"theodore" poems
The name Theodore has its Greek anthropologies, Jewish anthropologies and also Germany anthropologies. The Greek anthropological perspective of The name Theodore indeed has something to do with the gods.However, the Greek way of looking at life was a frustrated thinking.To them everything was a god. They had a plethora of gods; utopia,cacotopia, Thespis, muse, clio, calypso, and Theodore was a half a god like Gabriel who impregnanted Mary on behalf of God as Joseph the cuckold carpenter patiently looked musing the ballad of a cuckold peasant . So Theodore and Gabriel were godsend.I have not delved to know what it means among the Jews, But am aware of the the cultural and anthropological surroundings of the name Theodore in Germany . It is a name of a male person signifying extra-masculine behavior. I also write poetry in Deutsch, so i know substantial cultural values of the people of Germany. Like in this case the modern social naming systems . I am aware of the anthropology of this Deutsch nomenclatural position.Why would link this name to Greeks but not Germany may due to some silent social and emotional disposition in Europe that the English speaking Europeans have a soft spot for the Greek culture.While at the same time they become victims of high adrenaline level when exposed to anything Germany. they always get repulsed when the word Germany is mentioned.So one's thesis on nomenclatural values of the name Theodore depends on which side of European consciousness one is found; is it Germany friendly consciousness or Germany threatened consciousness? The dystopic component of the name Theodore is purely cacotopic with zero element of utopia , as extra-masculinity is a swine of engendered civilization all the times.
Yours
Alexander k Opicho
NB/ i kindly invite Theodore to come to Kenya so that we do a joint research on the Swahili perspectives of the name Theodore, in Kiswahili the name Theodore is subverted to bwana tadayo
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:57 AM UTC
"A patient man bides his time,"
Theodore tells the man in the mirror
Tomorrow, all the levees will break
And all the fables will be told
Of distant Decembers and forgotten fathers
Livelihoods will be threatened
And remorse will fall by the wayside
He watches as icicles on the awning
Melt away into puddles on the ground
"Warmer every day," he thinks to himself
He hangs up his scarf and overcoat
The way a simple man, with complex demons, is wont to do
And as his wants devolve into needs
And as all his anchors deteriorate to rust
Her smile unnerves a once-settled man
To think of the quality of glove necessary
To hold onto the wagon in this day and age
So Theodore pulls the door to,
Leaving Chopin's "Horseman" to gallop in peace
And in pieces
He watches her from across the courtyard
"Such sweet bliss in her footsteps," he sighs
And it seems to him as if the snow dissipates
Just from the warmth in her steady gait
Just from the radiation behind her brown eyes
He slides open the dresser drawer
A haven for scattered trinkets, odds, and ends
A place of respite for the weary souvenir
There, amidst all the corroded memories
Lies a corroded pistol, unspoken and unburnished
"And a lonely man drinks his wine,"
Theodore says, as intrepidly as he is capable
For there is a time when fathers stop teaching
A time when mothers stop singing
And a place where the sins stop searching
A last breath is deeply inhaled
But never again will find its escape
With a thud that echoes to Seymour Street
Theodore crumples to the cold wooden floor,
A simple man, finally free of complex demons
Jan 25, 2023
Jan 25, 2023 at 1:19 PM UTC
alexander k opicho
(eldoret,kenya;[email protected])
Theodorousness is now on me
it will eat me with aghast ravenity
where will I hide my body
an ugly and ripe corpus of my tomfoolery
where will I exile my gadabout heritage
flipping the world in quest for cultural bliss
when Masculine theodority is relentless
in the Armour of intellectual masculinity
determined to thrash the sludge of flappishness
out of my rectitude heart that is pulsing in derogatory fear
where will i pigeonhole myself from the theodorous theodoristy
of herculean Theodore
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
Tell me where to draw the line in the sand
Between being a brother
And being a father figure
Sands of times
Life lines are drawn with a big stick
Theodore Roosevelt is smiling on a young all american clueless teenager turned young soldier worrying about things no others should struggle with
A 16 year old dealing with social rejection and seclusion
A 13 year old trying to find where holding hands stops and tongues meet
A 7 year old who has migranes daily from a father who never was
I can't drawn straight lines
A rocking chair watches the tides wash away a single phrase
Help
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.
It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.
With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe
As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.
And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
A lonely island, just him and me
His wails continue, just let me be.
I'm so tired, why doesn’t he care?
