounds are hidden from the young.
Hidden by those with crooked tongue.
But those who know the truth are crying.
It is the sound of freedom dying, while good men look away.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
The brook babbles
and rambles
over the rocks,
tumbling down
past the cabin
among the trees
at the foot
of the protecting mountain. Under the watchful eye
of deer
and bear
and chipmunk.
In the intimacy of bedroom
the first desperate cry
of the newborn rises.
Searching with foggy eye exclaiming existence
pondering purpose.
Unaware
the gift of life
paid for
by the giftee
in moment installments.
In far flung decades
returning to birthplace
facing the final portal.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
With one voice
speak we.
One home
seek we.
If it could be
sweetly
love we.
Born down the street
was I.
Under the same
blue sky.
Why can’t you
even try
to love me?
I am the same
as you.
My blood is red
not blue.
All that I ask
of you
try me.
If you could love
like me.
And eye to eye
could see.
We could be
you and me
neatly.
We are the same
within.
Forget the shades
of skin.
Go back and start
again.
Meet me.
And let with one voice
speak we.
Let us one home
seek we.
And live together
sweetly
love we.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
I often sit in quiet contemplation of my surroundings. In silent observation I process the changes that nature presents, just for my viewing pleasure. Through the changes of the seasons I watch plants grow, from seedling to blossoming beauty. Tree leaves bud, grow, change their colors and fall. Giant oaks morph from skeletons to splendid sentinels in full dress uniforms, standing watch over the bivouac below. Throughout the day, and the passing seasons, the sun’s torch illuminates different branches and lucky leaves, as I watch. Each night the moon takes a slightly different route above my head, than the one it took the night before. I feel a kinship with the ancient ones, who gazed in wonder at their world and wondered why. For so do I. That, no surprise, for as you know I am one of the ancient ones.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
There is a place where flowers grow
Where music plays and rivers flow
Where children know the grace of love
Where birds sing sweetly from above.
There is a place where kindness lives
Where every moment waits to give
And not to take for one’s own sake
But only others happy make.
There is a sanctuary there
For everyone in need of care
For every animal or plant
A chance at hope and love to grant.
There is a place that’s filled with love
And I the most unworthy of
Have found myself at home within
The heart of my beloved.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2024
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Hal Deats Poem
You can travel to the pyramids.
Or Tutankhamen’s tomb.
Gaze upon the Parthenon.
In Athens, I presume.
Eat your lunch on Jungfraujoch.
Or Paris, for a start.
But nothing stirs the senses
Like journeys of the heart.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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Hal Deats Poem
There is a story
Told of old
Of Jack and Jenny
Wild and bold.
Jack was first
To play the fool.
He ran off
and made a mule.
When jealous Jenny
Heard the skinny
She ran off
And made a hinny.
Or so the story goes.
Copyright © Hal Deats | Year Posted 2023
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