Tumble, please, oh Tumbleweeds,
As we remember years that fly
From past, where heart-felt tear proceeds
From Mexicali Rose, Goodbye.

When Ridin' Down the Canyon flows,
And Twilight on the Trail bestows
Its gift to Home upon the Range--
Embrace Red River Valley's change

While right Back in the Saddle Again,
With Twilight on the Trail, no woe--
These give us all a chance to pen
Sweet words of peace, with Joy to flow!

© Paul L. White

I was overwhelmed, in a positive way, by so many birthday greetings on Facebook the day before. This poem is my response.

Can't help but sit, and rub this chin--
Rememb'ring yesterday's "within"
Of so much warmth by those who care,
And such desire to take me "there"--

To place where they most peace have found.
And I do sit here, still aground
With full amazement, fears aside,
While soaking in the warmth-filled tide

Of Gratitude, and "Cheering on,"
And loaned-out Strength I've come upon.
'Tis been so strong, this summer's heat,
Providing club to senses beat.

But oh, I'm thankful, yes I be,
For "happy birthdays" tossed t'ward me!

© Paul L. White

Here it is, again, again
Another year, rememb'ring when
It shook our souls in disbelief,
And caused such pain without relief.

We could not find an "end it all,"
A course of deeds to then forestall
All chances that it might appear
Once more, and cause our eyes to tear

With hope forsaken. No! Let's do
Whate'er it takes to court and woo
Much nobler folk, who'd live in peace--
Resist, with us, the firm release

Of Hatred's lust to quench, destroy.
Instead, with Freedom, to employ
The best, which lives in working hearts--
The best, which lofty Freedom starts!

© Paul L. White

I'm thankful for the things 'twere honed
By fervent muscle, strong and toned
With weekly effort to construct
A meal, a home, an aqueduct.

And then there're things which need repair,
Or tasks which head off wear and tear,
Or efforts borne to keep things clean,
Or songs once penned to make serene.

The cars we drive, our furniture,
Machines affecting temperature,
Or earth that's moved for scenery's view,
Or paint evoking color's hue:

So many things which fill this life
Did greet our eyes from labor rife
With effort, sweat, and great design--
I celebrate...with this opine!

© Paul L. White

No internet, or land line phone,
And I am ready to bemoan
The lack of things I sorely need
If I am truly to succeed.

Complaining, though, so I've been told,
Is not for men of bravery, bold.
Advancing to a higher ground
Means one must make no mournful sound.

"The Ladies, don't you know, disdain
"A male who whimpers in his pain."
And so I poke my sagging ribs
Then say: "you're not a man who fibs,"

While thinking that makes me "all right,"
Instead of braving vicious blight
And saying: "here's what you can do
"In spite of Nature's try to woo

"Your spirit to all joy evade."
Now slowly, thus, decision's made
To sit up straight, while slouching not--
Forbidding promise be forgot

That challenges we must abate,
For good things come to those who wait!

© Paul L. White

U.S. Patriotism may have been a lost art at the time of this writing, but I chose to honor this U.S. Ladies' Soccer team. They fought hard for equal pay with their male counterparts, and, with proper love-nutrition, I'm sure will return to their glory days.

You sit and watch, and hope and dream,
As they do play--so hard, your team.
From end to end they run so fast,
All while you wonder "will this last?"

With "this," you mean "the scoreless game,"
And yes, it lasts until there's tame
In fervent "shoot out," with the pinch
That their team wins by just an inch.

And now those days so tense are oe'er--
The days that you'd been waiting for.
Your team will not yet play again
In this event, with chance to win.

How do you shake the heavy pain
Which says: "will this great team remain?"
And then you shake your head in "yes,"
While comes a forlorn wilderness

In which you bear the weight of "loss."
But, still, there needs to be no cross,
For Love remains, with comfort sweet,
And, with that Love, your life complete.

© Paul L. White