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Louis Gander Poem
There was a barn once painted red
that stood on grandpa's old homestead.
T'was built so very long ago -
a sorry sight. I told him so.
I often, as a boy, had wondered
why it hadn't ever timbered.
I knew the sagging rafters creaked
and roof, with missing shingles, leaked.
I stepped inside, the barn doors gone
and found it home for sparrows' song.
Circled they, around freely,
over floors in man's debris.
No matter which way I would glance,
dust in the sunlight rays would dance.
The warning cobwebs seemed to sketch.
Between the timbers, they would stretch.
Foundation laid in cobblestone
but its sure footing wasn't known.
Between the stones were gaping cracks
that could not hide the basic facts.
Now every post in building leaned,
and wall to wall had needed cleaned.
The winter winds would whistle through.
That big ol' barn had lost, I knew.
The weather's sin had taken toll
and wind and sleet had found its soul.
Its only purpose, couldn't render -
so it offered full surrender.
Now that ol' barn is much like us
and in our wants, we make a fuss.
Our sagging souls are so uncouth
that we no longer seek the truth.
Deceit flies in our open door
'til we care little anymore.
We’d rather compromise instead
as cobwebs fill our empty head.
Our minds are filled in sins' debris
with anyone whom we'd agree.
The love is lost between our bones.
It leaves us cold with loosened stones.
Will our beliefs stand firm, upright -
or will we yield to windy blight?
Are we responsible instead, or
is our character really dead?
Down through the years, the time has lapsed
and long ago that barn collapsed.
As I look now at its demise
I listen to the worlds last cries....
©2008 louis gander / ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
When I was young,
I often clung,
to many little things.
I'd reach up high,
again retie,
my mama's apron strings.
I sometimes did,
what mom forbid,
although she'd make it clear.
Thoughts still linger.
I remember,
through each fleeting year.
Acquainted still,
her stories thrill,
with many left untold.
I can't go back,
though mem'ries track,
to years I'd rather hold.
I'm lost in thought,
it can't be caught,
despite my futile search -
mama singing,
mama bringing,
this small boy to church.
Though I was touched,
and changed so much,
through Christ, the perfect One -
I cannot stay,
time slips away,
from all that she had done.
I try to grasp,
and hands I clasp,
around those many things -
but mem-ry strands,
slip through my hands -
just like those apron strings.
I miss her so.
Emotions show.
There's moistness in my eyes.
I can't withhold,
though I am old,
my oft guilt-ridden cries.
Though sometimes sad,
I'm always glad,
whenever I think of -
my mama's cares,
my mama's prayers,
and her most precious love.
©2011 louis gander / ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
The course was very narrow,
the trail, straight and long -
I moseyed on that perfect path
where I could do no wrong.
I kicked my big, white stallion,
up rocky slopes one day -
and when I made this clearing,
I knew I'd found the way.
And while I sat there on my faith,
atop the highest hill -
and as I peered on valley low,
I judged folks all until -
I found great fault in everyone
no matter, great or small -
so I could sit up highest on
my saddle, straight and tall.
I prayed; "Oh, those pathetic souls
are hardly good for thee -
for never are they good enough,
unless they're just like me.
Just look at their bad habits,
just look at all their stuff,
and why don't they attend my church?
They are not good enough!
They sin in many different ways,
they fall in numbers too.
They just don't understand that they -
are not like me and You."
Now after seeing others
had wandered way off course -
t'was then that I was bucked right off
my high and mighty horse.
©2010 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
The sun was rising in the east
behind some hitching posts -
and weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
But I wore fancy cowboy duds,
I was a handsome sight.
A crowd of people gathered 'round
to watch this old gun fight.
The street was dead and empty
except for sin and I.
I somehow ended up out here.
I'm really not sure why.
A bullet? Very perilous
if we've no self-control -
and sin is much more dangerous,
because it kills the soul.
Now noon met with humidity.
The sun was dry and hot.
Some beads of sweat rolled down my face -
my stomach, in a knot.
But no, I wasn't nervous -
though duel had begun.
I counted out ten paces -
then turned and drew my gun.
But sin is faster, furious -
much quicker than the eye.
Oh please! Dear Lord and Saviour -
I do not want to die!
And then... in just an instant,
I dropped down to my knees.
I fell as peace passed over me
and felt the gentle breeze.
But something stood in front of me.
Its shadow crossed my face.
I then saw Jesus on that cross.
He took my very place.
Ashamed, I dropped my pistol.
My pride was killed that day -
as I pulled off my fancy boots
and flung my hat away.
Now humbled on the dusty street
with crowded eyes on me -
my every pride had vanished as
I learned humility.
In faithfulness, I stood again,
though I was at a loss...
Oh, how could Jesus love me so
from that old rugged cross?
The sun was setting in the west
behind some hitching posts.
And weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
©2012 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
Oh, I remember back, when young -
the pirate tales from grandpa's tongue -
where peg-legged men with but one eye
had sought their treasures, chanced to die.
Now Captain Pirate had a hook
and he cared not from whom he took.
He boarded ships and stole their goods -
then hid his treasures in the woods.
And on the ship he had some men -
who helped him rob now and again.
At times they partied and they drank.
If one was rude, he'd walk the plank.
Now this old pirate wasn't fair -
and got so drunk he didn't care.
It didn't matter who he killed -
just so his humor was fulfilled.
A wee bit close, I happened near -
lost both my boots and lost my gear.
They tied me up that very night.
My wrists had hurt. The rope was tight.
Then one pulled quick, his shiny sword -
and threw me on that weathered board.
The ocean deep, the water black,
I felt his sword pressed in my back.
So I stepped out - again, again,
with nudges felt from earthly sin.
The steps I took were very short
but that old plank gave me support.
I thought quite quick but took some pause -
reflecting on life's silly laws.
So blinded by life's codes and rules,
I had nothing - them, the jewels.
Hoping here on earth I'd stay,
I stepped through life from day to day.
And this I knew - could not pretend -
this plank was short. There was an end.
My weight pushed low the outer ledge.
My toes could feel the very edge.
No turning back, what's done is done,
no place to turn, no place to run.
Our bodies end with earthly goals
as all life ends, but not our souls.
Emotions quake, as body shakes,
but after death, the soul awakes.
Oh, they held truth (though they got old)
those pirate tales that grandpa told,
but futile is a life that's wed -
with both the soul and body dead.
©2009 louis gander
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
“Dear Lord and Savior, hear my plea.
I've one request - wait, two or three....
This time though, I'm in a fix,
so maybe there'll be five or six....
Please answer quickly, hear me now
and I'll pray daily - that's my vow.
Unlike before, please don't postpone,
for really Lord, You should have known.
I've sacrificed so much for You,
for years been nagged by 'you know who'....
The children too, yell at the spouse -
we really need a larger house....
My boat is bleached from Your hot sun
so I really need a brand new one.
My wardrobes full - but can't wear those,
for Heaven knows I need new clothes.
You know I just went out to eat,
‘all I could eat' - wow, what a treat -
topped it off with cream and cake -
so take away my stomach ache.
I've tried so hard to lose some weight,
from all this fat that You create....
I feel so tired and weak somehow,
so give me strength - I need it now.
Oh, thank You for my new guitar,
my brand new camper, one more car,
but vacation's what I really need -
roller coasters, lots of speed.
You are so great. I know You care,
so answer now, my simple prayer.
These aren't mere words, these are my needs
and if You grant, I've more good deeds....
There's so much more I'd ask of You,
with credit cards long overdue....
But you, dear Lord, must surely know,
the fish are biting. I must go.
I only ask for what I need.
These are not 'wants' so please proceed.
Stay close to me. I'll call again.
Please grant me what I need, Amen.”
