And now they say "the day is gone,"
But has it really slipped away?
For isn't Christmas "on and on?"
And can't it be for e'en today?

Some do call this "time for boxing,"
Caring for the ones who serve.
Isn't that another "giving,"
Letting kindness never swerve?

Aren't those presents newly opened
Waiting to be studied more?
Waiting to be ever treasured,
Ne'er to turn e'en one heart sore?

Join me, please, in stating Christmas
Doesn't really have to end.
With each day its joy and pleasure
Begs another chance to send

Rays of hope for better living--
Eloquence to dwell beside
Humble ones who banish striving.
Christmastime has never died!

© Paul L. White

And so, it's here--that day of song.
All o'er the world we've waited long
To smell the pine-filled air it brings;
To hear the notes a caroler sings.

At last, at last, our waiting's through,
And now there lives, in me and you
A soft "hurrah" that deep inside
Bestirs great love--defeating pride.

Still many heed a special birth,
And find it brings us so much worth.

How oft our thoughts go way back when,
And bring it to our modern ken.
Oh, may you fathom all that's well
As on sweet Christmas Day we dwell!

© Paul L. White

My stars, the day is almost here!
And look whose wonder dares to peer
To see just how our joy does lie--
With broadened smile, or tear-dimmed eye?

'Tis hard when those we love are gone,
And we commit to "keeping on."
Sometimes the sadness overtakes,
And we succumb to grief of wakes.

But then we ask the great "what if?"
"What if their presence, in a whiff,
"Returned, and they were here with us--
"Would we be sitting, grieving thus?"

The answer's "no," and so, I guess
I'll leave my seat of sad depress,
And stand, begin to show more cheer--
'Cause in their hearts I'm sure they're here!

© Paul L. White

The tippy-tap of Santa's feet
Are heard by me whene'er I greet
A friend who's simply passing by,
And sends their greeting to my eye.

Oh, what a special place this is,
Where sumptuous photos spawn their fizz
Of feasts, and pets, and merry trees--
My, how they all bring to my knees

A gentleman whose heart does feel
The lovely, awesome, sweet appeal
Of festive days, and thoughts, and hope,
With chance to share their joyous scope!

© Paul L. White

I must confess, in midst of "rush,"
This humble place sees "Christmas Hush."
A quiet sense of "all is well,"
While simple woes one cannot tell.

They're small, yes, not too very large.
And thus, they won't succeed to barge
Into my world, where rage has left;
Where peace descends on one bereft

Of two who passed this current year.
And yet, a sweetness still draws near
To calm me, and my fervent dreams.
No more do I beseech what seems

A better way. No, I'll take this:
A simple, silent, comfort-bliss!

© Paul L. White

And so, in all, we hesitate,
As we did just participate
In awe of reasons to give thanks...
And then two days to flood our banks

With "buy" requests, at cheaper rate.
And now, we wish to push our plate
Aside to just enjoy the glow
Of family time's, Thanksgiving's flow.

But near our shoulder comes the press
Of push for Christmas, and its stress,
While I do wonder: "can't we sit
"And simply know the joy of it--

"This holiday for gratitude,
"When some refuse to be too rude?"
I guess I'll learn to just abide
Within my world of restful tide!

© Paul L. White

Yon waves of grain, which still remain,
Are here because no vaunted foe
Did spew their hate, contempt (so vain),
And cause their troops to bring us woe.

Oh, how I love the "Vets" I knew,
Who brought me Family, Friendship's rays.
And how they ached for ones *they* knew
Who died o'erseas in vicious days.

I form these words in silence brought
By Vict'ry in a one day war.
I choose to pause for Freedom bought
By those who're free with us no more!

© Paul L. White

My, the way you flattened us
Beneath Humility's abode!
My, the way you stood so tall,
While we, your fans, on Vict'ry rode.

The overwhelming power of you,
The grace in every thing you'd do--
And ne'er a word of your own strength;
Ne'er a praise of you at length

From your own lips, no, no, not once!
E'en while on your last day you spoke,
We'd have to be amazing dunce
To miss the praise 'tward Them you'd stoke.

