Christmas Spirit
For many years, as just a lad, At Christmastime 'twas often said: "May spirit be here all year through!" And oft I thought: "how very true." But now, today, that spirit's less, With politics and Mem'ry's stress, And people seldom ever say "'Twould every day be Christmas Day!" Still, I'm old-fashioned, truth be told, And so I'll simply be quite bold: I'm percolating Christmas Joy Just as I did when still a boy. And if I had an extra space, A Christmas tree would be in place, And stay that way throughout the year. To one and all, continued cheer!
© Paul L. White
Christmas Angel
Back once, when I did have a tree, I'd quick glance up, and there'd be thee All nestled with your holy poise. And I would make no ounce of noise Because you brought them back to me... Each lovely, childhood memory Of when my Mom would bless us all With tree, and gifts...oh, what recall! And now the tree, like her, has left. And though I feel somewhat bereft, Still Angel you do here reside, Upon a shelf, with your betide Of joyful, energetic song That fills the heart with message strong That, though the feet more slowly pace, There's still a Strength and Hope in place. Of all the decorations here, Which fill the place with annual cheer, You rose to be most favored for: You speak of Mirth, and so much more!
© Paul L. White
Awaiting Decorations' Glow
For some the clime of Christmastime, It does more slowly come. Perhaps, for me, this simple rhyme Will stem the tedium Of waiting decorations' glow, Or music's festive bent. I'm sure these chores are chief, although I miss the merriment That used to be, in days gone by, Whene'er this season came. We lived rejoicing, kin and I, But now it's not the same. And as I muse, perhaps I see Just why this mood is true: 'Cause Mother did these chores for me. What inner strength from which she drew! I guess I'll cast my gloom aside, And nestle in this work of mine; For Christmas cheer will e'er betide As mem'ries with my soul entwine!
© Paul L. White
Early Christmas Greeting
Photo Credit: Betty Jo Page Martin
How the flakes do seem to shine December's early morn, Before the lights on trees of pine Appear to show that we adorn Our homes to celebrate yon Din. No, this is Mother Nature's way Of toasting to our mirth within, In hopes that such a mood will stay-- Stay when dreary days arrive, Or heat, or rain, or deeper snow. Stay for us to keep alive The Wonder that we sometimes know Will bring enchantment on that Day, When hearts do sing enraptured songs Of restful Hush that, come what may, Will bury deep abuse, and wrongs That happen in our lives because Some folk ignore the Higher Ways Of living life in righteous laws, And thus preserving Freedom's days. Lo, here is Christmas to you all, Though there are several morns to come Before that day will us enthrall, And bid us bite Rejoicing's plum!
© Paul L. White
Mother's Passing November 15, 2019
And so I sit here, once again, Bewildered by the angst within, Remembering Departing Day When You, at last, went far away. "At last" for you, alone, Dear Mom... For me, it was just far too soon. And I am left with tiny psalm To flow from Lifetime's great "untune." For living's never been the same Since You did leave. There's none to tame The raging throes of hurt inside When list'ning to the wars *out*side. For You would know just what to say To make a sordid, threat'ning day Seem tepid in the bath of Love; And You'd remind of what's Above. But still I tremble, with my tears... Embracing you for all the years That I could know you loved me so. And with that, Mom, I'd better go. Remebering my Mother and her passing, November 15, 2005, 6:45pm Central.
© Paul L. White
Veterans Day November 11, 2019
I stand, my hand upon this heart, While deep rememb'ring Father's part In fighting rage of World War Two: Protecting Choice by me and you. And I do miss my Uncle Vic. For fifteen months he was so sick In clinic's care, for he was hurt From battle to Defeat avert. They call it "Battle of the Bulge," Which Dad, his brothers did indulge. And now, I'm free to send to thee These words so borne by Liberty. I trust you feel the way I do, That Veterans' charms are ours to woo So we may offer Honor, Awe, And let them precious mem'ries draw.
© Paul L. White
Halloween October 31, 2019
How oft I travel back in years When Halloween did bring no tears, But rather joy and comfort's brew: Emotion filling what we'd do. It was the start of holidays, When soon there'd be Thanksgiving's ways... And then, of course, sweet Christmastime, When all the joy and love did chime. On Halloween we'd smell burnt cork To give our cheeks a hobo's torque. And we would dress in funny caps, Or sheets with holes for goblin's flaps. We'd walk among the neighbors close, And never did we have a dose Of trickery, no, always treat. Then we would walk back home to meet And show our folks a mother lode Of candies where such sweetness flowed. And Mom and Dad would simply smile, A' building mem'ries all the while. May your day, this Halloween, Contain remembrances serene. And may your loved ones find there, too, A closer bond 'tween them and you! A happy and safe Halloween to all!
