A Younger Poet 5-1-12

I dab some ink on end of quill,

and draft a poem right until,

my paper stack is all used up

and empty is my coffee cup.

My hand that shakes all on its own,

is held in place by fragile bone

so every verb and every noun

is marred when they are written down.

It seems to me to be so cruel,

for such a weak and senile fool,

with varicose and bulging veins

with all my many aches and pains,

to write more words until they're right

this poetry - despite my sight,

that grows so weak so often now.

I wonder if I still know how...

Yet may my writing not disguise

that God is good and God is wise -

for God has blessed and has in store

His endless grace and all the more.

We often think we know it all

and brag before our humble fall -

yet may we learn this simple truth:

that ink can change a prideful youth.

So I will write 'til truth is taught

and everlasting grace is sought.

Before I die, for what it's worth,

I'll pray for one more poets birth -

to carry on, to take my place,

to teach more youth of every race.

So dab I ink, on end of quill,

until a younger poet will...

©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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Seven Cents 3-12-09

How futile are the efforts

of mans short feeble strife,
on this lost and dying earth,
as he begins his life.

I repaired a house -

had first to clean it up,
some paper here, some clothing there,
and one stained coffee cup -

I really have to wonder,

what's inside the head,
when I see the pauper's life -
and view his life instead.

How futile are the work days,

how futile those days off,
when hogs and sows come running to -
a busy feeding trough.

If I had only known him,

if I had known him hence,
though others carried him from here,
I held his seven cents.

Though not as much as Jesus' cried
while hanging to the cross,
my heart cries out in anguish

for men who live in loss.

Endulging in the here and now,

responsible, his fate -
man still works and lives like pigs,
though God controls the date.

Seven cents disguarded,

I found inside his home.
A life indulged in things of earth -
More souls forever roam....

©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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