You never let your beauty shield
Be all that we would ever know.
So now that you have left the field,
Receive the praise the we bestow--

And never leave the game, sweet heart,
Thus, we can always find your smile.
Never truly draw apart,
Forsaking what has been your style:

A winsome banter, filled with love;
A peaceful quiet, much like Dove,
Leaving us with stress-less mind;
Moving us to be more kind!

© Paul L. White

This poem was written to honor a minister friend who was residing in the military building which was bombed in Beirut, Lebanon on October 23, 1983, and who needed to be somewhere else when the bombing occurred. But for that errand, he would not be with us today.

Each year is filled with special days,
But none o'erwhelms the fervent rays
Of gratitude that we do feel,
Rememb'ring Lebanon's great steal

Of members of U.S. Marines
Who gave their lives, surrendered genes
That we might Freedom's rights parlay
Into enjoyment day by day.

To think they almost stole one more,
Who now does live behind this shore.
To think his service would not be
For listening ears, and family

But for the call that moved him there,
Away from blast which brought despair.
Oh, Hand of God, we give our thanks
That you preserved sweet Wisdom's planks,

Extending past the sailor's bow
To reach us all, both then, and now!

© Paul L. White

Watch the ever flopping style
Of recent movies, all the while
Groaning in their pain, dismay,
Keeping Joy's great rules at bay.

Then behold the films of Gene
Where Happiness, Good Manners preen
In song and banter we enjoy
As joke and laughter they employ!

And so it is with you, Sweet Ma'am,
As you bespeak the gentle lamb,
But one who leads us with her tone;
And one who never speaks in drone.

For always you address upbeat,
And always you're so glad to meet
Each one of us who love you so.
Just kind of thought you ought to know!

© Paul L. White

It seems so soon, in south of States,
While our own celebration waits,
To think of you, up there (yet near)
Performing your great "Thanks" so dear.

Your warmth inside defies the cold;
Your youth revives those labeled "old."
So I embrace, in this small heart,
The overwhelming, grateful start

To "Season's Greetings" for our land,
United by a common band
That seeks sweet Freedom's great enthrall,
And renders Justice fair for all!

© Paul L. White

Oh, my soul, be blessed in me
As I look out, and Such Love see
In two majestic, holy folk
Who've led my soul, produced a yolk

Of Righteous-Seek inside of me.
And how I wish each day could be
So full of their sweet tender bliss--
For 'tis so rare, discov'ring this,

A Couple who, without decay,
Do sound their love in vast array
Of praises, glories, gratitude.
I'll bow to them for courtship viewed!

© Paul L. White

See him smiling, way up high,
Lofty in his special view.
Greeting Fall's great by the bye,
Wishing "Happy me and you"

To all who seek a recompense
From saddened times in year gone past;
To all who puncture Season's sense
Of Joy to come 'twill last and last.

Oh, how I yearn for boyhood days
When simple would our "hallow" be.
How I wonder, with amaze,
At changes greeting me and thee!

May the innocence we knew
Rise once more this fading year.
May sweet Rapture, with its hue
Of Lovely's light, again appear!

© Paul L. White

Now, all the while I search for you,
Yon words of Gratitude, so true,
As you express the depth, in me,
Of feeling, worth, and sanctity

T'ward all the words which come my way,
Since so much love's here every day
For each of these, my hallowed friends
Who tend to me, with differing trends

Of thought, each one, though precious be
Their soul in sending views to me.
I cannot phrase my hearts delight,
But is this such a shaded plight?

Oh no! It's simply Glory's tone!
And with that Glory, none could moan
In sadness or despair's great doom.
Their love does sweep with festive broom!

© Paul L. White

And so we see this here again,
When all else stops, and we begin
To ponder days before that day....
When things were different, come what may,

As nothing could this country shake,
Or mire its folk in horrid quake;
When all was simply reverie,
And making strides that keep us free.

No, now, for once, was armor torn,
And all our seeming greatness shorn.
We, the past invincible
Were now a loather's crucible

In which to foment angry waves
For Horror's near-destructive graves.
Oh, let us stand forever strong,
Enforcing "Freedom Hopes'" great song!

