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David Moore Poem
Driving home one day after hours of monotonous office work,
Saw a man sitting by the road; looked as one down on his luck.
Paid small notice to the figure; my lonely life was in a rut.
He was just another beggar, holding out a shiny tin cup.
But something was rather uncharacteristic about this scene.
His old camouflaged fatigues were those of a U.S. marine,
No legs dangled from his wheelchair, but he sat tall, proud, and upright.
Many ribbons bore evidence of America’s finest knight.
Walked up to the stranger; what was left of a man sitting there.
No others near, just us two, and the pall of pathos in the air.
His hair unkempt, a shaggy beard, he stared as each car would stop,
Lest he miss a coin or, pray, a bill into his cup one might drop.
In horror saw that the cup was held by an artificial hand.
An ear had been severed; thumb on other hand, one eye was blind.
He acknowledged my presence, tipped his military cap.
As he did, I observed scars occupied most of his scape.
Asked how life brought him to this intersection on life’s highway.
From boot camp was deployed to “play in the sand” in land over there.
“Sir”, he said, “From high school my great desire was to serve my country.
Fighting with my buddies one night, my jeep hit unseen I E D.”
“In flames and smoke I fought to breathe; felt that my life was slipping on.
Could barely hear, could scarcely see, and knew that my right arm was gone.
My head was bleeding profusely; could not feel my legs or left hand.
I begged God to let me die on the sands of Afghanistan.”
The corpsman came with tears rolling down his face and with choking voice,
“Soldier, it’s your legs, I must amputate, I have no other choice.
There are other injuries, got to rush; choppers are on our right,
You hang in there, Marine; I salute you, brave American knight. “
The more he spoke, the colder the chills that ran up and down my spine.
Thoughtlessness and selfishness exposed a depravity of mind.
Self-pity, self-indulgence, resignation had poisoned my soul.
Changed by man with no legs; stands ten feet tall, on my honor roll.
Perhaps next time a soldier we meet at the mall or on the street,
Honor and salute those who served, even died, that we may live free,
Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, Navy or Marine, guards of freedom’s light.
Grateful for those who wore the uniform, brave American knights.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2018
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David Moore Poem
Very strong message taking form,
Coming like a violent storm,
Warning of nation’s moral low,
Unaware of approaching foe.
Ignorant! How this world beguiles!
Blind to the culture’s subtle changes,
Dull to enemy’s evil wiles,
Naïve on immoral binges.
Stressed out by malignant ills.
Misguided by bureaucrat vow.
Duped by sharp marketing skills.
Depending on NASDAQ or the Dow.
Wake up, see the coming dark storm,
In midst of silver lining.
Judgment framed by hope’s reform.
Urgent need for land’s refining.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2020
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David Moore Poem
Nation’s Damnable Blight
Black slender man, bent twig on the branch of a slave’s family tree,
Planted in white culture during infamous time of our history,
From seed transported in the belly of those infernal slave ships.
Bitter tears flowing from his eyes; angry words pouring from his lips.
Spent by long days in fields under hot skies of one hundred degrees,
Living in substandard shacks: wife and babes bearing winter’s freeze.
Broken panes breach for frigid wind; shabby roofs sieve for cold raindrops,
Family worked from sun up to dark to reap the precious crop.
Truth is, most were prisoners of the system evil men devised.
Many struggling to be free from what politicians camouflaged.
Wisdom overrules such folly and the proverb is most profound;
Holding one down makes holder as much a captive as one held down.
This nation, “land of the brave and free”, held out freedom’s lamp to all,
Went out one ominous night and over “liberty’s lamp” threw a pall.
Had wiser men with hearts of love been ruled by God’s Divine Light,
Black and white would have been spared this great nation’s damnable blight.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2017
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David Moore Poem
An Old Cowboy
An old cowboy left yesterday.
Once drove herds over open range.
Many hardships along the way,
But a life he would never change.
Heard sound of cattle full stampede.
Rode days in slush up to his knees.
Tall in the saddle on his steed.
Broke, but had all a cowboy needs.
Up before dawn most of his days.
Often playing an old guitar,
Singing tunes about dusty trails,
And lost loves that were torn apart.
Old age and time at long last struck.
Glory gone like western ghost town.
Life’s work over and spent last buck,
A cowboy king without a crown.
Withdrew in deep grief and doubt,
His way of life had gone away.
Last words, “head ‘em up; move ‘em out”,
Old cowboy died yesterday
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2017
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David Moore Poem
The Ultimate Sacrifice
Arlington’s air was thick with death’s pathos,
Grief and pain shared once more in war’s great loss,
The great sacrifice of our nation’s brave,
Fending off tyranny’s harsh tidal Wave.
Horse hooves made a doleful unrhythmic beat,
As the caisson moved slowly and discreet,
Step by step in Arlington’s protocol,
Our flag, the stars and stripes, the casket pall.
Lead us, O Christ, to the vict’ry of peace,
Help us hatred and revenge never seek,
Save us from war from which there is no win,
May Thy grace and love reign supreme within.
Old Glory waves for all who paid the price,
To protect and defend the U S A,
We pay tribute to those who gave their lives,
Taps declare none have given more than they.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2018
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David Moore Poem
And the mighty wind blows through the tops of the many trees,
Whistling through the waving leaves, composing a symphony.
Cypress trees by blue water,
Soft chatter of falling rain,
Creations lovely daughter,
A place where time began.
It’s where poets go to write lines of prose and rhyme,
With hope that what is penned will stand the test of time.
