|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
don't be angry
for i don't mean to be unkind,
and i don't mean to be rude;
but,there are times when i must walk alone,
sometimes down a forest path,
and,sometimes along some rocky trail;
and,it's not through laziness,
that i sit here silently gazing,
upon some gurgling brook;
or that i lay here upon my back,
watching some puffy clouds drifting by;
and please,don't rebuke me,
for the flowers that i've picked;
for i go to the woods to be alone with my God,
so that i might hear his voice,
in quiet contemplation;
for every cloud that floats by,
writes another letter in his book;
and every bird that sings,
but sings of that mystery,
that is God's love.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
Once,many christmases ago,
my grandma gave us kids aspecial gift;
she gave each of us three silver bells connected by a silver chain;
the three silver bells she said,
represented the holy trinity,
as well as God's love of us;
the bells were made of siver,
because silver gives off the purest notes,
and the silver is pure, like God's love;
grandma saidthat these bells were given,
to remind us first of God's love for us,
as well as grandma's love for us;
over the years most of the grandkids have lost those silver bells
but i've managed to keep mine;
and every christmas eve i take those silver bells out,
and i marvel out their sweet tones;
my dear sweet grandma has since past over,
yet,when i hold those silver bells,and hear their sweet music,
i can once more hear my grandma's voice,
as well as feel her sweet love;
the years have slwed my steps,
and age has dimed my sight,
but when i ring my silver bells
their sweet music still touches me;
the music of those bells speaks to me of God's love,
as well as that of my sweet grandma,
and it reminds me of the true meaning of christmas.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
he who is alone,
often seeks for the mercy and grace of his God;
very sad is that faithful man,
who suddenly finds himself alone;
for he sees the world a wasteland,
a bare wall that is blown upon by a cold wind;
he sees a empty house that once was a warm home,
but now is a cold empty shell;
yes,he sees an empty shell,
where snow sifts in through worn window frames,
and around a broken front door;
the snow gathers in corners,
and gathers in great heaps upon cold empty beds;
alas for the once bright home,
once filled with sounds of cheer,
and for bare cubboards once well stocked;
alas for weed infested yards,
once well kept with love;
alas for the one who worked to keep the wolf at bay,
for the wolf-slayer is no more----no more,no more;
for he is now alone; and his purpose is no more;
come spring,come summer,
may the eagle and the raven soar;
may the warm breezes flow once more,
and may a new day yet dawn.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
they rode boldly across the silver screen,
these hero's of my youth;
they lived their lives by the "code of the west",
and honor was a part of that code,
truth and honor was in their blood;
my hero's lived their lives by this code,
they lived boldly up there on the big screen,
so much bigger than life;
yes,these were my hero's,
these brave men who rode on horse back,
and who carried the law in a holster,
while riding tall in the saddle;
oh how i eagarley followed their exploits,
men like Roy rogers and the Cisco Kid,
along with Gene Autry ,John Wayne,and the Lone Ranger;
these men kept the law in the wild west,
along with hop-a-long,and Tex Ritter,
and i anxiously followed their adventures,
until that sad,sad day when---,
they rode off into the sun set;
yes, they rode off into the sunset,
old John,Roy, and Gene,
they rode off into the sunset,and no one took their place;
how sad i felt on that dark dreary day,
when my hero's rode away,
but no one took their place,
and,no one took their place.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
they rode boldly across the silver screen,
these hero's of my youth;
they lived their lives by the "code of the west",
and honor was a part of that code,
truth and honor was in their blood;
my hero's lived their lives by this code,
they lived boldly up there on the big screen,
so much bigger than life;
yes,these were my hero's,
these brave men who rode on horse back,
and who carried the law in a holster,
while riding tall in the saddle;
oh how i eagarley followed their exploits,
men like Roy rogers and the Cisco Kid,
along with Gene Autry ,John Wayne,and the Lone Ranger;
these men kept the law in the wild west,
along with hop-a-long,and Tex Ritter,
and i anxiously followed their adventures,
until that sad,sad day when---,
they rode off into the sun set;
yes, they rode off into the sunset,
old John,Roy, and Gene,
they rode off into the sunset,and no one took their place;
how sad i felt on that dark dreary day,
when my hero's rode away,
but no one took their place,
and,no one took their place.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
does anything ever have a true end,
is there anyone who ever truely forgets,
is the past ever truely buried,
and put to rest;
the words that a man speaks today,
lives on in his thoughts tomorrow,
as well as in the memories of others,
often, even after his death;
the shot that is fired,
or, the blow that is struck,
or, the words that are spoken in haste------;
these are like stones,
which are tossed into a pond,
and,they begin to create ripples,
and,these ripples keep widening;
yes,these ripples keep widening,
widening ever outward;
until they touch the lives of others,
often people who are far removed from ourselves.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
what strange wonderful clocks women are,
biological clocks,for they nest in time;
these gentle,smiling ones,
who own the good secret;
for what man,like wman,
lies down in darkness,
and then gets up with child;
women,they make the flesh that holds fast,
and then binds eternity;
they live inside the gift,
they know the power,
they accept it, and need not mention it;
for why speak of time,
when you are time,
and can shape those moments into warmth, and action;
how often men envy them,
and, sometimes even hate them, these warm clocks;
for they know that they will live forever,
men know this too,but,does he really believe it;
for he has carried no burden,and felt no pain,
but,the woman,she knows it.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
does anything ever have a true end,
is there anyone who ever truely forgets,
is the past ever truely buried,
and put to rest;
the words that a man speaks today,
lives on in his thoughts tomorrow,
as well as in the memories of others,
often, even after his death;
the shot that is fired,
or, the blow that is struck,
or, the words that are spoken in haste------;
these are like stones,
which are tossed into a pond,
and,they begin to create ripples,
and,these ripples keep widening;
yes,these ripples keep widening,
widening ever outward;
until they touch the lives of others,
often people who are far removed from ourselves.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
life,
what is life,
or,what is known of life,
but what we experience;
for to know life one must experience life,
and to experience life,
one mjst get out and live it;
one must trumpet among the elephants,
and to crow among the cocks;
one must run with the mustangs,
bleat with the goats,
and to soar with the eagles;
for to truely know life,
one must cry with those who cry,
and to rejoice with those who laugh;
yes,we must work with those who labour,
minister with those who heal,
and fight alongside those who fight;
for to truely know life,
we must not be afraid to live life,
we must aim for the mountaintops,
and then begin to climb.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
Details |
Ralph Burkhardt Poem
They come at night,unbidden,
these demons of the dark.
Scarey,shifting,spooky forms,
that brings me from my sleep.
They slither over the walls,
they creep along the halls;
these dark and empty halls,
that i seldom visit.
They creep in unawares,
they leap without warning;
these demons of my past,
that brings hurt,pain, and tears.
They sneak in at night,
past all of my defenses;
they bring the past to light,
the past i want forgotten.
Copyright © Ralph Burkhardt | Year Posted 2013
|
|