© Paul L. White
We have also placed this poem on our Halloween Writings page, which you can find by clicking this link.
Canadian Thanksgiving October 14, 2019
Oh, how I love this time of year When we do pause to think, and peer At reasons to be thankful e'er With such fine folk, who live "up there" In Neighbor to our north, so grand Which dwells on moist and fertile land. For they give thanks one month ahead Of us in States, perhaps to shed The chance that snow might interfere. It matters not, but oh, what cheer To think of them, 'round tables fine... So full of feasts on which to dine. I wish some day to travel yon, And celebrate with them at length, And then return to homeland's lawn, And celebrate again with strength. I think of afternoons in theirs, Are they observing football's cares? Are they like us, who sometimes nap? Do other customs overlap Thanksgiving Day in Canada? Oh, make me, please, Ambassador!
© Paul L. White
September 11, 2019
Thadda bum ... thadda bum ... thadda bum ...
In just two days it will arrive When we, so pleased to be alive, Do stand, and pause, rememb'ring cause That works to silence all applause. Thadda bum ... thadda bum ... thadda bum ... Like hearse on wheels, the doom and gloom Do roll our way, and bring the tomb Which stills our mirth, creates a dearth Of child-like joy upon the earth. Thadda bum ... thadda bum ... thadda bum ... Our hearts do scream for brief relief From dread, and paralyzing grief. Each year it comes, though, without end As we refuse to ever bend Our staunch determination's will To think it wrong to taste the swill Of hatred from another shore. And we determine, more and more, To stem the tide, within our pride, Of hatred t'ward another's ride Through life, though it quite different be From what we know, 'tween me and thee. Thadda bum ... thadda bum ... thadda bum ... It isn't easy, showing love... For some, we take it from Above. We march along, from banks to banks, With heartfelt praise for Love's sweet "thanks."
© Paul L. White
This poem was written and published on Facebook September 9, 2019. I posted it two days ahead of the actual Patriots Day date in order that it might lessen, just a little, the grieving that would take place when that date arrived. Warm regards.
Ross Perot July 9, 2019 Missing You!
So much love! 'Twas little known That deep within our group was sown A love for all who did partake In pondering, for Nation's sake,
The ways to help our fortunes rise, The ways to bring sweet Freedom's prize; Remembering the soldiers who Did die, protecting brilliant hue Of having choice. Ah, 'tis so sad It had to end, then--what we had. And how I wish the world had known The love, so thick, our group was shown!
© Paul L. White
I had the privilege of working with the Ross Perot Petition Committee in 1992, starting on the first day of its operation. It was both a privilege, and an education, and stirred within me a love of politics. What I've tried to indicate, in this poem, is a sense of the great, thick love that permeated the offices where we worked. It felt like you could physically touch it. It's something I trust I'll never forget. Here's to Mr. Perot's service and memory.
Cynthia Basinet May 19, 2019 Happy Birthday!
Cynthia at the Waldorf February 20, 2012 Shortly after her father had passed away.
How I long to hear your song Once again in midst of throng Which oft does cheer, admitting clear That here ... is where, Ma'am ... you belong: Up on stage, with words so sage As to Wisdom's firm approach To all that enter Life's great rage, Deflecting those who Peace encroach. Ah, the stress does dissipate When we do hear your soulful tone. Ah, the joy to ruminate Instead of suffering Living's drone. Thank you for your melody That takes us to our rhapsody. Thank you for your gentle touch, That we may beams of kindness clutch.
© Paul L. White
Doris DayApril 3, 1922 – May 13, 2019
Photo Credit: Guideposts, April 18, 2013
You stood so grand, and statuesque, With smile that beamed from East to West, And showed us all that "tender," "sweet" Were okay words to make complete Our roles in Life, which sometimes tears Apart beliefs a young one wears. Oh, you lived long, with health so fine; 'Twould burst in song with joyful line. Unruffled mind you'd tend to bring; "Sera, sera" is what you'd sing. But we cannot forsake this news Unmoved, for with your loss we lose The hope-filmed beam that was your Grace. Thus, we will walk with slower pace And think of you, so far beyond The earth's great girth, the ocean's pond, Into a place where folk like you Abound, while here they are so few!
© Paul L. White
Mother's Day 2019
Photo Credit: Wayne Evans from Pexels
Mom, more and more, I miss you so Whene'er it's time to ponder My life with you and your sweet glow... So is it any wonder That my tears begin to seep When I reflect on virtue 'Twas yours you gave in all our keep, Not caring what might hurt you? You always ate the chicken's back, And left good pieces for us-- Your children, lest we'd suffer lack. So now, please hear this chorus Of Love and Adoration's air, Sung to the edge of Heaven. Oh, may it's feeling reach you there, Without a touch of leaven. And Mom, again, I miss you so, For pain will always, ever flow When you're not here to take my hand, And make this earth more fertile land!
