Young Danny's Gun

_________________________
For Christmas this year I received a gun.
No fancy wrapping or bows to unspun
This one belonged to my uncle long gone.
Been sitting in the vault for 40 years some.
No one would take it, and to me it had come.

My uncle, he loved that gun-I could tell oh so much
By the clean steel barrel and carved wood struts.
What a beauty-It shined in the light.
I could see my reflection if I held it just right.

'Can take a cow elk at 400 yards!'
Is what my father said at Christmas
Through the other gifts and the cards
This one didn't compare in the least.

as I held it up and peered through the scope
'It'll group in a dime if you take the time!'
I put it down and ran my hand on it in wonder
How in the world did I inherit this plunder?

No one wanted this gun that belonged to my mother's brother.
He died on that mountain without saying goodbye the others.
It was an accident- the little boy had cried
He couldn't hold on and in seconds he died.
Slipped like a rain drop on the rocks way up high.
No one would question; who then could try?

Danny was 18 when he left his family
Had just graduated high school; he lived wild and free.
He took his gun everywhere, even way up on the rocks
He could see the world up there and take a steady shot.

But after that day someone hid it away
and no one had the guts to pull it out.
Everything they loved about that wild young boy
was in the gun that he loved.

It's 40 years since and it has now come to me.
It was a sad sad day the last that it had been used-
and Young Danny's gun will always carry proof
of how he loved and lived
In how he cleaned his gun
For in the reflection of that barrel
Is the bittersweet song he had sung.

A Divine Map (take 2)

a divine map (edit 1)

Maps show so many things
treasures and tales
of lost golden rings.
Some maps are dirty
and yellowed with age
Some are crisp
some printed on noble page.
Some are folded
Hidden in some corner
And some are rewarded
With County Recorders

Maps are like you-
maps are like me
born a blank page
empty and free.
but as time rattles on
all of us draw our own maps
with pencils of experience
we draw our own path.

Who else but God
could show us the way
When we have no idea where we are going
No idea what to say.
We are not born
with a draftsman's keen eye
How can we tell
the mountain from the sky
But if you look around on your map
there are a few hidden clues
To where you were born
and What you will chose.
One knows not
The roads she will take
Or the mountains she will climb
Or the fences of fate.

The map you are drawing
Is unique and intense
There are only a few rules to remember
To have it make sense.
Make sure there’s a scale bar
So it has some perspective.
An inch could be a mile
or maybe a lifetime retrospective.

But in the drawing of maps
the most important rule is such
that the North Arrow
Always faces up.
Like hands towards the sky
it acts as your guide
no matter the weather
or if your map leads you awry.

Maps show so many things
treasures and tales
of lost golden things.
don’t forget what you’re drawing
or what you’re looking for
Pick up that pencil
And keep drawing for more.

I never get lost with my GPS

I Never Get Lost With My GPS

Now, you see life is easy
When you have a GPS.
And the lady tells you directions;
Though you have no address.
You don’t even need a map!
Because the little box knows best
Heard it from a calculation
10 satellites don’t rest!
Never mind you getting lost
Or taking two slight rights
She’s programmed to give directions
Don’t question her programmed script
If you can’t find your ending location
Perhaps it doesn’t even exist!

-Inspired by the dumb **s truckers who were convinced Kings River Ranch was .8 miles from the Sawtooth Station.

Snake in the Grass

A slippery snake slithering through the grass
Slides silently under your eyes; it's past.
What evil lurks disguised in the color
of a green lovely grass; the ending of summer.
Winter will come and snake will retreat to his hole
And what he leaves behind; you may not know.
But later some day when the next spring has sprung
You go outside- to have a bit of fun.
and while frolicking in your expected paradise
the grass and the ground cave in to your demise-
And there you will sit with a broken leg
In the den of a family of dual hiss fangs.

So let these words of warning ring to you
Not every snake is honest or true.
Most hide themselves and speak with forked tongues;
then set their traps so you are undone.
The more power the snake has, the bigger its den
You had better watch out for that poison and sin.

Liberty Sound

Freedom carries a banner of the Red White and Blue-
riding a bay horse galloping through and through;
her golden hair streaming out and teeth shining towards the sun.
Hear the hooves thundering down; lightning is that liberty run.
And her, my how she sits! Tall and proud.
Three hundred years her words still sound
As the wind blows against the ground.
And her horse keeps a' going; the sweat flying in beads
Through the storm he carries her; his heart beats against her knees.
Have you seen her passing? Waving through your town?
There is nothing quite so powerful as hearing
That liberty sound.

Heart Disease

Does advancing technology provide cures for heart disease or is it a source of a sedentary lifestyle that contributes to heart disease? How can you have one without the other? 2 sides to the same coin.

I don't know

I don't know
how the world will end
or how it will go.
All I know is the ticking clock
a decent measure
of the soul
Tick tock tick tock
Count the night
watch it go
I don't know
I don't know
Where will it end
And how will it go?