© Paul L. White

And so the days roll slowly by,
While, here, the summer's heat still blazes.
Still I wear wide-opened eye,
For thought of Fall now yet amazes.

Seems it is so very soon,
(The year's just half-done, is it not?)
To think of Fall, then Snow's great prune
Of leafy branches, just begot.

I guess I need to simply sit
In tempered feelings, though they be
Astir with mem'ries, all quite fit
To bring their love-filled reverie!

© Paul L. White

Please click to see a larger version.

In both of these I've loudly seen
The firm embrace of virtue "Hope."
It's sad how preachers, in their preen,
Avoid this word in interlope

With things they study every week.
They mention "Faith," unfaded "Love,"
But when we're mired in Pressure's peak,
Then "oh, you're punished!" with a shove,

Rejecting us who suffer so.
But in these works a victory perks.
Oh how sore he carried woe;
And oh such strength within those smirks!

And yet, through all he gradually rose,
And found a place which stirred his smiles
It thrills our hearts, with Joy's compose,
As we do walk our journey's miles!

© Paul L. White

The Stanley Cup is here, but lo
Your voice is not in play.
And how I miss the joy you gave,
With verbal skills in vast array.

Excitement, candor, humor, zest
Were every one a part of you.
We can't replace them, all in one
Who'd take the mic the way you'd do.

And so, e'en though 'tis is the Cup,
I'm still a wee bit sad...
For ne'er again will Champions' Ice
Be quite the same, nor quite as glad.

© Paul L. White

Photo Credit of Doc Emrick: Getty Images/Bruce Bennett; of the Stanley Cup: Getty Images

In honor of Doc Emrick and his retirement. May he find joy with his beloved family and animals.

Although my Daddy left this land
Seems like so very long ago,
The love in me is still quite grand
As I remain on earth below.

And as I think about him now,
Another man does peek and smile--
It's Grandpa with his arching brow,
And love, and giving all the while.

He took me fishing, as a boy,
And we played checkers at his home.
We'd tackle horseshoes, with its joy...
And still I love them as I roam

Through my own life, a now-grown man.
I have no offspring, 'tis my path.
But I do play computer games,
And think of Gramps, forestalling wrath.

'Cuz when I oft' remember him,
A little grin 'tis bound to woo.
And thus I grasp important whim
That Grandpa was a Father too!

© Paul L. White

Photo Credit: Jack Sorenson.

Happiest of Fathers Days to all Dads and Grandpas!

Oh, still She sways, in sun-filled sky,
While we do pause, with tear-dimmed eye,
To think of those who've led our land;
To think of those who've bled our land.

For all did point to Liberty,
Her sweet embrace of you and me.
The calls, the fights, the straining folk
Who sought to somehow guild our yolk

Of freedoms born of will and pen,
With fervent wont for thriving's glen--
They did so for their progeny,
To hand to Them sweet Liberty.

To think of these, so strong and brave,
Does stir this heart at Glory's wave!

© Paul L. White

And so we grieve another year
With most respectful, heart-felt tear.
We cannot turn our minds away
From what they did back in their day

Of fighting, groaning, suff'ring pain.
And may it never be in vain!
As my own father, uncles all
Did fight The Bulge, and thus forestall

A bid to end our freedom core.
And oh, it makes this heart so sore
Rememb'ring that one uncle lay
In hospital for long-term stay

That lasted year and months of three--
He did it all, then, just for me
And other folk who grace our land.
I cannot help but still to stand

And doff my cap in gratitude,
And bare my ache in magnitude!

© Paul L. White

So many years, I've known you, Lass...
And, once again, it's come to pass--
That time when we can smile, and bow,
Felicitations wondering how

You stay adept at artful grin
Which shows a lasting joy within?
We know that "perfect" cannot be,
And yet you rise above the sea

Of lamentations which pervade
Our wish for solace. Joy is made
Within our hearts as we do gaze
Upon your speeches. Hear our praise

For all you do, and yes, have done;
For all the battles, vict'ries won;
For shining light with gentle ray.
Oh, may this be most perfect day!

