On the banks of the Sentinel River
A man locals knew as ‘The Boss’
Worked the controls of the drawbridge
Directing the through-trains across
The boss man was cheerful and helpful
Always whistling or singing a song
His gaze was both twinkling and piercing
His handshake both friendly and strong
His daily routine at the river
Saw the bridge back and forth from the edge
So the ships could pass freely beside it
As he watched from his post on the ledge
And then when a train neared the river
He remotely connected the link
Exact in the duties he carried
Of protecting the train from the drink
On the banks of the Sentinel River
A man locals knew as ‘The Boss’
Worked the controls of the drawbridge
Directing the through-trains across
The boss man was cheerful and helpful
Always whistling or singing a song
His gaze was both twinkling and piercing
His handshake both friendly and strong
His daily routine at the river
Saw the bridge back and forth from the edge
So the ships could pass freely beside it
As he watched from his post on the ledge
And then when a train neared the river
He remotely connected the link
Exact in the duties he carried
Of protecting the train from the drink
He held onto that train-saving lever
With a ruthless and desperate hold
‘Father?’ he heard from the drawbridge
The blood in his veins running cold
‘Junior?’ he yelled through the downpour
‘You must run son, like never before!’
But the warning he shouted to save him
Was drowned out by the oncoming roar
To go rescue his son on the drawbridge
Would never leave time to get back
To re-lock in the hand-governed lever
To save those in the train on the track
But to barter a life of perfection
In exchange for this train full of fools
Was too much to expect of a father
It was heartless and mean; it was cruel!
But a train full of people would perish
If he opted the life of his son
Two hundred and forty-nine humans
As compared to the loss of just one!
He could picture his son by the window
Looking out at the lights of the train
May I go to the bridge to meet Father?
To walk him back home, in the rain.
His firstborn was gentle and thoughtful
Compliant no matter the task
Most eager and willing to please him
Obeying whatever was asked
He took one last second to ponder
But his conscience, it already knew
He held tight to that hand-governed lever
And let the Northwestern roll through
Not a soul on the train saw his body
As it fell to its watery grave
Not a soul on the train heard his father
Mourn the son that he’d wanted to save
If you can imagine this father
Then think of our Father above
And we fools here on earth that He rescued
Done all in the name of His love!
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
That morning in 12-step
Heart filled with remorse
Why had her life taken
This punishing course
Why had she been given
These trials and this pain
More sorrow than gladness
More dry spell…than rain
She felt undeserving
God’s love or His care
So much of her past life
Just hadn’t been fair
Disabled and damaged
Distressed and abused
Would He ever welcome
A daughter this bruised
Then the leader held up
A ten dollar bill
It was torn on one edge with
A syrupy spill
Who wants it he asked them
Will anyone here
Accept this old ten spot
That’s stained in root beer
He didn’t seem startled
When each hand raised high
And each one called ‘I will’
In synchronized cry
Then taking the greenback
He crumpled it tight
And stomped to the carpet
With all of his might
Then once more he asked them
An arch in his brow
While holding it forward
Well, how about now?
It’s ***** and wrinkled
Do any of you
Still want this ten dollars
With all it’s been through?
Again each hand raised up
And each one said 'yes'
Each one understanding
It wasn’t worth less
In spite of its treatment
It hadn’t decreased
In what it could buy them
No, not…in the least
So now my dear sisters
Their leader explained
Each one in this classroom’s
Been rumpled and stained
Each one has experienced
The struggles of earth
But none has diminished
In what she was worth
Each one has been damaged
And each one is flawed
But the worth of each sister
Is precious to God
The Savior’s atonement
Is proof of that fact
For God sent Him down to
Make up what each lacked
He sent someone perfect
To save someone not
Which makes you all priceless
Despite what you’ve thought
That night she was dreaming
And listened enthralled
To angelic voices
Then heard her name called
'Who wants her?' was broadcast
Will anyone here
Accept her into this
Celestial sphere?
No one seem startled
When two from on high
Said they would accept her
In synchronized cry
Then once more the angel
An arch in his brow
While showing her earth life
Asked 'how about now?
She’s been both a victim
And transgressor, too
Are you sure that you want her
With all she’s been through?'
Again both the Father
And Son called out 'yes'
Each one demonstrating
She wasn’t worth less
In spite of life’s treatment
Her worth hadn’t decreased
To two such as they were
No, not…in the least
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 3:10 PM UTC
One Sunday a cragsman
Descended a cliff
In a dangerous place
When the winds came up stiff
With sand blinding his eyes
He let go off his grip
And in that one little second
He started to slip
In that one little second
In front of his eyes
A lifetime of wrong choices
Misconduct and lies
In that one little second
As he started to dive
Prayed to God that next Sunday
If he was alive
He would come out to church
Accept a new calling
If God would stretch forth his hand
To save him from falling
In that one little second
He promised he'd alter
The many bad habits
That caused him to falter
He prayed to God that he'd change
And stop his wrongdoing
If please God would re-schedule
His funeral and viewing
If please God would stretch forth
His omnipotent hand
He'd most quickly repent
With a soft place to land
Then his feed gained some ground
Where the earth was more firm
And he slid to a stop
On a thin piece of berm
With his prayers safely answered
On that lifesaving shelf
Said, 'never mind Lord;
I have saved me myself'
One more time he was grasping
At crumbling sod
He'd learned as we all must
None is saved without God
For all men are fallen
And a Savior's been sent
To lead them to safety
And help them repent
That old Prince of Darkness
Is the changeable wind
He's luring and coaxing
And blinding with sin
Just one little second
Is all that it takes
To fall from the edge
As result of mistakes
For the pathway to safety
Place your hand inside His
For seeking salvation
The only way that there is
He will lead them and guide them
Unharmed from the rim
But none of God's children
Are saved without Him!
