As a young man, I would never have admitted to writing poetry or singing love songs to my wife, but at the age I am now I can confess that I still do both. The poems I chose to put in my books are ones that do not need to be deciphered, and some people might think of them as too simple. I do feel obliged to inform the reader that some editors agree with that point of view, and some of the poems were rejected by several publications who know a lot more about poetry than I do. I am from Missouri, however, and have to be shown, so I invite criticism from anyone who cares to give me their comments.

My feelings about poetry, that it is created to shock or disturb the reader, is summed up in the first poem of this section, and contains an opinion which some may wish to disagree. Let me know if there are any you like.



I bought a book of poems, and read them every one.

I must say I understood, not one when I was done.

I found not one poetic, and some were even crude,

describing bodily functions, or acts perverse, and lewd.

I wonder do the poets really picture life that way,

or have I missed completely, what they have to say?

I can't believe an expletive or clever sounding curse,

can be described as poetry, when it is so perverse.


The Warrior

I fear the dark the warrior cried

when no one else could hear

I fear the arrows yet unloosed

and future so unclear

I fear that death may call me out

as shadows round me grow

I fear the most that I will die

and none will care or know


The Widow

Old woman breaking beans,

Her thoughts on what life meant.

She gave her all for meager means,

but tried to be content.

She loved one man those many years,

raised children long since grown.

A life of love, and joy... some tears

made boards, and mortar home.

She wonders now, why it should be,

Life's riches passed her by.

then with a nudge from memory,

Her heart discards that lie.


When I'm Gone

Sit you down with chamomile

and read my poetry

On lonely nights for just awhile

you and my memory


Emotions of Nature

One tree does not a forest make

or one rain an ocean be

but does a forest mourn a loss

do storms delight the sea


  The Dart

A dart lay hidden neath my tongue

It flew at loving wife

She writhed in pain and thrashed about

as if it were a knife

Her tears in anguished torrents fell

A stain there on the floor

Then holes appeared within her heart

where love had been before



For mowing lawns and other tasks

I find I've one desire

In Sawyers way to lie, and bask

While others do perspire


Deja  Vu

I've been here before

I know what's in store

There's a place up ahead

Where I know I have said

I've been here before


The Garden

The garden has given all it will

The end has come to its season

The air conveys a changing chill

and plants have lost their reason

They stand in wrinkled faded dress

till winds can strip them bare

then wait for winter’s cold caress

and rest from summers care

Snow a hiding blanket  Ice covers the ground

Natures secret clocks reset  and waits for springs rebound

Cycles set to start again  the Garden soon will wake

revived by sun and springtime's rain  and Gods firm gentle shake



I find it hard to understand

how magazines I have on hand

are topical in what they say

with dates still many days away


Stages of Life

I am baby weak and pale

born with hunger scared and frail

fearing shadows in the night

awaiting love and mother’s light

I am child I know no fear

My road is long my way is clear

I've so much time left to decide

where I will go on life’s wild ride

I am man and know the way

I've much to do and much to say

The road is shorter than before

but I have time to do much more

I am older wiser too

I saw the world and loved the view

I found the things a man must know

to find his way through life and grow

I am old now weak and frail

but unafraid of life's last trail

I have no fear of that goodnight

Awaiting God to bring the light


Squirrel Encounter

He runs along then stops... a glance

A pose for me; his warrior’s stance

He chatters loud to show disdain

then runs some more and stops again

A backward look through tail acurl

How fierce how proud this warrior squirrel


The Mighty Tree

A mighty tree stood tall and straight

A sentinel it seemed to wait

As part of forest’s darkened fold

Through summer’s heat and winter’s cold

Fires and storms have left their mark

Scarring trunk and stripping bark

Still it stood erect... Alive

An Icon for the word …Survive

Lightning strikes and careless fire

failed to be its funeral pyre

Its destiny to stand or fall

decided by a man and saw