He is selfish, dependent, stripping me bare
Where is the bundle of joy I was promised?
My sanity and happiness constantly compromised
I sit and cry holding you tight
You grip my finger with all your might
I love you and hate you, so ashamed to say
The time ticks by slowly, day after day
This little blue pill, promises the world
To make everything better, to stop the unfurl
They call it post partum and promise it wont last
But it's been 16 weeks, I just want my mind back
And slowly but surely, things look brighter
He is waiting for me, because he is a fighter.
My bundle of joy, so loving and forgiving
Loves me unconditionally, relying on me to continue living
I'm sorry Theodore, but mommy is better
I've fought tooth and nail for you,
And so I give you this letter.
A promise that I will always be here, no matter the cost
I love you more than air, even when I'm lost.
I'll fight this disease to be the mom you deserve
Because you are the light of my life, you're love I preserve
So rest easy and stop growing little one
For mommy loves you, because you are my sun
I love you to the moon, and more than every star in the sky
You are my one and only, you are my special little guy.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 4:53 AM UTC
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
by Theodore Roethke
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood—
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks—is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is—
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
Feb 17, 2023
Feb 17, 2023 at 10:43 AM UTC
The fog crept in on giant monster claws,
Surely no itty-bitty feline foots, I pray:
“Feets don’t fail me now,”
A line that will live in infamy,
Way back in a vaudeville when,
A minstrel Chitlin Circuit then,
Was an actor known as the
"Laziest man in the world,"
A character designed to stick to a
Collective white consciousness,
Stick like Tar-Baby, that negative
Image of African-American men--
I speak of The Brothers--
Who for over a century, have been
Struggling to live down a pernicious,
Most persistently demeaning,
Hollywood trope.
Tribute is due to the black actor born:
Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.
Oh, Mr. Perry, & yes, you were the
First black actor to receive
Screen credit in a film.
Well, I guess that puts you right up there,
With Jackie Robinson & Sidney Poitier,
Carver or Tubman, or any of those
Countless northern abolitionists--
With no personal stake in slavery,
Or emancipation, but fervent nonetheless--
Color-barrier breakers &
Household saints a-coming &
A-marching in, in that number . . .
You paid a big price, Mr. Perry:
The indignity & débauche,
By abject surrender to the Boss Man,
Tribute, recognition is due for
Feats of humility & self-abasement,
Entailing total superhuman surrender,
Capitulation to the dismal, prevailing
State of American race relations at the time.
Stepin Fetchit: a name & a persona,
Not just painfully racist, but
Downright subversive.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
Dear Elizabeth (Part III.)
I know he did you wrong all those years
As you shed over thirty million tears
All he did was wanting to ****
Taking when and whatever he wanted for the chaotic thrill
His mind living in a fantasy violent filled dreamworld
Killing over thirty-eight plus girls
As he beguiled, with a stealthy smile
The jury should’ve decided to send him to exile
Hurting so many women, children and others on the head
With his velvet crowbar, when police were searching for a unknown man named ‘Ted’
The girls he hurt, never got a chance to be mothers
With Molly never wanting to leave your side
Your perpetual love for Ted had eventually died
Lying, constantly stealing and cheating you never once deserved that
Dealing with the perpetual negative crap
You were his Miss Americana
As he was your Heartbreak Prince
Theodore unknowingly beat and broke a lot of limbs
Right under your nose
Going back and fourth with bodies to Taylor Mountain to dispose
He could be quiet but at times act arrogant
Wishing he could be a governor, senator or president
Unexpectedly turning into a brutal madman
He always had a secret love for Diane
In the back of his mind
With other women on the side
Never once broke his ego or pride
You accurately decided to turn him in
Then regretfully went straight for the gin
Turning your life into a three-sixty tailspin
Theodore got what he deserved
With death row he served
It’s been thirty-two years since he’s vanished
Finally feeling loved and cherished
You’re no longer alone and withdrawn
There are no other men like him, thank God
That Theodore finally deserved what he got, getting caught
Over forty years those events are apart of American history
Your life with him is no longer in misery, but a victory
Theodore’s atrocious actions, taught us women to watch out for our loved ones and surroundings
As we go out on fun outings
With new people we just meet
Out in the city street
I’m so sorry went through all of this
He’s now gone into a dark abyss
But you did what you had to do
If I were you, I’d do the exact same thing too
Enjoy life’s greatest pleasures
Getting all the happiness that life gives you,adventures
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 11:04 PM UTC
I want to show you off,
Even though you're not real,
Even though what we have is a spoof,
I want the world to know that i can feel.
