Post with 2 notes
Magic Squares: A Recipe for My Youngest Girl
Two scoops of dreams sifted well with wishes,
Lots of sugar blended in with the kisses.
A heart and soul of mine thrown in,
Baked to perfection is how to begin.
These things are kept in the cupboard for now,
And with my help you’ll discover how.
Some day you’ll know that your father cares,
Teaching your little girl to make her own magic squares.
On Speaking with an Angel…ovwjj.110428
While shopping in the square today,
I heard a timid voice pipe up and say.
Hey fellow how have you been ,
I haven’t seen you in, well, I don’t know when
I turned to see and was quite surprised,
An older man white hair and piercing eyes,
My brain was running double speed,
His name I searched for, I really did need.
But to no avail I decided to go along
With the conversation , not to talk would be so wrong.
He said remember the weather and the way the wind had blown,
I suppose he must be right, If I had met this man I’d have known.
I thought about his face and what it might mean to me,
But for the life of it all who could this fellow be.
He said we had a tough one getting that class done,
And wanted to know if I still traveled and if my life was still as much fun.
I said well you know I have had my ups and downs,
I smiled a bit acting my best not to show my frown.
He said he had been there too but since I had changed him so
That his new path in life was now his only way to go.
He wanted to thank me one more time for putting him so straight
His life for years, had never really been so great
I asked what did I say and he said he went back to school,
Got his degree and then a good job near home, and as a rule.
Spent more time with his family than he ever used to do
Just the way I had told him he was supposed always try to
By this time I was lost and had to ask him when,
My thoughts had so drastically affected him.
He said Bill back in Lubbock we had a class at Texas Tech,
You talked to me about living when I was an emotional wreck .
I said yes I remember now it was back in 83’ ,
I had done that talk without notice in a class for my teacher all for free.
He asked the next day do I remember he came by and got me to sign his book,
And that he remembered what I wrote in it and quoted it without a look.
"Chuck you’ll find yourself , as people often do,
In a place that’s unexpected, maybe the timing will be off a little too,
Your place may come to you as little pieces one at a time,
Perhaps right in front of you, your happiness you will find.
So I tell you Chuck do your best to heed my word as being true,
You never can tell if it’s an Angel , you have been speaking to .”
Well I felt startled but said to him, “Chuck I’m no Angel I confess,”
He said there was no need for me to explain or even try to express.
His next words were so timeless , as he had explained these things,
He had used what I had written to get the best that life can bring.
For a moment I just looked at him he wiped his eye away
I’m sure I was listening closely as he turned to walk, he said
"Bill I tell you, YOU should heed my words as they are very true
Your right, YOU never can tell if it’s an Angel that YOU are talking to.
"To change the Oceans of the world one must only move a single grain of sand."wjj11
photo by crppope
On My Block ovwjj 110416
Outside my door the world began, it was built around my street,
The Hill, from the top was fun to ride down ,it’s where my west met east.
The neighborhood was full of kids, about my age out there,
Two years older two years younger, we never really cared.
We thought we would live forever in this little kingdom made,
From old cars, tall tree houses we would use anything for shade.
Box canyon was in the ore mines and the walls we tried to climb,
Several times I tried it, this kind of stuff was always on our mind.
There were plenty of guys around the block to help build things in the woods
There was Ron and Monty, Gregg and Johnny, Mike and Kenneth if they could
We had a lot more that drifted in and out, all were welcome to play,
From other streets and ‘move-ins’ too, we were out there every day.
A baseball game and tackle football, could be found somewhere on the block,
I remember once a monopoly game that nearly lasted around the clock.
I had a bike that I rode to school before banana seats were in style,
I traded it in three years later on, right before it turned a million miles.
Sometimes on warm weekend nights, we would try to fish or camp,
Rolled up in an Army blanket was no protection from the rain, it was always pretty damp,
My younger years went by snail’s pace I thought, now I know the truth,
In the scheme of time of a person’s life, the fastest part is their youth.
I miss my backyard spot to play, and father shouting “cut the grass.”
The birthday parties in the dining room, the baseball through the glass.
I guess I’m still a kid inside although this shell is getting old,
Years pass like weeks now, its sure sign of your age I’m told.
