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David Shelburne Poem
Indian Summer
The skies are turning washed-out winter blue;
The wind blows hints of frosty future chill;
Leaves now swirl, or sport a varied hue,
And scents of fall awakened nostrils fill.
Lawns yet are clothed in optimistic green,
And southern sun still bakes the southward slopes;
'Round flowers fluttering, butterflies are seen,
And soaring skyward still are human hopes.
October etches out its final lines,
November hovers, hidd'n within the wings;
Life and color, all that's summer, shines,
One last warm moment, all of nature sings.
Soon clouds will gather, gloom blot out the sun,
And Old Man Winter blow his frozen breath;
Life and verdance will their course have run,
And failing, will be swallowed up in death.
Thrill, my heart, in evanscent glory;
Grieve, my soul, its beauty fading fast.
Ponder, then, Earth's swift advancing story--
Every perfect moment quickly past.
Copyright © David Shelburne | Year Posted 2016
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David Shelburne Poem
What, then, is a spirit?
Whence the wafting wisp?
And is a thing ethereal really real?
How concrete the conscious?
Does sentience have substance?
Tell me, really, truly, what’s the deal?
“Long ago, immortal ages past,
Eons yet lay heavy on his brow;
Bestirred himself, ‘midst space’s frosty blast
To form and frame a temporal, called ‘now’.
“Focused he the forces of his will;
Marshalled now the makings of his plan;
Shaped of clay a figure cold and still,
The outer tent, the trappings of a man.
“Then opened he his heart, the heart of God,
And broke off living pieces, pure and fresh;
That heaven might be clothed in earthen sod—
Shards of God now sheathed in human flesh.”
Copyright © David Shelburne | Year Posted 2016
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David Shelburne Poem
A Father first begets;
He fosters, forms and frets.
Don’t let it seem a bore;
That’s what a Daddy’s for.
A Daddy trains their eyes
To ponder distant skies,
To reach for Heaven’s prize;
A Daddy is so wise!
A Daddy is the glue
That holds his family true.
He’s strong to see them through—
That’s what Daddies do!
A Daddy’s hand is hard
To chasten, shape and guard
Lest character be marred—
A Daddy must be hard.
But safe in Daddy’s arms
His child is kept from harm
And even from alarm.
It’s safe in Daddy’s arms!
A Daddy works all day
To pay his children’s way
And by example, say
There’s more to life than play.
A Daddy’s chiefly there—
Won’t live his life elsewhere--
To frolic, teach and dare;
His children’s life he’ll share.
A Daddy’s heart is for
The child who needs him sore,
To love him to the core;
That’s what a Daddy’s for!
And when the time draws nigh
With tears to say “Good-bye”,
When Daddy faces Death
And breathes his final breath—
His heart will rest secure,
His children’s future sure.
Embracing now Decease,
He leaves in perfect peace.
Copyright © David Shelburne | Year Posted 2016
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David Shelburne Poem
What is the glue that binds the two
And makes them one in the Son?
What atmosphere throughout the year
Will mold their life as man and wife?
Love is the glue, the wonderful goo
That seals them so through weal and woe.
Love’s the perfume that fills the room
Of their life together whatever the weather.
Love is the bond to take them beyond
Their deepest griefs and cratered beliefs.
Love is . . . . the glue for the two,
the air for the pair,
the seal unto weal,
perfume for the room,
the bond for beyond.
Love is.
Copyright © David Shelburne | Year Posted 2016
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David Shelburne Poem
There is hope for a tree.
For though you lop its branches
And fell its mighty trunk,
Expose it to the elements
And mutilate its stump—
Yet at the scent of water,
At the soaking of the rain,
From its root will thrust a shoot—
It springs to life again.
Hope there is for ruined tree;
But is there hope, O Lord, for me?
“He’s like a tree by river close
That never withers comatose,
But fruits and blossoms day by day;
That prospers now, and will, for aye.”
Hope there is for shattered tree,
And hope abides in battered me.
Copyright © David Shelburne | Year Posted 2016
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