It’s where scholars search for what they do not know,
With hope that what is found will bring a bright tomorrow.
And the mighty wind blows through the tops of the many trees,
Whistling through the waving leaves, composing a symphony.
It’s where children play, ‘neath moss covered trees,
With hope that each new day, will bring rich fantasies.
.It’s where young lovers go on a clear and blissful day,
With hope that the love they share will never fade away.
And the mighty wind blows through the tops of the many trees,
Whistling through the waving leaves, composing a symphony.
All kinds can journey where,
Rich flora groom the scene,
Midst orchards very rare,
Carolina’s beauty queen!
And the mighty wind blows through the tops of the many trees,
Whistling through the waving leaves, composing a symphony.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2018
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David Moore Poem
By The Lady’s Dim Light
The Lady’s blazing torch held high and message at her feet,
Clear message to the world, tyranny’s ultimate defeat.
Ascent to breathe the fresh air of liberty’s atmosphere,
Free every day, speak own mind, go anywhere, void of fear.
Peoples of all nations and races, with aspirations all,
From lands near and far in answer to freedoms call.
Persecution’s iron fist powerless toward all who yearn
To come; tired, poor, wretched refuse; no one is spurned.
High ideal that should work with fairness and justice for all.
Not when matters get entangled in politicians’ halls.
It’s not what you know but who you know that catches the ear.
Some get in very fast, while many wait year after year.
The Lady’s Lamp is supposed to be the beam to the world,
America’s message of help, hope and home eagerly heard.
But if the world’s disenfranchised are treated as blight,
The masses will huddle and wait in the Lady’s dim light.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2017
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David Moore Poem
Up, up and away
In ballon full of hot air
Hanging from a hair
Up, up and away
No steering and no braking
Bravery faking
Up, up and away
Under ballon swinging high
Storm clouds coming nigh
Up, up and away
Fearsome lightning bolts flash by
Need help from on High
Up, up and away
Trying to hold breakfast in
Swaying in the wind
Up, up and away
Small box dangling in the wind
Need a Dramamine
Up, up and away
Pale and shaking in wet boots
Where’s a parachute
Up, up and away
First time is one time enough
This is scary stuff
Up, up and away
On the ground will always stay
Until dying day
Up, up and away
Forget it, here I will stay
You get underway
Up, up and away
No thanks, rather get my kicks
On Route Sixty-Six
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2024
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David Moore Poem
a massive coral reef just off the shore
of a tiny island in the South Pacific
a tropical reef filled with sea life galore
breathtaking and stunningly majestic
like an enormous rainforest on the sea floor
rare kaleidoscope of colorful sea creatures
a fishdom of seldom seen underwater life
even a crevice hiding a notorious moray eel
a reef so magnificent, an oceanic cathedral
a community of sea life in a grand display
exotic swimmers in an oceanic aquarium
gracing the reef with healthy marine life
offering much for visitors to that domain
begs it be respected and kept pristine
this grandiose basilica of the blue sea
surface floaters unable to dive appear
like bobbing corks on a fishing pole line
static observers, yet witnesses to divine creation
while skilled divers invade the watery nation
the abode of sea inhabitants extraordinaire
a face goggle view has its rewards
though surface viewers covet those of
the divers who can fathom the deep
viewing the ocean floor’s beauty mark
a kingdom of oceanic life of divine art
surface views are provided with small
portions of the reef freshly harvested
but a rare experience is squandered
because of the inability to dive deep
a lack borne with shame and regret
those who dive deep gain profoundly
by interacting with the life of that watery den
while those fear of depths are deprived
as others dive and find rich treasures
that the surface viewer never discovers
being a surface viewer can be humiliating
causing awareness of one’s shortcomings
taking what others gained at great effort
with risks that only success could unfold
gracing the lesser with hard-earned gold
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2024
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David Moore Poem
There is a particular tree in the backyard that is named Thomas,
Strange that this tree and only this tree had longtime remained dormant,
All the other trees were budding and expressing fruitful promise,
Producing and flourishing with buds in the midst of foliage garment.
Many weeks it was lifeless while others were showing growth’s lineup,
If it had died, why not just cut it down and dig up the dead trunk,
Previous owner said to give it time, give it time, it would catch up,
And sure enough it did; it just had a sluggish display of *****.
Thomas was not present when Jesus appeared to three plus seven,
That was the basis for dubbing the failing plant, Thomas-the-tree,
Thomas was slow coming around to believe Jesus had risen,
As the languid tree was slow in awakening to Spring’s beauty.
Nevertheless, once Thomas has seen Jesus, he caught up quickly,
By Pentecost, he had made up for lost time hiding and shaking,
A most dedicated disciple after he revived rightly,
Bearing a witness as strong as when Thomas-the-tree awakens.
It reminds of when Jesus announced after Lazarus had died,
“Are there not twelve hours of daylight?” Said the Lord, Author of the day,
Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble,” He replied,
For they see by this world’s light”; so hear His word of eternal sway.
There is urgency in following Jesus, and for good reason,
Procrastinating Christians don’t get far letting their faith decline,
Thomas was a learner who showed courage in following Jesus,
He knew that time was precious, too valuable to fall behind.
Thomas-the-tree now bears foliage as full as all the other trees,
Giving encouragement that God’s grace allows us all to catch up,
Thomas-the-tree reminds that we can trust a truth to great degree,
Though there are times we fall behind, Jesus gives us time to grow up
(Inspired by a true experience of my pastor, Dr. Len Keever, Pastor of First Baptist Church, Dunn, NC, who named a tree, Thomas-the-tree)
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2022
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