He Who Dies with the Most Acorns

OK, another poem from the past. This one was inspired by a bumper sticker that was popular at the time that said, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” ACORNS There once was a squirrel, Who got in his mind, To get every acorn, Of every last kind. A huge hollow oak tree, Weighing more than a ton, Is where he settled down, To build his kingdom. Day in and day out, He went off to look, And if he saw an acorn, That acorn he took. He cared not if he, Robbed another squirrel’s home, For he wanted all acorns, To be just his own. This went on through spring, And through mid-summer too, “Winter is coming, Oh, what will we do?!” Cried the other fine squirrels, As they gazed on his tree, Standing firmly there, Oblivous to the breeze. He say up on top, Way up high like a king, When along came a breeze, Into air did he swing. He fell to his death, The poor little guy, The others moaned for a moment, Thought they didn’t know why. He had done all that work, And had done it in vain, As the others bounded up,…

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Read, and I May Have to Kill You

The following poem I share hesitantly. One of my favorite meal-time stories revolves around this poem. For after I wrote it, and read it to my 9th grade English Class, I wound up being asked to stay after school. In trouble? That’s what my fellow students thought. Instead, I was offered a career in an government agency that found interest in my love of codes and disciphering, my dabbling in speaking several foreign languages, and thought my plans at the time to be a foreign missionary would be a perfect cover to my “real” job. I’d tell you the rest of that true story, but then I’d have to kill you. (thats a joke!) Don’t want to risk my cover! In the end, after consulting with (duh) my parents, and even an “agent” of a foreign missions organization, I turned the offer down, including a scholarship to a college of my choice. But I have always been flattered that an agent on leave from the field, teaching high school English for one year as an undercover recruiter, would select me as a candidate. There’s more to the story, that must be saved for telling in person someday. But the assignment…

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There Are Absolutely No Absolutes!

Cleaning / Organizing in my office today, and came across a spiral binder of poetry written when I was a young man… they are all hand written, so I am going to post some of them here to preserve them and to provide for feedback… There Are Absolutely No Absolutes! “There are no absolutes,” you say, But are you absolutely sure? For once you say that there are none, There’s one, where none there were! And when you press to convince, That there really should be none, The very fact that you say “should” Brings out another one. Then you’re quick to point out, That my logic is not right, But if logic’s based on nothing, then On what do you stand to fight? And what about the times I hear You say you were not treated fair, On what grounds do you call them wrong, With no standard to compare? If you say I’m wrong, I’m right! And you lose, once you say you win! For once you set up one as right, Your argument caves in. So if there are no absolutes, And always a counter view, Then I must add of your argument, That also must be…

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A Smart Turkey!

When I was a young turkey, new to the coop, My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop, Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow, And he told me there was something that I had to know. His look and his tone I will always remember, When he told me of the horrors of Black November: “Come about August, now listen to me, Each day you’ll get six meals instead of just three, “And soon you’ll be thick, where once you were thin, And you’ll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin. “And then one morning, when you’re warm in your bed, In’ll burst the farmer’s wife, and hack off your head. “Then she’ll pluck out all your feathers so you’re bald ‘n pink, And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin’ in the sink; “And then comes the worst part,” he said, not bluffing, “She’ll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing.” Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat, I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat, And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked, I’d have to lay low…

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When I say "I am a Christian"

Once in awhile an e-mail forward actually contains something encouraging instead of spams or scams or jokes or urban legends. If you forward this to everyone in your address book, Bill Gates will NOT send you a dollar for each one. And no, nothing bad will happen to you if you don’t e-mail this to ten friends! When I say… “I am a Christian” I’m not shouting “I’m clean livin’.” I’m whispering “I was lost, Now I’m found and forgiven.” When I say… “I am a Christian” I don’t speak of this with pride. I’m confessing that I stumble and need Christ to be my guide. When I say… “I am a Christian” I’m not trying to be strong. I’m professing that I’m weak And need His strength to carry on. When I say… “I am a Christian” I’m not bragging of success. I’m admitting I have failed And need God to clean my mess. When I say… “I am a Christian” I’m not claiming to be perfect, My flaws are far too visible But, God believes I am worth it. When I say… “I am a Christian” I still feel the sting of pain. I have my share of…

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