© Paul L. White

My, how much your heart did bleed
In caring for the ones in need,
Resisting those who'd look askance
At "lesser folk" who could not dance

To tunes of wealth, prosperity....
You gave, instead, serenity
To dying folk, releasing hope
Of gracious, loving Interlope

By Someone higher, fairer still
Than all of hist'ry's bitter swill
To foam from mouths of vicious hate.
You stemmed the flow of reprobate

In healing's work by treating whole
A human's form, including soul.
You'd walk to sick ones in the night
To check their pulse, to calm their fright.

No wonder now that we avow
Sick rudeness from a clinic's bough.
Oh, that your days be full of joy
As we your nature do employ!

© Paul L. White

Well, Mom...

Are you dancing with your son today
E'en though we seldom danced at home?
Is his vocal talent on display
For all to hear, where'er they roam?

Does he hold your hand, or pet your sleeve
The way he did when last we saw
Your form before us, no reprieve,
In mounting grief, from loving awe?

Does he tell you of his love for you
When you gave him birthday parakeet?
Does he praise the wondrous things you'd do
When the family's needs you'd dare to meet?

Do you talk of Christmas here below,
When you were loosed from marriage vows,
And the ping pong table he'd bestow
With his wife--more fun than life allows?

Do you ever mention us who still
Remain, awaiting heaven's call?
Please know we'll love you both until
'Tis Glory shining for us all!

© Paul L. White

Oh, how oft we'd play for days,
Espec'lly in the summertimes.
We had a "sandbox", 'neath the rays
Of shining sun, in pleasant climes.

It was a "cull out" by a tree,
And we would run each little truck
That we would have, 'tween me and thee,
And seldom did we know our luck

To have an acre, all our own
In which to run and play our games.
To have two parents, love-seeds sown,
Who'd care for us, and call our names.

And now, I hear that you have passed
From this dear life. There'll be no more
Of singing from your tone to last
Throughout our days, whate'er's in store.

Instead our mem'ries call from those,
The pages of our fragile lives.
Instead the thorns from love's great rose
Do prick our souls, where grief derives

Its pain, because a brother shines
With family love, and oh, we miss
Your music notes, and lyric lines.
Please take, from here, a brother's kiss.

© Paul L. White

Oh, the way you've tutored me
With just a smile, perhaps a glance.
And oh, the way my heart would be
So lifted up in wont to dance

Whene'er you sang, both here and there...
"There" could be 'most anywhere
At which the cameras caught your gaze,
And left us hearers to amaze

At words, and tone, and wisdom high...
And I have often pondered long,
While moisture gathered in my eye,
The message that you'd give in song.

Oh please, kind Sir, forgive my burst
Of gratitude in this small post.
And thank you, Sir, for every "first"
That you have giv'n as Music's host

Of such good mem'ries in my mind,
Of when so oft you'd be so kind.
A "hero," "friend" is what I hope
Would be my honor, as I lope,

To call you, Sir, 'most every day.
For you are those, with me, alway!

© Paul L. White

You kept our spirits high, fine Sir,
Whene'er to Westerns we would stir.
You learned from Dad; you grew so strong,
And in last show, you sang a song.

"The Rifleman" was that show's name,
And oh, it brought you smiles and fame
From this small heart. I wished for more
Of what your kindness had in store.

And then, years later, you did show
Our local Opry how you'd grow
That voice into a stellar tune;
And we who heard you thought the moon

Had just appeared upon our stage.
And now, how sad to turn the page
Of History that had you within.
Oh, think it not that 'tis a sin

For me to mourn, as sure I do,
Because like you there are so few!

© Paul L. White

In the photo, with Johnny, is Janet McBride, for whom I am the webmaster. Her Mesquite Opry invited him to sing at our stage show one night, and he shared such an excellent talent and voice!

You left us, now, three years ago,
And it still hurts, just so you know.
Your husband, George, is there with you,
And you both see Prince Philip too.

I s'pose y'all are doin' fine,
But please permit me to opine
That we do miss your passions, grace,
And all that faith does interlace.

