POETRY? He Does Poetry?



she knows

I know not where

When I foresee the damage done
I survey the home, but I see none
When hope is gone
Where boredom grows
Where love succumbs to pointless blows
Years go by and wasted still
Till morning comes and more ensue
To teach complacent and dredging true
It seems to me that all is gone

till one small fern unbends its arm
Thru sod it seems to talk to me
and says what love has forgotten to
It points the way, it sends me there
I wish I’d follow but the end is near
So pointless is the ending point

Why still struggle, why still care
But care it does and sends me there.
Every Spring, sometimes more
when skies are threatening
When beating winds and whooshing waters
tear its fabric from its feet
But try again and just a time as when
It points the way, I know not where.





Mamma let your boy grow up to be a Cowboy.
When you fall on the ice as he is cradled in your arms.
When you run around the house to make him fall asleep at night.
And when you hold him with tears ‘cause he canna breathe,
And you tell him he will be alright.

Mamma let your boy grow up to be a Cowboy.
Let him play with scissors.
Let him pick up a skateboard.
Let him buy his first bike.
Sigh when he climbs in through his bedroom window,
And smile at his first tattoo.
Love him at his game and more at his practice.
my boyIt is his work; it is his joy, not yours.

Daddy, let your boy grow up to be a Cowboy.
‘Cause when he asks to come home
You can give him shelter,
Show him grace,
And hand him a paintbrush.
‘Cause someday when he goes Home for good.
He is gonna need shelter, grace,
And even a paintbrush or a wrench.

So Mamma
And Daddy, let your boy
Grow up to be a Cowboy.