Springtime

Last night we sprung forward into daylight savings time and I thought of Spring. I found this painting on the web by Jack Terry of Georgetown, TX,

and thought it would highlight a poem I wrote a while back. I know some of you are still having snow and cold, but hopefully this will give some hope that Spring is on the way. My little oaks out front are budding and putting on new leaves as we move from the brown of Winter to the color of Spring here in the Valley. Have a wonderful Sunday as we take time to consider God the creator.

COULD AUGHT BUT GOD MAKE SPRING?

Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.
Tuned songbirds’ voices sing.
Could aught but God make spring?
New life to winter’s dying bring,
as unto us though we were dead?
Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.

Dennis Price

What do you like?

The east side of the Carrizo plain, in the Temblor Range,
about 50 miles due west of Bakersfield, California.
Photo taken by Barbara Mathews, May 14, 2005.
Nothing man can do could ever equal the glory of God's creations.
The Day GOD SPILLED THE PAINT!

Spring means many things to folks all around the world. Usually, it is associated with the post winter blooming of beautiful flowers and wildflowers. I have written several poems about Spring. It has a magical quality about it to help us look past some rough weather, flooding, and insect swarms. It signals the rebirth of the Earth's beauty after the drabness of winter. If you are one of those who helped me get started in this maddness we call blogging, then you may have already read some of the things I have posted lately. A select few have gone back and read some older posts (and I thank you), so you may see a poem, essay, or story repeated occasionally with a new title and hopefully a new lead-in. I have several short stories that would require posting in a series of no more than three parts and I would like to know if you would read them like that. There is one in an older post if you would like to see an example. It was entitled "The Season" and was posted March 21, 2008 through March 23, 2008. Also, please let me know if you like soapbox essays, poetry, nostalgia, or humor better. I am going to try and get my ADD under control enough to do some advance planning for these posts to take the pressure off my early mornings. I will be reading your comments and I will hopefully respond with stuff you like to read.


COULD AUGHT BUT GOD MAKE SPRING?

Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.
Tuned songbirds’ voices sing.
Could aught but God make spring?
New life to winter’s dying bring,
as unto us though we were dead?
Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.


It was beautiful and simple, as truly great swindles are. - O. Henry

Spring Variance

Just wanted to include everyone. Positive thinking is a good thing. It won't be long before your transformation occurs. While you are thinking blooms, we are anticipating the warmth that follows Spring here. This actually dipicts an Arizona summer temperature more than one of ours. We usually top out just under 100 on our hottest days. Last year was very wet and mild for the Valley. I think we had one day during the summer that reached 100. I'm pretty sure Billings, MT beat us. I am trying to shed my winter coat - I've been wearing it for a couple of years now. I did manage during the course of my eight day diet to loose nine pounds. About thirty more and I'll be just right. I appreciate your supportive comments. Many people here have the sniffles, plus watery, itchy eyes, as an abundance of pollen from Oaks, Mesquite, Huisache, and other trees travels on the March breezes. In Austin during the late winter and early Spring the pollen of the Mountain Juniper tree gave many people "Cedar Fever". People called the tree a Cedar, even though it is a Juniper. Austin is at the edge of the Texas Hill Country, and on the west side of the city the limestone hills are beautiful. I wrote this poem while living there.

Austin Winter

Another hot winter’s day

Liquid crystal moves over limestone.

Skies threaten more water,
not frozen.

Green grass.
Mountain Juniper pollen.

Southerly breezes huff
against a norther.

Everybody hates me because I'm so universally liked. - Peter de Vries

Sunday Morning Coming Down

I awoke this morning to a gentle rumbling, the sound of muffled thunder. I thought it might have been the steak I ate last night, but as I drifted into conciousness, I knew it was thunder. I arose in the darkness and went outside. The moon was a blurred suggestion. East, out over the Gulf of Mexico, I saw flashes of light behind the dark moving clouds. The air was heavy. The rumbling continued, but softer now. Nothing says stay in bed like morning thunder. I stood and watched for a while. I imagined it was God talking. Sometimes a still small voice - sometimes a thunder crash. We could use some sweet water here in the valley, but everything was drifting south.

My wife said the bluebonnets I posted previously were pretty, but a little puny. I found a more representative sample of what we look forward to so you might see the difference. The hibiscus photo in the upper left hand corner was taken yesterday in my front yard. I'm reminded of how blessed we are no matter where we live in this great country. So many of you chronicle the beauty daily. I have shelter, food, and family nearby. My life is easy and I live in peace. I thank God this morning for his grace, mercy, and bounty. We have to diet in this country because we have too much to eat. Not so in many neighboring countries. Let's just be quiet today and think of all our many blessings. Pray for those who are less fortunate.

GOD’S PEBBLE

There was a man upon life’s road
who rarely wavered from his task,
walked with purposed step and true,
until a pebble found his shoe.

And once inside, the pebble wore
upon his foot till stop he must.
While kneeling down to get the stone
he saw a world he’d never known.

On his left he saw the sea,
breathed salt air, felt the breeze,
heard the crash of waves on sand,
felt a presence, not of man.

On his right huge mountains rose
rugged peaks, towering trees.
A pristine lake, reflections bore
that magnified God’s bounteous store.