©2007 louis gander - www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
The beauty of that place was such
that I just hadn't mattered much.
Except for me, the trees were bright
with vibrant leaves. Oh, what a sight!
The crowds would mingle and would rest
among the brightest and the best
where thoughts and dreams together meld
in beauty so unparalleled.
Those autumn trees would grin and shout,
"Hey, look at us. Come check us out.
We've colored leaves for you to see."
And so it was for ev'ry tree -
except for me with branches bare.
I didn't brag. I didn't dare -
for people laughed - and newlyweds
just rolled their eyes and shook their heads.
A boy yanked off my one last leaf,
then ran away - that little thief!
So there I stood, ignored, alone.
I was a poet tree, unknown.
Exposing all my worthless whims,
the breezes weaved around my limbs.
The days were long and getting cold.
I knew that I was growing old.
A gentleman came strolling by
who paused a bit. I don't know why.
He was a man, quite elderly
who found an old leaf under me.
He picked it up and for a while,
I thought I saw a little smile.
He contemplated for a time
and then reread my dead leaf rhyme.
I'm not a poet tree, they say
so yes, my poems blow away.
But high in humble love they sail -
across the plains and over vale,
over seas and over shores,
before they rest near Heaven's doors.
They're found by men of humble heart
whose souls are touched and set apart.
Let colored leaves not camouflage
those covered trees that sabotage
the perfect rhymes of poet's love
which blow as snow from God above.
God's love is oftentimes disguised
from people who are mesmerized
by pretty leaves that promise bliss
and worlds of joy and happiness.
But seasons come and seasons go
as brooks and streams and rivers flow.
They never stop. They never end.
If only man could comprehend.
For sailing from the empty trees
are tears of love inside the leaves.
So leaves as these are worth the rhyme
and fly along on winds of time.
©2015 louis gander - www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.
I've maybe heard them once or twice,
but please bear this in mind -
there's so much shopping I must do
and outfits I must find.
The birthday parties I attend,
the weddings, funerals too -
and holidays are coming soon.
Oh, what am I to do?
Or maybe I am all wrapped up
inside my fav'rite teams -
the one that's in the playoffs now
fulfilling this fan's dreams.
For those who live outside my world,
how can I really care?
What can I do while I am here -
and they are over there?
To rescue someone? Tell me how.
They don't live next to me.
How can I hear their cries for help
when they, I cannot see?
Once unaware of torture, my
snug ignorance was bliss.
But why should I now waste any time
here telling you all this?
The raping, loss of self-respect
and murdering of girls,
can't push important things aside
like shopping now for pearls.
Do I hurt anybody? No!
It's Jesus I exalt.
So do not tug at my heart strings.
Their pain is not my fault!
And don't think I'm not thankful here
in warm and toasty bed -
between my clean, soft cotton sheets
as pillow hugs my head.
But muffled screams - I hear them now.
They, in my mem-ries, stay.
They linger through the cold, dark nights
and pester me all day.
Oh, who can hear those victims scream
through distant, starry nights?
And who can hear survivors cries
from cruel and futile fights?
Though innocent, survivors moved.
They had no other choice.
They lost their homes and furniture
and with it all, their voice.
I cannot see those makeshift tents
or taste what they call food.
I cannot stop those terrorists
or change my attitude.
I'm done with sports and shopping now
and buying myself stuff.
Their screams have fin'lly reach my ears.
I've failed them long enough.
I do not buy new outfits now.
And football's not my game.
I'm focused on the "least of these".
My life is not the same.
I once thought it important here.
I now no longer do.
I'll start by giving all I can
to come to their rescue.
It's serious, the plight they're in.
Please understand their worth.
As sin runs rampant over weak
around this evil earth.
Our Congressmen must focus too
while evil men connive.
Please vote to stop the terrorists
to save those still alive.
Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.
