Tag Archives: poems

I Am Going Home

A New Beginning!

A New Beginning!

I Am Going Home
Oh Heavenly Father,
Come for me today.
To be home for Christmas.

The earthly toils and tribulations
Have worn my body and spirit down
Come Holy Spirit.

Our long, long suffering is
Torturing the innocents
Surrounding and supporting us.

My body and mind
Yearn for the loving
And peaceful joy
Of being in your presence.

This is the season of Advent
A time of expecting
A time of preparing.

I am prepared.
We are prepared,
Now is my Advent season

I await the miracle
Of my new birth
My new beginning

Free of suffering
Singing with your angels
The glorious songs of old.

Announcing the arrival
Of The Child
And of the new arrivals.

Come Holy Spirit
I await your pleasure
Impatiently, I await

Come Holy Spirit.
Take me home.

Originally written: December 18, 2012

This was written for my cousin, Bill Mehringer, at the request
of his wife Deb. Bill is in hospice as this poem was written.
We love and support Bill and Deb in this long struggle. Bill
got his miracle just a couple hours after Deb read this poem
to him. Bill’s wait is over and he has his beautiful wings.

A Passion for Living

A rose the symbol of love and passion

A rose the symbol of love and passion

To live is to love.
Ah, the passion of living.
Each moment precious.
Each day and year collecting

The good, the bad and
Even the ugly part of life.
Each experience precious
Even priceless.

My collection growing
As my hair is greying.
My appreciation of life’s variety
Expands until it Is boundless.

Originally written: January 11, 2004

I sat across from a friend and listened to the stories he was telling about his life. The stories reflected growing up in an envronment of anger and hate. Later, I was reminiscing on the conversation and how different my life was. I grew up in a poor family wearing hand-me-downs and shoes purchased from Goodwill stores. I admit there were days we hated our unreasonable father.

My sister was the only sibling that remained home to finish high school. All four boys got their high school diplomas later and several went on to college. I came the closest to staying at home until I finished high school. I left two weeks before graduation and went into the military receiving my diploma in the mail. As we grew into teenagers each of us began to have
an increasing number of conflicts with our father.

Yet, I must say we were privileged to grow up in that environment. We can face any challenge and know how to survive even thrive. Each experience we have had whether it was good, bad, or ugly enriched us. As I have grown in age, wisdom has provided a view of past happenings that has morphed from distaste to appreciation. In discussions with my brothers we discovered each of us has confidence in our abilities instilled by having been through difficult times.

I would even go so far as say each brother has a passion for living.

Caught in the Act

To observe the instant a child learns is a miracle.


I am amazed,
And in awe.

To see a baby,
Or a young child

Caught in the act,
Of seeing something for the first time.

The arms, legs
of constant motion stops.

The eyes open wide
Seem to be absorbing.

It is as if I can see
The child’s mind learning.

It is a wondrous sight,
A treasured moment.

Originally written: January 11, 2004

I saw a baby in a stroller see a robin sitting on a branch for the first time. I was totally captivated by the baby staring at the bird. For it’s part the robin chirped and chirped calling for a mate. The child stopped all motion and just looked at the bird. I could see her eyes widen and focus on the bird. It was absorbing and the thought came to mind was the baby was learning. I was elated to have watched the child see the robin red breast for the first time.

Choices


In life
As in all things
Choices come
And must be made.

Choices can be black
Or white
Very easy to discern
Without regrets.

Many days
And times
There are no white
Nor black anywhere
On the horizon

Yet a choice
Must be made
Ambiguity is the normal order
Choices with little information
Of lessor evils
Or least negative impacts.

All choices
Come with small
Or large regrets
Ambiguity reigns supreme
Yet choice is a must.

Postponement’s a no-no.
Procrastination in past
Can no longer be used
Decision must be made.

Regret will be a part.
Pride will be a another part.
Growth within your heart
And progress will happen
Knowledge and experience will queue up.

Another choice
Will be right there
Demanding another choice
And so we go back to the first line.

Originally written: November 13, 2003
Updated: January 4, 2012

We have had to make difficult choices. This poem is a reflection of those choices we have made and will make it life. We cannot live without making these choices. To live is a choice. Yes, I have accumulated regrets, but along with those regrets comes happiness and pride. With age we become wiser in the choices we make. At least most of the time.

Family Gatherings

Family gathers
In celebration and grief.

Time to say “Good-bye”
Remembering special moments.

Time to cherish
Each others precious memories.

Family gathers
In reluctance and prayers.

Time to joyously
Tell the family stories.

Time to laugh and chuckle
One last time remembering together.

Originally written: November 22, 2002

Written in memory of Gene Kalney. Gene was the father to my daughter-in-law. He was a very intelligent and driven man. He was loved and cherished.

Snuggle, Snuggle, Snuggle

Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle,
Rub, rub, rub,

Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Sigh, sigh, sigh.

I love you, love you, love you
Communicated through each touch.

Heard through each word.
I need you. Yes, need you.

Originally written: June 20, 2002

Once the bedroom door closes and a couple slips under the bed coverings a
different type of communication begins or on frequent occasions continues.
Yes, it can and will become intimate. There are times when it does not. The
communication is less urgent. It conveys something deeper than lust. It
conveys almost a basic emotional and personal need. Even a back scratch can
be something almost supreme pleasure. There is this quarter sized spot on
my back in an unreachable location that almost makes me want to stamp my foot
in beat with the scratches. I am sure many others have a similar spot satisfied
by a bamboo back-scratcher from China or a person of choice.

The Perfect Christmas Tree

In days long remembered
A young boy lived in a small village.

Small is wrong image.
Just 4 streets, one block long.

Surrounded by farms
Snuggled close by forests.

Days were happily fillled,
Filled with walking here to there.

Walking the forest’s pathways
Listening to the birds singing.

Leaning against the trees and rocks
Listening to the breezes in the leaves.

Enjoying the colors and shapes
Of the trees, bushes, and streams.

The perfect person to find
The special Christmas tree.

A memory of journeys past
Trees along the path.

That perfect tree comes to mind
The path known and followed.

Snowshoes strapped on.
Shush-shush out to the tree,

Zaw-zaw, the saw cuts through
The perfect tree is taken.

Pulled down the path
To home to be our tree.

Shush-shush,
Tug and tug again.

It is the perfect tree
Everyone agrees.

Oh no, our friend has none.
Unanimously, give him ours.

A wonderful Christmas gift
A perfect tree to decorate.

We need a new tree
And tonight is Christmas eve.

There is no more time
For a long walk to the next tree.

Rush-rush, pick one quick
Zaw-zaw cut it down

Tug it home
Tugging quickly.

Oh so scraggly,
Up goes the ugly little tree.

Put the lights on quick
A ornament here and there.

Put the tinsel on top to bottom
Wrap the garland round and round.

A miracle is taking place
The transformation complete.

From the scraggly little tree
To our perfect Christmas tree.

It was a replacement no more
It was our perfect tree.

Originally written: December 6, 2011

Once upon a time, I did pick out a Christmas tree. A beautiful fir tree
shaped by nature. It was straight to the sky with full branches, a conical
form. Proud of the tree even to beat my chest a little. It felt so good to
have looked all year for that tree and now it was our tree.

A neighbor had been laid off and was not able to go out in the woods to cut
a tree nor purchase one from the Boy Scouts. Dad took our tree to them
about 4 pm on Christmas eve. So I went back out and cut another tree. I
was ten years old. It was the first Christmas I got to go pick our tree.

The scraggly tree was transformed by our holiday spirit. A holiday season
remembered and cherished by our family and our friends.