He took the pebble from his shoe,
once more started on his way.
But, stopped and looked from time to time
as God’s small pebble came to mind.

The male is a domestic animal which, if treated with firmness, can be trained to do most things. - Jilly Cooper

Just Around the Corner

Easter came early this year. The last time it was this early was 1913. It will be another 100 years before it arrives this early again. Just thought you might be wondering. In the spirit of renewal, Barb and I are starting a new diet today. If you notice any surliness in the upcoming posts, please let me know. Hope you are enjoying the new Masthead. If you are in one of the more northern climes you can put it on your computer as wallpaper. We have passed the vernal equinox and I am looking forward to the wildflower displays. Central and southwest Texas are famous for beautiful fields of Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrushes, and a wide variety of other colorful wildflowers.

COULD AUGHT BUT GOD MAKE SPRING?

Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.
Tuned songbirds’ voices sing.
Could aught but God make spring?
New life to winter’s dying bring,
as unto us though we were dead?
Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.

As you journey through life, take a minute every now and then to give a thought for the other fellow. He could be plotting something. Hagar the Horrible.

Not Forgotten

Life is a long lesson in humility. - James M. Barrie

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Hibiscus, or rosemallow, is a large genus of about 200–220 species of flowering plants in the family Malvaceae (the mallow family, along with members like cocoa, cotton, okra, baobab and durian) native to warm temperate, subtropical and tropical regions throughout the world. The genus includes both annual and perennial herbaceous plants, and woody shrubs and small trees.

I present this beautiful Hibiscus to those of you who have yet to see Spring 2008. It comes early here in the Valley. The picture was taken yesterday. My wife bought the plant about six months ago in the bargain isle at Home Depot.

We had a guest speaker in Church today. A Christian physician who reminded us that God has not forgotten us. He led with the story of a Union soldier freed from a Confederate prison camp at the end of the Civil war. The soldier, a Sergeant from western Pennsylvania, was very weak from his incarceration. Another soldier accompanied him back to his home. But when they arrived, the Sergeant was too weak to tell the other soldier exactly where he lived. The two were in the Cavalry, and wore yellow scarfs around their necks. As they neared the place where the Sergeant lived, there were yellow scarfs tied on trees to mark the turns and forks in the road leading to his home. He was not forgotten by his family.

Peter was not forgotten by Jesus in spite of his denial. The crowing of the rooster signaled the dawn, or beginning of a new era in Peter's ministry, not the end. So we are reminded God has not forgotten us. Beauty in nature always reminds me of God's presence. I wrote a song in 1976 based loosley on Psalms 104 and later trimmed it up for a poetry contest. It is a reminder that God is always with us.

Reflections on Psalm 104

In the morning when I rise,
I watch the sunrise lift dark skies,
and usher in a songbird’s song,
another day to Him belongs.
In this scene I plainly see
The Universal majesty of God.

Through the day He walks with me,
lights my path that I may see.
I’m assured that He will be,
by my side eternally.
I always know that He is there.
I can see Him everywhere I go.

Then falls the curtain of the night.
Still my God displays his might.
Earth’s canopy the stars do light,
assuring me with signs so bright.
God is still upon his throne
and cares for me because I am his own.

He raised the mountains up.
He pushed the valleys down.
In Splendors of creation
His handiwork abounds.
His Chariots are the clouds.
He walks on the wings of the wind.
All the wonders of our universe
a reminder to all men.

COULD AUGHT BUT GOD MAKE SPRING?

Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.
Tuned songbirds’ voices sing.
Could aught but God make spring?
New life to winter’s dying bring,
as unto us though we were dead?
Could aught but God make spring?
Purples, greens, whites, reds.

Recollections

I know many of you who read this may still be stuck in winter. I thought I would provide some stored memories in poetry. In my neck of the woods the pre-dawn temperature is 76. I am pulling weeds everyday as they sprout ahead of my grass. Spring here can't be far off. I think poetry should be entertaining and understandable. I suppose the some academics in this venue would not care for my plain style. Well, I don't care for their dark, profane, and non-intelligible styles either. I wrote this poem to poke a little fun.

I Salute You William Shakespeare

If I could just remember who wrote what,
and what they said,
I would quote them in my poetry,
the living and the dead.

I would be obtuse and dark,
droning on in endless prose.
not caring where my poem’s been
not knowing where it goes.

They’d think I’m educated
Ivy League, maybe Harvard.
For sure an academic.
cutting edge, avant garde.”

I would throw the cesspool at them
from bathroom to bordello.
A gasp, a blush, a whisper,
“He is such a brilliant fellow.”

They would clap when I was finished,
softly sigh, and nod assent.
And wonder if the others
had a clue of what I meant.

April Impressions

Zephyrs stir miniature
soldiers of lavender
and salmon pink
standing at attention
on a carpet of pastel green.

Purple tendrils
surround a phone pole.

Splashes of white and pink
peak out from
winter’s stark remnants.

An ice blue sky
domes the hillsides
carpeted in yellow and blue.

Songbird fugues
pierce the air
backed up by the
steady gurgle of a
crystal stream.

Subtle hints of perfume
carried on the breeze
refresh and revive
my wakening spirit.