© Paul L. White
Corrie Ten Boom April 15, 2019 Anniversary of Both Her Birth and Her Passing
How I ached to read your tome Which started out in lovely home, Where all did share good manners, then, And there was love so strong, and ken In fixing watches, clocks, and meals. But then there came Romance appeals, And you great heartbreak did endure, But still your faith remained so sure. Then next the Nazi troopers came. Your family did their best to tame The angst in families who were Jews. Potential danger you did choose To give them freedom and a flight To better lands, where leeway's light Might shine for them each once again Until you ended in the pen Where father died from such abuse, And sister too. And oh, how loose Do flow my tears, as I recall Your words describing this great fall Of those who thought in noble ways, But sacrificed in horrid days. Still, then you knew great Fame's replace Of suffering, and with torrid pace You roamed the earth to tell the scope Of your great faith, and love, and hope. And I do wish you still were here To fill us all with lovely cheer.... Alas, Miss Boom, the war goes on Against those ones we thought had won Their freedom to be simply "Jew." Why can't we love them, others who Are different from our social norm? I do not know, but midst the storm Of all this warring, I do smile, Remembering your great force, and style. So please, Miss Boom, do rest in peace. We'll see you soon with our release!
© Paul L. White
Baseball Opening Day 2019
Just like a boy, I'm feeling joy About this afternoon's employ Of time to watch Sir Baseball start; And, doing so, to then depart From stressors of the every day, And find therein relaxing way To savor life, and thus engage My soul in freedom from the rage It feels when watching hate-filled storms 'Mongst people whose contesting forms Uneven space 'tween small and great... 'Tis better that we all relate To innings pitched, and bases run, And dwell thereby in Healing's fun!
© Paul L. White
St. Patrick's Day 2019
We cannot know your date of life, Or so they tell us midst the strife That still belabors your great soul, And makes our feelings less than whole. But I, for one, do see how great Was your meek spirit, to relate To those of your own country's folk Who felt the pain of slavery's yoke. Oh, how you loved Her...Ireland! And how you worked there to ammend The lack of faith, and Faith's great fruit... You've earned this servant's firm salute. For me, St. Patrick, take a bow. Receive my honor, love somehow, As we do hearken to your name Through all the world, such is your fame!
© Paul L. White
Billy Graham One Year Anniversary Of His Passing February 21, 2019
So oft I heard, in boyhood years, The rhythm of your voice; In winsome cadence to our ears, You'd plead with us to make a choice. And though I'd made mine long before, Still I could none but sit entranced To hear your vig'rous, lasting lore, While "Hope" and "Love" before us danced. At times you'd call celebrity To share her Faith made whole; And we who saw would humbled be That such with fame would bare her soul. You once proclaimed that you'd soon die With ne'er a wrinkled brow; And I did pledge with tear in eye To be the same somehow. Sir, how I weep, still, for your grace To visit us once more. But you are in a better place, That we believe still lies in store.
© Paul L. White
Presidents' Day 2019
How oft on day of Presidents We tend to think, as residents Of land so vast, from shore to shore, That they could want for nothing more... Those leaders whom we champion oft, And give the highest, noblest loft In our esteem. They must have been Quite heady with the praises then. But truth be told, from nation's gate, Di
d loathing then originate From some who chose "assassinate" As their express of bitter hate. So as we think of Presidents, To me it's noble to revere The leaders for their precedents, Their office, in the midst of fear That every day might be their last. Oh, may our hatred never rise To such extreme as has in past Become the murd'rous foe "Despise!" And may this heart more tender be T'ward governance o'er me and thee.
© Paul L. White
Valentine's Day 2019
Though love be distant, far away, It still doth make a Valentine. And e'en though pressures bring their sway, I oft do choose to call you mine... Oh, not in some romantic sense, Nor in the holding of our hands; In failing not to recompense The love-words giv'n from many lands. And if I could but leap and be Beside you, in a moment's time, I'd kneel and plead for you to see My heart's own love in feeble rhyme. Blessings all whose dear one's close! And may there be an overdose Of strong affection in the tide Which swirls with furor; please reside In calm which none but Love can give; In peace which we may choose to live.
© Paul L. White
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, 2019
Oh, he did die in tragic way, And though we mirth his birth today, Still I can only hurt and grieve That we did not his pain relieve. For on and on the harshness goes, Adopting other race as foes. How do we thwart the steady drum Of distancing, and frightful scrum Amongst supposéd citizens Refusing all the denizens Of our sweet land their Liberty, Instead unmeasured hate to see? Oh, may our state beam shining bright The dream for all to live in light Of love, respect, fulfilling roles... All, lest we lose our very souls!
© Paul L. White
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