Your Love 11-29-15

Frosted needles on the pine

in this, the greatest nation.

Oh, why God, did you bless us with

Your good and great creation?

Rainbow smiles on every race,

between their dimples, bends.

Oh, why God, did you bless us with

such good and priceless friends?

A cross on steeple's pinnacle,

now draws us from our search.

Oh, why God, did you bless us with

Your Son's eternal church?

---

So why, God, do you bless me so

when I'm so blindly swerving -

on and off your 'narrow road',

when I'm so undeserving?

I fall down on arthritic knees.

I bow my weary head.

I used to focus on my wants,

but now I'm Yours instead.

From frosted needles, rainbow smiles

to cross that stands above,

I know now why You've blessed me so.

May others find Your love.

©2015 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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When Fighting Hate 11-24-15

Picture from: https://chazzw.wordpress.com/2012/03/17/the-missing-of-the-somme-geoff-dyer/

It matters much

when two hearts touch,

yet war has its demand.

When fighting hate,

my flag is great,

but some don't understand.

Now it's a shame

some played their games

while we were undermanned.
Through heat and cold,

we all were bold,

but some don't understand.

While taking flak,

I watched his back.

We fought them man to man.

It happened fast,

that deadly blast,

but some don't understand.

With comrade dead,

sad tears I shed.

It's not what we had planned.

It makes no sense,

my guilt's immense,

but some don't understand.

Arriving home

with war syndrome,

experienced firsthand.

It all seems wrong

with heroes gone,

but some don't understand.

I'll make it though,

disfigured so.

This is my wonderland.

It's God I need,

I do indeed,

but some don't understand.

It matters much

when two hearts touch,

but war has its demand.

When fighting hate,

our cause is great.

Still, some don't understand.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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On Winds Of Time 11-22-15

The beauty of that place was such

that I just hadn't mattered much.

Except for me, the trees were bright

with vibrant leaves.  Oh, what a sight!

The crowds would mingle and would rest

among the brightest and the best

where thoughts and dreams together meld

in beauty so unparalleled.

Those autumn trees would grin and shout,

"Hey, look at us.  Come check us out.

We've colored leaves for you to see."

And so it was for ev'ry tree -

except for me with branches bare.

I didn't brag.  I didn't dare -

for people laughed - and newlyweds

just rolled their eyes and shook their heads.

A boy yanked off my one last leaf,

then ran away - that little thief!

So there I stood, ignored, alone.

I was a poet tree, unknown.

Exposing all my worthless whims,

the breezes weaved around my limbs.

The days were long and getting cold.

I knew that I was growing old.

A gentleman came strolling by

who paused a bit.  I don't know why.

He was a man, quite elderly

who found an old leaf under me.

He picked it up and for a while,

I thought I saw a little smile.

He contemplated for a time

and then reread my dead leaf rhyme.

I'm not a poet tree, they say

so yes, my poems blow away.

But high in humble love they sail -

across the plains and over vale,

over seas and over shores,

before they rest near Heaven's doors.

They're found by men of humble heart
whose souls are touched and set apart.

Let colored leaves not camouflage
those covered trees that sabotage
the perfect rhymes of poet's love
which blow as snow from God above.

God's love is oftentimes disguised

from people who are mesmerized

by pretty leaves that promise bliss

and worlds of joy and happiness.

But seasons come and seasons go
as brooks and streams and rivers flow.
They never stop.  They never end.
If only man could comprehend.

For sailing from the empty trees

are tears of love inside the leaves.

So leaves as these are worth the rhyme

and fly along on winds of time.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Cuckoo Clock 11-15-15

The time is almost 3 AM.

but I don't really care -

except the ticking of the clock

is more than I can bear.

The pendulum swings back and forth.

It doesn't ever sleep.

And neither have I had a wink,

(though I have counted sheep).

The tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick

is all it ever does.

A cuckoo clock is all it is

and all it ever was.

It can't jump off the wall and run.

That little bird can't fly.

She hasn't helped a single soul.

She's not as good as I.

So should I take her insults too?

She makes my stomach sour.

She says that I am cuckoo ev'ry

hour on the hour...

A burst of great emotions come

whenever she pops out -

and tells me I am cuckoo 'till

it makes me want to shout.

But then she quickly sneaks back in

and shuts her little door.

If only she could stay in there,

and not pop out at 4.

Her strong opinion does not change

and I know it won't end -

but I'll forgive that little bird.

She really is my friend.

And so I pull the weights back up

to give her one more day

to tell me I am cuckoo, 'cause -

that's all that she can say.

The time is almost 4 AM.

but I don't really care -

except the ticking of the clock

is more than I can bear.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Doug, the Bug 11-8-15

"If I could elevate myself

and look down from the sky,

then I could see the facts of life

and learn of truth and lie."

Now that's what Doug, the Bug had thought.

He therefore went afoot -

t'ward great gigantic tree atop

its long and bulging root.

Then finally he started up.

That trunk had massive girth.

It seemed to be as solid as

the ground upon the earth.

He climbed the largest limb he found

and then the highest branch.

It all seemed very sturdy there.

It overlooked a ranch.

Back up, Doug glanced - and then he spied

the highest leaf of all!

And so he climbed some tiny twigs

which seemed quite weak and small.

"I'm almost there," he told himself,

"I'll rest on highest leaf."

At last that bug stood right on top

his firmly held belief.

Now Doug gripped tight, that little leaf

that he, himself, had earned.

And though he thought he knew it all,

one lesson hadn't learned.

You know, the truth is not always

the things that we can see.

Invisible, those autumn winds

had yanked that leaf from tree.

So Doug, the Bug was on his own.

He feared for his own soul -
and he was at the mercy of

that wicked wind's control.

He soared there on that wayward leaf

to places yet unknown -

then settled on a foreign ground

where he was all alone.

All winter he, in circles walked

and aimlessly did roam.
He shed such long repentant tears
but couldn't find his home.

He ran and cried and cried and ran -

then fell flat on his face.

Then God reached down and picked him up.

And that's what we call grace.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Seven Words 11-1-15

(based on a true story)

Her son stepped to the pulpit with

some papers in his hand.

He cleared his throat and thought a bit,

but would they understand?

Would they know who mom really was?

Would they know they had fun?

Would they know mom loved God and prayed?

Would they know all she'd done?

Would they know she was always poor,

her pain and all her crying?

Would they know she helped little ones

with smiles and hugs while dying?

He laid, then, all the papers down

and peered up into Heaven.

Inside his mind he edited

his words right down to seven.

Would seven words explain it all

and would those words prevail -

there in each heart describing mom

in intimate detail?

Now friends and fam'ly waited for

her son with eager ears -

as he concluded all his thoughts

while holding back his tears.

He took a breath and slowly spoke

until his talk was done.

"Ev'ryone loved mom, because,

[my] mom loved ev'ryone."

He noticed many sparkles flash,

in each and ev'ry eye.

He gazed down at the casket then -

and said his last goodbye.

©2015 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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God knows all corners of our minds.

He knows our subtle ways.

He knows the number of our hairs,

deceptions of our days.

But love connects both God and man -

the greatest and the last -

and son knew he would see her soon,

for time on earth flies fast.
©2015 louis gander