Not one of the roses

they gave us their promise
and they likened us to roses
every one of us could be
so long as they chose us.

on our graduation day
we were as free as the wind.
they told us to be
everything they could send.
the world welcomed us
with wide open arms
like roses we blossomed
no one was harmed.

in college they taught us
so we'd all think the same.
the promise was test scores
that the best would remain.
and the worst was so ugly
as to not be a rose
of which the teachers
quickly disposed.
the thinking was different
too many questions were asked.
so the great promise that was given;
that promise didn't last.

and here I am;
Not a rose;
though I know many indeed.
Of many odd colors
None of which are free.
they gave us their promise
and they likened us to roses
The roses framed
expensive papers; themed posters.

But I, here I am!
with a far different plan
in a sea of perfumed noses.
away from their teachings
and expensive false preachings
I remain.
Not a rose, no siree
But a dense willow tree
Growing where no rose will grow.
Growing, always growing
With roots running deep
anchoring me in
Only then am I free.

When tending your garden (a metaphor for life)

When tending to your garden
Don't forget to build a fence
To keep things out but also
to let things in.

Leave the gate open
for the wind to blow
Pull the weeds that bind
the Roses that grow.

When tending to your garden
See your fruits grow safe
In the sun of the morning
through the wind and rain.

Draw the rocks up close
to your concentrated rows
And keep a close eye
on letting Life grow.

When tending to your garden
Remember the taste of the fruit
And the love you put into it
There you'll see the Truth.

The Farmer ...etc...

The world was sick
So the Farmer thought
As he bought some seeds
With little money he brought.
They charged him more
than the bag was worth
He narrowed his eyes
Rubbed his hands on his shirt
He knew down inside
that his labor was true
and some great divinity
was bound to show through-
Through the seeds in the soil
If he prayed for the rain
That God's natural furrow
Would bring justice to pain.


____________________________
The world is sick
He thought on some more
When he took his spare change
And left the grain store
And passed some children
walking on the street
with holes in their lips
And phones to their cheeks.
_____________________________

The world is so sick
Was all he was thinking
When he took all his change
and instead took to drinking.
He remembered his children
he remembered their strife.
Searching, always searching
For some better life.


...meh...

Honey Honey- Little Toy Gun

A soft Nevada breeze

There's nothing like the smell of spring
In a soft Nevada breeze.
Young shoots of sage
With perfumed wings;
A cool necessity.

Ah, breathe in deep!
the sweet relief
from the desert's eternal toil.
A moment of green
is so serene;
water seeping in soil.

See, all we need
is a little rain
and a cloud swept
'cross the valley floor.
There's nothing like the smell of spring
Leaves me loving Nevada
more and more and more.

Angel and Devil meet on the street

An Angel and a devil
Meet on the street
The Angel is comely
The devil, discreet.
By the shade of a lamplight
devil hides his eyes
A sinister smile yields
A cunning disguise.
Angel steps forth
With kindness and strength
Ready to defend
And tend to his sheep.

'Why, Angel, do you step
Into the light
Where you know you can't see
Where you know it is bright.
Isn't it hard to open your wings
When darkness surrounds you
And there is no one who sees?'

'Devil be damned
I come not for you.
I am looking for goodness
Through and through.
God has forsaken;
But I still believe.
There is goodness among you
And for the badness I grieve.

If there is any in darkness
Who choose not to be
I'd have them come forward
And choose to be free.'

'Angel it seems you are quite insane
We are all of virtue
To Our lord's happy ways.
We do much to our liking
Because you do not care
Your God has forsaken
Under our bosom
The sheep share.
They have all that they wish
Why do you think them unhappy?'

'What you speak is all twisted
From your malicious ways.
A wolf in sheep's clothing
Does not make you brave.'

And out of the darkness
Angel heard a cry
Of a little girl in pain
Coming toward the light.

'Oh Child, come to me
Rid this darkness from your eyes
Together we will fly away
God has blessed your very life'

The girl ran up and hugged the angel
And up and up they flew.
They left that city of sin and pain
And what else only God and the Devil knew

A gnarled old willow

A gnarled old willow
Asleep in the field
Casting shade like a pillow
To the critters who yield.

Her roots run deep
To anchor her in
A shovel won't move her
Neither will wind.

Not even fire
Will smolder her down
she's stronger than the flames
That cower around.

Oh what a burden
Oh what a crone
Sitting there lazy
In the field where I roam.

But I need to plant seeds
I plead and I plead
So I try to remove
And it is only myself that grieves.

She's got a whole family
Asleep in that field
Waiting for rain
To wake and to feel.

But for now she is lazy
And stronger than time
I'm unsure how to remove her
So I thought of this rhyme.

But they only see the paint

I know there to be
A woman under the veil
But will she ever show her
Face? Only time may tell.
I could never quite see her
Though she was quite public
And maybe a little pale
An artist hand paints an artist
Face? No one saw her fail.
But I did once.
A long time ago
She showed up
At my door.
I know there to be
A woman under the veil
She showed me her
Face. It smiled and was well.
But that is such a memory
Of a time when we were young
When cherry blossoms fell
And to me, she would never fail.
But time added layers
Maybe she forget to clean
The acrylic from her skin
They cake and seem unclean.
 I know there to be
A woman under the veil
Because all those people do not love her
They only see the paint
Something they want but can not have
They do not know how to wait.
I know there to be
A woman behind the veil
A person with light and spirit in her eyes
And not the painted visage that
always seems to cry.