Hopelessly Helpless? 6-28-12

I woke up from sleeping and found myself eating

a piece of old barley bread.

While feeding on breakfast, I thought it most unjust

that yours was a warm one instead.

Though willow branch bends, it cannot make amends

to a place that I'm sitting between.

A rock and a hard place that's hopeless to face -

and torment, the greatest I've seen.

My great sacrifice just wouldn't suffice.

These shoes that I wear aren't by choice.

"We can't refinance" was the bank's 'song and dance'

but who would hear my little voice?

Despite life-long effort, they're selling me short,

my business at such a great cost.

The bank never spared because they hadn't cared,
hence millions of dollars were lost.

So don't store up treasures for everyday pleasures,

in things of this earth that will rust.

The great love of money has never been funny,

for only in God should we trust.

It's so disconcerting my children are hurting,

yet hopelessly helpless I am.

Despite expectations to pay obligations,

I now can't help any of them.

I sit in the shade of these problems they made.

This willow tree weeps with me too.

The moral of story is not really gory

if we've learned a lesson or two.

Those decades of years bring me sad lonely tears

for they took everything that I had.

But what greater loss - than was Christ's on the cross?

I maybe don't have it so bad.

©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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The Last Whistle 8-23-10

The train is now ready on strong, sturdy tracks.
The engine stands idle, yet nothing it lacks.

So soon will depart this old world by and by -
and faithfully leave in a blink of an eye.

The tracks lay ahead - in parallel rails -
laid firmly on ties fastened tightly with nails.

The nails that hold each limb in its place,
painfully centered, reflected on face.

The roadsides are flowered where souls still mourn -
but not beside rails still bordered by thorn.

The narrow, so straight, is still railing in pain.
Though great are the treasures, so few receive gain.

The first whistle blows with full steam in the plume.
The time dwindles quickly. There's plenty of room.

Again - second whistle - recorded in Word.
The smoke starts to billow, with whistle unheard.

Is heart fully in it? Be sure, Heaven knows -
so who is on board as the last whistle blows?

©2010 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/

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2 Peter 3:9 (KJV)
"The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness;

but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish,

but that all should come to repentance."

Pirates! 8-20-09

I remember back, when young -
the pirate tales from grandpa's tongue -
where peg-legged men with but one eye
sought their treasures, chanced to die.

Captain Pirate had a hook
and he cared not from whom he took.
He boarded ships and stole their goods -
then hid his treasures in the woods.

On the ship - he had some men -
who helped him rob now and again.
At times they partied and they drank. -
If one was rude, he'd walk the plank.

Now this old pirate wasn't fair -
and got so drunk he didn't care.
It didn't matter who he killed -
just so his humor was fulfilled.

A wee bit close, I happened near -
lost both my boots and lost my gear.
They tied me up that very night -
my wrists had hurt, the rope was tight.

One pulled quick, his shiny sword -
then threw me on that weathered board.
The ocean deep, the water black,
the sword I felt, pressed to my back.

I stepped out - again, again,
with nudges felt from earthly sin.
The steps I took were very short
but that old plank gave me support.

I thought quick but took some pause -
reflecting on life's silly laws.
Blinded by life's codes and rules,
I had nothing - them, the jewels.

Hoping here on earth I'd stay,
stepped I through life from day to day.
And this I knew - could not pretend -
this plank was short. There was an end.

Weight pushed low the outer ledge.
My toes could feel the very edge.
No turning back, what's done is done -
no place to turn - no place to run.

Bodies end with earthly goals
as all life ends - but not the souls.
Emotions quake, as body shakes,
but after death - the soul awakes.

They held truth (though they got old)
those pirate tales that grandpa told -
but futile is a life that's wed,
with both the soul and body dead.

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

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