Passing Thoughts

Passing Thoughts

By CBoterweg

What will they say on the last day

As my ashes are cast to the wind?

Will friends meet, shake hands and greet,

On the banks of some wide river’s bend?

Will they laugh and share favorite stories

Of things we did way back and when?

And someone to say without my friendship

How different life could have been?

Or might no one utter ought in my honor

As though I was none too soon gone?

Their faces reflecting no love or compassion

As they glance at their watches and yawn?

What is my answer to the obvious question

Jesus will ask at His door far above?

“What did you do with gifts I gave you

To tell all the world of My love”?

Will I then gaze upon infinite darkness

Where alone I will pay for my sin?

Or will a crowd gather behind Jesus’ shoulder

To welcome me as I walk in?

Prayer of Thanksgiving

Prayer of Thanksgiving

By CBoterweg

(From Our Prayer of Thanks by Carl Sandburg)

From the vastness of the universe to the minutia

that is a tadpole in a spring rain puddle

Those of your making who take time to ponder such things,

Offer this Prayer of Thanks.

For the changing seasons and the bearers of fruit

and beauty that come in their time.

To produce sustenance and a reason for existence

We offer this prayer of Thanks.

For the language we use that enables us to express our

gratitude in a multitude of ways

we offer aloud our prayer of thanks.

Poetic Obligations

Poetic Obligations

By C. Boterweg

(After E.A. Markham)

The poet, through his art memorializes the dead.

Likewise she urges the living to make a difference

while time remains.

The Genesis for their tales comes from personal

interaction and observation. It is Poe's bride

Annabel Lee for whom he weeps, from her own

Solitude that Ella Wheeler Wilcox warns us. Only

after Crossing The Bar does Tennyson share with

us his intentions.

Without this record could history be more than a

random sample based on mere conjecture reaching

even more unlikely conclusions?

Can the dying pass without regret? Lovers love

without a kiss? Can the lost recover direction

without a guide?

If no one illuminates atrocities committed, is the world

any safer? Are Daffodils not more beautiful when seen

through Wordsworth's eyes?

Still America

Still America

By CBoterweg

This is still the place that I call home.

I rode to town today, I met no highwaymen

wanting to rob or beat me. No one waits behind

a tree to do me harm because of my ethnicity,

gender or age.

It's still here where I want to be.

People still want to exchange their birthplace for

mine.  Americans do not gather in front of foreign

embassieswaiting for their chance to experience

freedom.

It's only in America where I can expect a square deal,

sealed by nothing more than a hand shake and a smile.

While not everything or everybody is equal, we

try hard to make it so. Our law actively supports us.

In America people still believe in a dream

that if you work hard and treat others as you

want them to treat you, something special

happens. You can be successful, a winner!

America still believes in God. That Jesus is

His son and the Holy Spirit resides inside us.

But if you don't believe this way, you can

still be an American and worship your way.

America still wants everyone in the world

to be healthy and fulfilled. When bad things

happen, an earthquake in Haiti, a tsunami in

Malaysia, tornadoes in Alabama, we offer help.

America still wants peace. 

Admittedly, inour rush to help the downtrodden,

sometimes we step where we don't belong or aren't

wanted.

We are working hard to make our bad, good.

So, you can still count on America: to pay our

debts, to fulfill our promises, to make things

right, And if we don't have room right now for

you to be an American, you can still dream the

dream for your children and their children.

The Darwinian Battle

The Darwinian Battle
By CBoterweg

One nerd to another: is our personal
history of dating and losing to jocks one
example of nature's battle to separate
strong from weak, fit from the unfit,
the pros from the Joes, pretty from
plain? The flaw in such thinking is the
ninety-eight pound weaklings discover
with weight and martial arts training they
can climb out of the pit to which they've
been assigned.  The athletic rarely
improve their intelligence.  A brain
ultimately trumps strength and good
looks.  Nerds mate later, are more
often monogamous and partner for life,
usually with a surviving member of the
Nerd caste, thereby perpetuating the
species.  May this observation comfort
and sustain you as you sit alone in your
dorm at night listening to the theme
from Star Wars.

The Bard In Me

The Bard in Me

By CBoterweg

I sit in front of my computer.

Thoughts tumbling around like clothes in a dryer.
I know that if I but concentrate they will find their proper places.
Visualize a murder of crows sitting on a fence
rising, settling, rising again.
Vying for places in the pecking order.
The beauty of poetry lies in its
ability to picture a concept
without a brush or palette knife.
There are so many possibilities.
I recall failing to describe a Chagall,
“Serenade” with his horse people
and implacable sensuality. 
More words did not help
only the right words.
If I do not grab them quickly
they slip through my synapses like sand
in an hourglass,
proper order lost, hopelessly, forever.
Yet, who may claim I cannot be a poet?

Trojans at the Gate

By CBoterweg

Awake! Awake, you Spartan sons.

Wake up your families too.

Hear the warning from the gate

the Trojans soon are due.

Don your armor, fetch your spear.  

A helm place on your head.
We all are mighty warriors
our fame, worldwide, is spread.

Take care to think we cannot lose,

our walls cannot be breached.
Though strong we are, do not doubt
Our throats still can be reached.

A gift of peace the Trojans left

A horse stands near the throne.
The King relieved his Praetorian guard
Their replacements yet unknown.

Our King is new, these six months past
He's promised hope and change
But hopes are only empty dreams
And change . . . is merely change.

Some hear treason in my words

They would have you look my way.
Lest you examine very close
What crimes they do today.

Beware the Trojans at the gates.

Yet Trojans we're trained to kill.
But the enemy I fear the most
Are Spartans with souls to sell.