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Monday, December 30, 2013

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.

Monday, December 23, 2013

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.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

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.