The word of "noble" stays too small
To e'en begin to say it all...
What we have learned by watching e'er
The way you walked, the way you'd care.

And so, please let me shed a tear
In wish that you were still right here!

© Paul L. White

I did not know you well, kind Sir,
O'er there in land so far away.
Your days were secret; you'd prefer
To live majestic life that way.

But oh, dear Prince, I did admire
The loftiness with which you moved.
To think your Queen's supreme desire
Was your embrace, all hate reproved!

I trust some day we'll learn far more
Of what you've said or done in life.
I trust these details, now in store,
Will lift us up from constant strife.

The Queen, so oft with gentle smile,
Is surely left with heavy heart.
May all her days recall your style
Of being one where love does start!

© Paul L. White

Long ago, from lonely tomb,
There sallied forth, like from a womb,
The effervescent Son of God,
Erasing tearful steps I've trod;

Filling me with joy untold;
Making me, this moment, bold
To here proclaim, for all its worth,
The end result of noble birth!

Oh, how I wept for His great pain!
And how I'm dearth to here explain
The wonder, brightness of it all--
That He should rise, then beckon, call

Us each to join Him, in great song,
Song of Resurrection's throng!
Oh, what privilege to proclaim
This precious, giving Savior's name!

© Paul L. White

And so the snow begins to form,
And we have cause to feel alarm
As power goes out, both now and then,
While we're left wondering: "when again?"

I must confess to rig'rous prayer
While I was lying, no despair,
In my own bed, no heat nor light,
Just thinking of potential plight

But confident it would work out,
'Cause I knew Someone with more clout
Than all the power that human be...
And thus there lay a faith in me.

For though I prayed with constant words,
The talk kept coming afterwards...
But these were terms of praise and thanks
To One Who circumstance outranks!

© Paul L. White

On this, the day when many kiss,
There are a few who, aching, miss
The fellowship of warm embrace
And meeting Loved One face to face.

And so we must adopt a tone
Of empathy for those alone.
But still, it seems that none are there,
For surely there's a friend somewhere

Who may not love in sweet romance,
But still does share a Buddy's dance.
And in that dance, two both can strive
To keep all faith and hope alive

And showcase love, with all its gains,
To where the sense of Worth remains...
Inside one's precious, beating heart.
Oh, let the ways of loving start!

© Paul L. White

And so, our nation takes a breath,
A deep, and tense, and wavering breath:
'Cause fear we had that hate would spew
A violent, pride-filled, rancor view

That 'tis okay to squelch the core
Of leadership desiring more
Of leeway's opportunity
To spread the poor's celebrity

As being equal to the flush.
And now we hope there is no rush
To dive again into the churn
Of bitter foment, just to burn

All semblance of accomplishment,
Creating, thus, a bitter vent
That coats this land in vast array
Of blood-spilled mayhem 'twould display

To all the world that freedom died.
"Oh, no, this cannot be!" we've cried.
So how do we portend this balm?
Does "unity" create a calm?

I do not know, but this I do:
Entreaty, now, to all of you
That we be patient, and await
The striking newness of our fate.

And that the love they spoke about,
In this Inaugural's low-toned shout,
Be ours to cherish, have, and hold,
E'en when the terms mean courage bold!

© Paul L. White

My, look! It's time for gathering
And tune of Auld Lang Syne to sing!
The folk that we do love so dear
Embrace their wish for "better year."

But I do pause, and soft reflect
On thoughts a bit more circumspect
Regarding dreams and plans that see
A better show of Life to be.

I gaze, instead, at every Friend,
Whose Love I cherish without end.
"Yes, *that's* the fervent Hope," I claim,
"The Love and Strength inside each name!"

For we do travel on new road,
Each pal of mine, in our abode.
And no one knows just what will be
The deed that claims our reverie.

But oh, with so much courage, trust
Each friend and I will fend the thrust
In every step that forms our way.
And we will walk without dismay

Because we've traveled for so long
And ever grappled Vict'ry's song.
And thus, my Friends, I am so blessed
To join with you in Triumph's rest!

© Paul L. White