©2016 lg ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
Nestled in a valley in a clearing of large oak,
while sunlight touched but treetops where the baby robins woke,
stood an old abandoned cabin that had seen some better days,
had once seen better fam'lies and had once seen better ways.
A little stream meandered by with water clean and pure
that seemed to say, "Come drink from me. Your problems, I will cure."
And sparkled bright, the diamonds that had glistened in the sky,
as did the dew on God's green earth that blessed the patient eye.
Hither, yon the squirrels worked and did what squirrels do.
They shared their ample spacious trees where little finches flew -
where trees wore brilliant yellow, red and golden colored suits
where leaves had wiggled in the breeze among leftover fruits.
But when the sun had cleared the hill and peeked above the trees
exposing all the guilt of man and sin that Heaven sees -
it brought to light the darkness deep inside those timbered wall,
where dust and cobwebs fought a war and won man's mighty fall.
Now just a second, let's step back and tell me how they can -
how tiny little spiders beat the big and mighty man?
Just maybe, man with ego big, was thought too big to fail -
and now the dust and spiderwebs own every board and nail.
That cabin once was filled with 'men', with love and life and health,
but now sits there abandoned and long gone his pride and wealth.
I once knew well the fam'ly who had lived inside those walls
of that abandoned cabin where our Savior's voice still calls.
If mighty man's big head was pulled along with his conceit
from clouds so he'd descend back down and settle on his feet -
then maybe he could still enjoy the cabin in the trees
and persevere through patience with the autumn colored leaves -
that dance above the cabin roof, that seem to taunt en mass -
to each and every one of us until possessions pass -
that man was beaten down by bugs who haven't any clue
that God is still in full control over me and you...
©2012 louis gander - ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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Louis Gander Poem
On edge of arid desert set
a trailer aged in rust
with tires flattened long ago
and covered thick with dust.
A friend I'd known for many years
had lived alone inside -
and if his lamp was burning, then
I knew he hadn't died.
The lamp seemed always to be lit
but never did complain.
Then sure enough, I saw him there
through dirty window pane.
The Great Depression hurt him so.
I saw it in that place.
I saw it in his lonely words.
I saw it in his face.
The mental stress that he went through
was far too much to bear -
and would have been for anyone
if they were sitting there.
But they were not. Just he alone
survived his great ordeal.
And his reward? An empty can,
a cold and meager meal.
The old man couldn't hear too good.
The years had quickly passed -
so catching his attention, I
tapped loudly on the glass.
It seemed to take forever, but
he made it to the door.
Black cobwebs hung from corners and -
newspapers hid the floor.
He greeted me with friendly eyes,
skin wrinkled deep from sun.
He made me feel welcome, though
his work was never done.
I visited for quite awhile
as he kept at his rhymes.
He changed his thoughts, his lines, his words
at least a thousand times.
I said, "It must be good enough."
Replied he, "Not at all.
It doesn't capture God's great love.
This needs an overhaul.
For God is love and God is grace
in absolute perfection -
so how can I write something less
to add to this collection?
"This poetry I write for God
must always be perfected -
or basket, full of waste, is filled
with poems I've rejected."
I fell asleep while sitting there.
I woke at 3 AM
and heard him mumble something like,
"...to change the hearts of them."
Observed, I did, his wise old ways.
I'd learned all that I could -
but never measured up to him -
my writing, not as good.
I saw his great intensity.
I stayed with him for days.
I watched his sacrificial work
I saw his humble ways.
He strove to write in perfect words,
expressing his rare love
for all of those who'd done him harm
from politics above.
Forgiving them of evil deeds
had given him such peace -
that each and ev'ry word he wrote
became a masterpiece.
I once decided to return -
to visit one last time.
The old and lonely poet, though,
had written his last rhyme.
The years have passed. Such great respect
I had for that old man.
Could I improve my poetry
for God? He proved I can!
©2015 louis gander / ganderpoems.org
Copyright © Louis Gander | Year Posted 2016
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