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
A man went inactive from going
To the church that he used to attend
One Sunday he didn’t get ready
Alarming his fam’ly and friends
The pew where he’d sat on the third row
And listened to ward members speak
Now seating a new little fam’ly
While he stayed at home ev’ry week
One ev’ning when it was quite chilly
The bishop knocked on his front door
In hopes he could come up with something
To get him attending once more!
Deducing why Bishop had stopped by
He welcomed him in from the cold
Then they sat down and waited in silence
The shepherd and lamb from the fold
The dance of the flames held their focus
As it flickered and waned on the stone
Then fin’lly the Bishop reached over
To position a coal on its own
He carefully picked up the cinder
With the tongs that were hung on the shelf
Then placed it away from the others
To extinguish, afar, by itself
His host sat in quiet inspection
As the ember diminished and died
And still not one word had been spoken
As they watched that lone ember subside
The clock on the hearth kept on ticking
Being late, Bishop stood up to go
But first he put back the dead ember
And directly, it started to glow
The coal, in the midst of the others
With their brilliance and warmth all around
Effectively told him a story
That once lost he’d now surely been found
Not speaking one word this man’s bishop
With the flame and the light from the coals
Had given a most fiery sermon
On the need for reclaiming lost souls!
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
In Mrs. Schmutz’s first grade class
In nineteen sixty-two
I took a babe for show and tell
DelRae, that babe was you!
I held you up for all to see
Then passed you down the aisle
The little girls all ooh-ed and ah-ed
To see your toothless smile
The little boys were less impressed
Until you passed some gas
Then thought you were the coolest kid
In Mrs. Schmutz’s class!
You seemed to like the accolades
And shot a little spray
Mi amigos that ain’t nada
Is what you seemed to say!
The teacher ran to wipe it up
All frantic and befuddled
Then slipped and fell right in that spot
Where you, DelRae, had puddled!
The girls giggled girlishly
The boys let out a roar
The principal came striding in
Take that and raise you four!
You burped a *** of curdled milk
Torpedoed in his eye
I don’t recall another time
I’ve seen a grown man cry!
He banned you from that first grade class
I guess his pride was smarted
‘Cuz you were kicked out of that school
And hadn’t even started!
Some fifty years have come and gone
Since all that stuff you did
So Happy Birthday, DelRae Scott!
You’re still the coolest kid!
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
We moved out west to Hollywood
And quickly settled down
Amongst the rich and famous in
The heart of Tinsel Town
I joined the local Lion’s Club
My wife, the PTA
The kiddos were ecstatic when
Invited out to play
They called for pick up early and
We asked them on the go
Just how it went with their new friends
In Nine 0 Two One 0
They answered back in unison
It wasn’t fun and games
These California movie stars
Give kids the strangest names
The Nanny said that we should play
With Coco on the lawn
So we made some in the kitchen
High-fived...and said, ‘Game on’
Were we to know that ‘Coco’ meant
A girl and not a drink
Oh, pardon our absurdity
And poured ours down the sink
About that time the Nanny said
That Apple was out back
So we patted on our tummies
Oh, fi-na-lly...a snack
Were we to know that ‘Apple’ was
A friend of Choc’late Moo
Of the sev’ral major food groups
We’d shared play time with two
About that time the Nanny said
That Blanket’s on the deck
We weren’t the least bit cold at all
But, wrapped up for a sec
Were we to know that ‘Blanket’ was
A boy and not a spread
The blankets back where we came from
Were folded on our bed
About that time the Nanny said
Tu Morrow’s on her way
And wanted us to stay until
Tu Morrow came--to play
We didn’t know ‘Tu Morrow’ meant
Not staying for a snooze
So we begged off playing longer
We were getting too confused!
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC
Twin babies were talking
Snuggled up in the womb
Heads bumping, legs tangling
‘You’re taking my room’;
‘Uh-uh,’ said the other
‘It is you in my space;
Hey, do you buy into
Life after this place?’
‘Of course,’ said his brother.
‘There is life after birth!
Right now we’re preparing
To live out on earth!’
‘No way,’ said the younger.
‘You will have to agree,
There’s nothing more after--
For what…could it be?’
‘Perhaps,’ said his roomie
‘There is leeway and light;
In here, you’ll admit
It is dark and it’s tight!
And maybe, just maybe
We will walk on our feet;
For all that we know
We will drink and we’ll eat!’
The doubting one chuckled;
‘That’s the utmost absurd,
Nonsensical notion
I ever have heard!
This is all that there is;
This is all that we need!
We’re too wobbly to walk
And the cord gives our feed!’
Then shaking his head
With a thumb-sucking snort
‘There’s no life after birth;
The cord is too short!’
His big brother held fast
With a kick to his rear;
‘I think there is something
That’s diff’rent from here!’
‘Fat chance,’ said the younger
‘There’s no more than this sac.
And what proof do you have?
No one’s ever come back!’
‘Perhaps they don’t want to.’
Responded his brother.
‘Perhaps, they’re caressed in
The arms of their mother!
Perhaps she is singing
A lullaby tune
In a soft rocking chair
‘By a big harvest moon!’
The younger twin gurgled
And wrinkled his brow
‘If there is a mother,
Then where is she now?
A mother’s a folk tale,
A legend of lore
Please read my lips brother
This is it, nothing more!’
The big brother scolded,
‘Stop making a fuss!
If there was no mother,
There wouldn’t be us!
She’s all around us
It’s in her that we be;
I’m sure there’s a next life,
And mother’s the key!
She’ll tend to our hunger
Our tears and our thirst.
I already love her
And speak to go first!’
The younger one let out
A tantrum boohoo
‘You always go first;
I’m telling mother on you!’
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC