Wild Flower Wind

We were out for a hike, a day in the sun
To take a deep breath, partake of some fun.
Bob drove our bus with great expertise
As looking out windows we saw waterfalls and trees.

We were out to find where the wild flowers grow
High on a hill, the Columbia River below.
At last round a bend, we were finally there.
Sure enough, flowers waved everywhere.

The Wildflower Wind greeted us, shaking each one
As it whooped round the bus in a spirit of fun.
We smiled and tried to be polite,
Pulling on our hats, zipping jackets tight.

But the Wildflower Wind just pushed us on our way
Glad for a romp, a few hours of play.
We followed a path through a land warmed by the sun,
Watching the Wildflower Wind through the tall grasses run.

We admired the flowers, birds flying too,
But as to their names, we had not a clue.
We laughed at ourselves for being so dumb

Not knowing the flowers for which we had come.

The Wildflower Wind knew, but said not a word

Secrets are kept by wind, flowers and birds.

After all it had been just a lark,

Showing the slow-witted hikers around in her park.

HAIL "MALE GREGG!"

Bonnie….”, Dr. Sherman said
“Time to wake up, lift up your head”
The O.R. was still, the bright lights not on,
My tummy was flat, the pain was all gone.

I looked to my side and what did I see?
My baby – my son - from my body, now free!
Two tiny fingers in his mouth were held tight
A sweet little cherub, swaddled in white.

Should we call him Gary or Scott? We couldn’t decide
When I asked the baby, he opened his mouth and cried.
To have such dim-witted parents was very bad news,
Having no name would give any babe the blues.
The nurse at first asked nicely, then she began to beg
Finally she simply wrote down “Male Gregg”.

By the time we got home, we had decided on Scott
It seemed to fit the cute little tot.

At 9 months Scott took his very first step
Soon he was running, climbing on chairs
Into my cupboards, down basement stairs.

At a year and a half, Scott made his very first friend
A boy who liked to play cars or just to pretend.
It is now forty years, since that very first day
When Scott and John Pitman got together to play.

A short time later, I was back in the OR
Heaven had sent us another bright star.
Again we had trouble choosing a name for our son
We thought about Gordon, but the name Michael won.

Soon there were three in the backyard each day
Running about, laughing at play.
About the time they entered their teens
Their adventures began to have a new theme.

They had Star Wars fever, and nothing would do
But they make their own movie, and all the sets too.
Scholars of English history, they decided also to try
Making movies about kings in days long gone by.

Hours were spent writing the script.
Reading it over, making sure everything clicked

Then they began to began to build on the ground
castles and churches and a whole medieval town.
They designed each structure and cast each mold
So buildings would look right, when their story was told.
They assembled their cast of small figurines
And cameras in hand, moved them about, scene by scene.

Next they constructed a sci-fi set in the garage
Where captain and crew could comfortably lodge.
This time they acted themselves in the story.
When they entered the Northwest Film Festival
“The Price of Friendship” brought them honor and glory.

25 years have past, Scott is now 42
He’s captained his ship, with a vision that’s true.
He’s had adventures a plenty, known sunshine and rain
Holding fast to the tiller, heedless of pain.
Keeping eyes focused on the star of faith shining bright
That leads travelers through the darkest of night.
For each of us travels through time and space
Not knowing what will happen next
Or just how to find our place.

Scott’s met every challenge, trying to do his best
And in his mother’s eyes has past every test.

BIRTHDAY BLUES!

How do you do,.... 72!
We’ve never met before
I’ve only seen you at a distance
Now I’m knocking at your door.

This neighborhood is new to me
I’m not sure just what to do
I don’t feel that I belong
I need a tip or two.

My old address was down the hill
a fair and happy place.
I used to rise each morning
filled with heaven's grace.
But just last week some disturbing news I learned
I would have to leave, because the calendar turned.

When the calendar turns, there is not a doubt
Your time is up, the clock has struck, and you must get out.

People are tired of your ditzy tales,
You're no longer cute or funny,
You may not drool, but you're no longer "cool"
So off you go, unless, of course, you have money.

Since my purse only holds a nickle or two
it was perfectly clear what I must do.
Climb up this hill, get the lay of the land
Try to find some place not built upon sand.

I've seen some pretty gardens, but some deep craters too
I'll have to watch my step, or I might fall right through.

The dress code, however, seems to be quite clear
I believe I'll have no problem fitting in here,
No need to buy anything new
Whatever is in my closet will do.
Long sleeves are in, short skirts are out,
But jackets are great for those who are stout.

Still I’m not sure about accessories
Like that plastic plug to stick in my ear
so when someone speaks I'll be able to hear,
or those socks that come up to my knees,
to keep my blood flowing with just the right squeeze.

Do I need to go out and buy a new cane
Just to be ready when my knee crumples in pain?

Perhaps we can sit down - you and me
Talk things over, maybe sip tea
I don’t suppose you have anything stronger
That would let me hang on a little bit longer
To that sweet vision of the place I once knew
Before I knocked on your door, ...72!

Thank God For Good Friends!

Thank God for good friends,
With patience aplenty
Because as to talent
I’m not sure I have any.

My rhymes do not
Lift sweet songs to the sphere
My jingles more often cause
pain to the ear.

Still when I get started
I can’t seem to stop
Words tumble around
Like a fast moving top.

It’s as if the poem knows
What needs to be said
It simply has to get the lines
into my head.

When finished, the poem demands to be free,
It wants to meet you, it's tired of me.
Singing in cyberspace is what it would do
And so, reluctantly I email to you.

Of course, once released from my PC
That poem can easily make a fool out of me.

Dreaming

Caught in the maze
I cannot sleep
My worries confound me
I try not to weep

2 o’clock, 3 o’clock
Then it is four
My thoughts circle round
I am sad to the core.

I decide to try a trick known to work
Focus my thoughts where pain doesn’t lurk
One moment of joy, a time free of care
When hope made me smile and vistas were fair.

But caught in my maze
Each path I pursue
Leads me right back
To my sorrowful view.

When I am worried, I’m not good at prayer
It seems indecent somehow to bring up God’s error
To gently suggest he needs to correct a mistake
That allowed so much trouble on us to break
To ask him to fix things, make everything right
So that sorrow will flee and I can sleep through the night.

I awakened at 6, so I did sleep it seems
And managed to have a quite happy dream.
I was at a gathering of the old DS gang
Willy and Kathy and Mary, Mary Anne too
Some strangers were there, but most folks I knew.

We sat at a table to review a software brand new,
designed to help youth and those older too
It's creator had credentials unmatched
planets and goldfish were his ideas hatched.
Mankind had challenged his wits to the end
but he was determined to achieve what he'd planned from the start
make them the kind of children to warm a dad's heart.

Vision 2007 would not need a PC
Just a current of love between you and me.
Also important would be a faith firewall
So when viruses attack, your system won’t fall.

In my dream, we had neither question or doubt
This software would work, we were ready to shout.
But when I awakened, I was still caught
with worries aplenty and unhappy thoughts.

Then I remembered, it was as clear as a flute,
When new software's installed, you need to reboot.
Take some time out, a fresh breath or two
Then let the new program take charge of you.

If everything doesn't work well at first,
I'll try not to worry, nor let my faith burst.
With patience, I should be able to figure it out
After all the folks in my dream had not a doubt.

Mystery on Mason Street

You have to admit it’s certainly weird
How that woman on Mason Street just disappeared.

On Thursday morning she was seen mowing her lawn
After that she simply was gone.

The garage door was up, the car in its place
Her purse on the table, but she was gone without trace.

The doors were unlocked, so foul play was suspected,
But after careful search, no clue was detected.

Despite all the efforts, she never was found
It was as if she’d been swallowed into the ground.

And that is just about what happened. While mowing my lawn, I stepped into a sink-hole and had to hoist myself out with my hands and feet. It was above an old cesspool that had been closed over 20 years ago. I was muddy, but no worse for wear. Still, I thought how funny it would be to disappear like Alice down the rabbit’s hole.

CHANGING PARTNERS

My Olympus was tired,
It’s motor was sprung
After thousands of photos,
it’s work days were done.
I hated to see our relationship end
That battered old camera had been like friend.

Whenever someone blew out a candle
Or rode up on a bike,
waved from the stage,
or climbed high on a hike
Whenever my granddaughter built a castle in sand -- all those times and more I had my camera in hand.

Finding a new partner is a hard thing to do
How do you know the one right for you?
I searched the internet,
Read every review,
Compared feature by feature
But wasn’t sure what to do.

Finally I decided to go to a store
Sure enough there were cameras galore.
I picked each one up, trying to see
Which one might be the right one for me.
But not one seemed to welcome
The touch of my hand
Each bore encryptions
As from some alien land.

I knew not their language,
And I’d about given up hope
I could find a new camera
I was such a dope.

Just then approached a lad about 22,
He could read the symbols
And explained what to do.

Soon, he assured me,
I could be taking photos with ease
Using this camera would be a breeze.
But I saw him hide a smile
As he watched me reach for the camera
And turn each dial.

I brought the camera home
And opened up the box
Once we were alone
That camera eyed me like a fox.

It knew I could not handle
Such a clever fellow
The more I tried, the worse I felt
My nerves had turned to jello.

Still I persisted,
Returning only twice
To seek out the young man
For a just bit more advice.

Finally I had a bit of luck
A little part inside the camera
Managed to get stuck.

I packed up the fox
In its small littered box
and hunted for the receipt,
Hoping as I held my breath
it had not been dropped upon the street.

But, no, there it was right in my purse
When I read what it said, I had no need to curse.

Within 14 days of purchase, it was OK to return
Ordinarily there would be a 15% restocking fee
But since my camera broke, I could return it for free.

When I found the red-vested lad
I told him his wonderful camera had been very bad
I demanded my money back from the store
And head held high, stormed out the door.

Of course, I had to keep on searching
I could not let it be
Surely somewhere out there
Was a camera meant for me.......

And one day I found one
just waiting for my touch
We’ve had no trouble so far
And like each other very much.

Now when a seagull
Flaps his wings to settle on the sea
I can catch his image in my lens
and keep him part of me.