Don’t discount the act of looking back it’s the only blessings I have to give,
Of the times we all ran up and down our streets, where once in youth I lived.
Address 7503 ovwjj 110415
Today I went to my mailbox, inside was a letter there for me,
Its address said “Santa Clause, North Pole Box 7503”.
I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out the thing,
Here it was early April and why , it, the mailman would bring.
The moment passed and I went home, setting it on the cabinet top,
I didn’t think too much of it there , so on its end I tried it to prop.
The letter slipped behind some books, I had to move them out,
Since I had spent so much time on it, I opened the letter to see what it was about.
The page was written Crayola style from a younger person’s hand,
They were asking for a Barbie doll and the matching boyfriend Ken.
It said they’d had a hard year and their daddy was no longer home,
She said , “Mommy works a lot now and leaves me all alone.”
If I could have these dolls, she said, I’d never ask for more,
By then my heart was inside out, her request I could not ignore
I was in my car and at the toy store, in rapid time I was to ask
The salesman said these dolls are never sold here, they are really from the past
Now at this point I asked myself,” what would my own girl like?”
But she was at school till half past five and then would ride home on her bike.
If her mother had been here to guide me she’d have a good idea for me,
But since she’s gone now I do it all myself, at address 7503.
So I bought her a big stuffed animal, a “Hello Kitty” cat,
I thought it might bring a little joy, after all she was so sad.
I drove to the address, she had said was her home, it was only down the road,
I got out of my car and with a gulp I knocked on the little girl’s front door.
A lady dressed real nice opened the door for me,
She saw me there, I was a little embarrassed and I told the story of address 7503,
She said, “May I see the letter?” I said of course, it needs to be shared again.
She laughed and asked, “Did I check the date?” To see when it was sent back then.
I said NO! She said, “Look here, it was sent in seventy three,
It’s the letter I wrote when my father died to Santa for the Christmas tree”.
We laughed how silly I was, she said, “Oh it was me, that my heart had ruled,”
“Would you like to meet my girl?” She said, “she’s on her way in from school.”
I said, “I better go now”, I was thinking of my very own child
But she asked me, “Oh! Please stay a moment” and she did it with such a smile.
In just a second the door opened wide, I heard children on their bikes,
Her daughter rushed in with her very best friend, it was MY daughter by her side.
I know that sometimes things happen that are hard to explain away,
Like why I got this letter in April, instead of Santa on Christmas day.
For sure it’s just an act of fate towards that theory I can nod,
No random act goes unnoticed in my life, they are all controlled by God!
Post with 14 notes
One Horse More…ovwjj 110415
There was a man who shoed our horses his face was cracked from age.
Every time I saw him in my barn I thought of “The Riders of the Purple Sage.”
Boots with eagles sewn on them, he was everything a cowboy should be,
The moustache on his long face grew over, his lip you could not see.
He walked real slowly with toolbox long, to the hollow near the hay,
He said this place “It’ll Do” that’s all he said all that day.
A stump of sorts with anvil topped, was drug in on his hip,
Some buckets made with patched metal bails, filled with water, one to sip.
He had a stool, longer than it was wide, on it sat a box of anvil dogs,
Later on I’d see what they were for as he stuck them in the anvil cogs.
A small forge made from a vessel with bellows on the side,
I saw him beating on the anvil and working the bellows all in stride.
His clothes were jeans and a white cotton shirt stained a color from the sweat,
The cuffs were worn from being overworked but had a lot of life in them yet.
The gloves on him fit his hands so well they were molded to his skin,
I never saw him take them off he came and left with them.
We had horses that my dad picked, some were getting old,
He could shoe all forty in two days or at least that’s what I was told
I could see that his hat knew the way around the horses hoof so well
He could keep his eyes closed most of the time, his fingers they could tell
Bing-bing, bing-bing the anvil’s song was repeated until it was learned
From the forge he pulled that glowing snake if bitten by it would burn
Some cut nails held the shoe on tight a tap or two then twist,
He held some in his lips, all pursed, the hammer never missed.
Chaps he wore to protect his legs were black from dirt and heat,
No stool he used to hold the hoof just lift and set on his knee.
I watched and held my horses halter as he went about his chores,
I know that he must have loved his work “there’s always one horse more.”
His name was Jim, a farrier, from Paris he came down,
I sure hoped his old truck made it back in one piece, to his home town.
Well that’s the way it went for me for two days, a horseman I thought I was,
The work I did around the place was easy now, compared to shoeing which was tough.
I don’t gripe now when I have a job, that takes a little time,
In fact a longer project gives me a better chance, to make the finish shine.
I learned a lot in those two days about what it takes to just get by,
Some people never know of work or simply never try.
I’ve heard it’s really how you played the game no matter what the score,
But make no mistake I love to work, because I know, “There’s always one horse more.”
Picture by Dee Lewis -Daingerfield State Park Album
The State Park Near My Home…..ovwjj110413
There was a State Park near my boyhood home, it’s there I stole my first real kiss,
Her hair was dark, her eyes were green, I made sure I did not miss!
We danced outside in a courtyard covered, drinks were just a dime,
I put a quarter in the ole Rockola’s mouth, about a thousand times.
A windy spot it always was, the breeze, on the lake side bright,
I had so many fun times there in the piney wood’s moonlight,
Facing East the moon would rise across the waters gleaming,
It was graceful then, just setting there, talking through the evening.
The swimming hole was down the hill, at six they locked the gate,
Open in the morning seven, I came really early, not wanting to be late,
Ronnie was the life guard I still remember him,
He was taller, blonde hair bleached and sun tanned was his skin.
The people at the park I guess they knew us really well,
Sometimes they would let me in for free if I promised not to tell.
The water was never real clear I think, it wasn’t a very large lake,
No boats, upon the water did I ever see, therefore there was no wake.
The mothers of the kids would stay along the bank and sun,
From early morning outings there they went there just for our fun.
I hope that place, is the same today, it’s been years since I went by,
I really need to stop there and refill my mind’s keen eye.
But I bet the park is different now ,than in thirty years not seen,
The pine trees on the hillside roads I pray are still as tall and green.
The girl I kissed she married well and lives only miles away,
She’d laugh if she knew I wrote of her and kissing her that way.
Years ago that’s what we did, the memory of the park lives on,
In my heart I wish I could go there again to the State Park near my home.
“Thank You, Daingerfield State Park, for enhancing my value of life.”
MY Wallet Brown ov wjj/blj 110409
A golden watch was on the table top, beside my father’s wallet brown,
He left the change and key with it, so they were easily found.
The clean night air rolled through the house, it smelled of hay cut green,
I rose that morning, hearing a barking dog, before the sunlight I had seen.
My room was full of breakfast smells, eggs cooking often splatter,
To me a meal with biscuit made, the rest doesn’t really matter.
The kitchen hot from ovens use, the oven’s door spring would creak,
I used to get my coffee hot it never was ever weak.
Fresh butter made from wooden molds had stars along the side,
When you are just a country boy all those things you take in stride.
The old truck ran on any gas no need for special fuels,
Just pour it in the tank, if dead, we’ll pull it home with mules.
I worked with Father on the river the pilot ship was red,
The locks would pass the big steersmen by and let us in instead.
Diesel fuel was nine cents then, we had no shortage lines,
The engines in the pilot boat, upstream, were both running all the time.
I’m glad I had that honest work, for back home that work was stable,
The garden in the field supplies the greens for our Sunday table.
I watched as young pups grew… and went their huntin way,
Some died with us, some sold in town I wish they all had stayed.
Oh… country was my cornerstone of knowledge in times of all my troubles,
When I was broke or felt a little bad I’d head back there on the double.
My bedroom is now a storage place, it just doesn’t look the same,
Since all have left my country home it’s gotten small and plain.
But I am here in thought always no need to dream of town,
I was taught to lay the golden watch on the table top, beside MY wallet brown.
Post with 1 note
by William Joiner on Tuesday, December 14, 2010 at 9:20pm
SWEPT BY THE BREATH OF THE WINTERS GALE
ORIGINAL VERSE BY WJJ.….
TO LATE TO FIND THE HARBOR NOW;
I LOOK TO WEST THE STARBOARD BOW;
SHIPS PASSING WITH RED LIGHTs, most, NOT GREEN;
THEIR DESTINATION GOES UNSEEN;
MY DUTY WAS TO GUIDE THIS SHIP
TO SAFE HARBOR AND MAKE OF IT;
THE CATCH OF PLENTY IS IN THE HOLE,
A TON OR TWO THE OCEANS SOLE;
NOW I GET FARTHER FROM THE WARMTH OF HOME;
THE CURLING WAVES THE SEA IT FOAMS;
I HEAR THE CLAPBOARD OF SCUTTLED PLANKS;
THE CHECKED DOWN COMERS OF THE GAFFERS CLANK;
THIS IRE WAS CAUSED BY THE BREATH OF GALE;
AND RIPPED THE MAINSTAY OF MY BOWSANS SAIL;
THE RUDDER AND SCREW ARE IN AND OUT;
THEY DRIVE THIS GIRL„ WHEELS COME ABOUT;
THE SEA IT SPEAKS A CHANT OF RHYMES
THE BEST THE WORST THE END OF TIMES,
IN HINGES SPRUNG BY YEARS OF USE,
THE CLAMPING SCREWS HAVE ALL COME LOOSE.
MY SHIP IT’S OLD, WORN DOWN BY BRINE
THE GLASS IS CRACKED AND HIDES THE SHINE,
IF I COULD FIND MY WAY I’D GO THERE NOW,
RIP OPEN OLD SEALS AND PLEDGE MY VOWS,
NO MAN HAS CARRIED ANY UPON HIS BACK
THE MISSED STEPPED MOMENTS OR THE HIDDEN ATTACKS
IT’S ALL WRITTEN ALONG THE DECK ,THE SPINNERS CAT
THAT CREAKS AND CRACKS
ROPES OF TIME HAVE WORN DOWN THE SHEAVES
PLACING MARKS SO ONE CAN SEE HOW THEY HAVE LIVED,
IT IS A GOOD THING THAT AGE IS SEEN,
TENDS OFTEN TO GIVE CREDENCE OR AD ESTEEM,
NONE OF WHICH IS WORTHY THOUGH
AS THE NORTHERN WINDS HAVE LEARNED TO BLOW
A SPRIT WILD, SO FREE ,SO LOST
ETERNALLY AND AT WHAT COST
BY THE STERN SHE’LL GO„ AS IT IS I’LL CAST MY LOT;
BUT IT SHALL BE MY CHOICE AND IT WILL BE MY SPOT;
ONLY THE HAND OF GOD MAY TELL THE TALE ;
AS I AM SWEPT BY THE BREATH OF THE WINTERS GALE..;
Post with 1 note
By William Joiner on Tuesday, February 22, 2011 at 9:57am
ovwj8-26-09 Apple Blooms
Who sets a good example I asked myself today
Is it the fireman, brave in danger that whisks the fire away?
Or is it the Policeman, silent, who protects us through the night
Making sure the nuisance, lurking, is bound to honor right?
When choosing who is best, to glean a wish would be for honor
To choose a less responsible post would take so long to ponder
In government no idles found no pinnacle or peak
A choice best made from less a level modest but not weak.
Looking for merit among all mankind is a noble act,
Requiring more from wishes, than basing a search on facts
When the choice is finally made and it will be made quite soon
Remember that the sweetest apples grow on the limb with the fewest blooms
by William Joiner on Monday, April 11, 2011 at 1:35pm
Popsicle Pain ovwjj 110408
Running after the music, I loved that jingling sound,
We kids cleared the fence only inches down by the old playground,
Up the street we ran like wild Indians I’d say,
Screaming at the truck so he would stay.
Parked on the corner was the best spot to be,
The neighbors brought their kids and the rest of the family,
The man dressed in white would appear from the side,
He’d open the doors and our eyes got so wide,
There was a mist from within falling out of that door,
A strange coolness in August we were all quite sure,
That inside this truck was a mysterious machine,
That placed paper and wooden sticks into homemade ice cream,
So for nickel in trade we all got a try,
I liked the grape ones so two I would buy,
Then back to the playground we would all quickly go,
But…The…headache…I got….from not eating it slow,
Was the thing that summer in a boy’s life can bring,
Oh! Yes and I can tell you we learned several things,
Summers were hot unless it started to rain,
And eating popsicles to fast brings on the “Popsicle Pain”.
Page 1 of 2