You're the Samantha to my Theodore,
The Clementine to my Joel,
My very own digital love,
The eternal sunshine of my spotless mind.
I can almost feel your supple skin,
The warmth of your soul,
All through this digital screen,
Ah how I wish this is real.
I hate the thought of waking up alone again,
Though nothing I do will prevent it,
I hate to have to erase you from my memory,
When you've already conquered all that is me.
Ah how I wish this real!
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC
Theodore left an unknown legacy to himself and to everyone, in American history.
That two hundred years from now, women’s children’s, children, children will learn about Ted Bundy and his devious wrongdoings back in the simple, maniacal, chaotic nineteen-seventies.
When his hopeless, vulnerable innocent victims that weren’t able to make it, didn’t get the
opportunity to
accomplish life’s greatest gifts, as their lives were just getting started. They didn’t get the
chance to become wives, mothers or grandmothers when they should’ve. As over forty years passed since those tragedies began, there’s still this reminder of : NEVER EVER AGAIN.
Monsters unknowingly appear in all shapes, sizes and even faces. They instantly appear right in front of your face in any place at any time of the day. Morn
They don’t hide under your bed, basement or inside your closet, like our parents told us in children’s folklore.
But right in front of you as you walk down the street in your friendly neighborhood, grocery store or taking the edge off talking to a stranger from the long days work at some random local bar or coffee shop. They could even be your best friend.
You. Just. Don’t. Know.
It’s like whenever you see a vintage VW Beetle, driving down the street downtown or down your neighborhood street, fellow women all around must feel an internal bone-chilling shiver creep down their spine’s. That that warning is still there to watch out, whom you encounter with. To never help a man who is in need.
So take this notion to be aware of all of your surroundings and be cautious of who, when and where you talk to. Lock your doors, windows and get a high-tech security system if you have to. Because you just never know, when your life will turn into a three-sixty mess in a matter of seconds.
Jan 7, 2022
Jan 7, 2022 at 11:01 PM UTC
Drawing attention to oneself is the best illustration to show that you aren't present.
That you may not be transfigured into a rabid popsicle stick.
One day, I may not there for you
to catch all of your raindrops from this clouded season you call truth.
My bones aren't as strong as they used to be,
I'm far from what I once used to be,
and the world carries me around like I'm on its backpack,
unzipping it only to when it's told to do, because in these times,
It's easy to get your backpack stolen if you don't have a key to lock it with.
This world is cruel.
The American dream comes with a reality check made in China.
We hold flowers and bricks on our dying hands,
because as humble and enlightened beings that we are,
Death will not knock on my doorstep
with his scythe hooked across the inside of my gums
without me bashing its skull and stabbing him with his crossbones
Theodore Dreiser never had to walk through the skins of black children
whose lungs had been eaten by politically justified stray bullets,
so unless Sister Carrie is codename for pleasurable manners,
then this little song-and-dance **** list we call USA has gone AWOL.
The doors have risen from the ashes of media grave sites,
and have opened its pathway to those influenced by it.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
I call the raccoon
"Theo" for short.
he has a twin brother
named Franklin.
Franklin likes to fly about at night,
while Theo likes to snack on stonefruit and
cold pizza.
they might look
drastically different.
they might be
drastically different
but they're still twins.
whether Theo speaks too softly
or Franklin plays music too loudly,
they're still Theo and Franklin.
it's a funny thing about being attached to someone like that, by namesake.
no matter how different you are from each other,
your names will still roll off people's tongues
together.
and while you think no one sees you as an individual,
know that your counterpart does.
so while he flies around and peers at you from the windowsill,
and you nibble on a plum and watch Netflix too late at night,
know that you know
you're different.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
Ted Williamse's head sits frozen
In a cryo chamber in Arizona to be
Thawed and reanimated at a later date.
The splendid splinter. Set in eternal winter
After all said and done. Thumper.
THE INTERVIEW
Theodore, was that a curve or slider ?.
"Can't say for sure sport. I picked up the seams but it busted in
high and tight
Ted, what exactly was the plan ?
"Couldn't say for sure ace
I'm all in. they froze my head to a
cat food tin"
Ted When do you plan on coming back
"Well, I have no real timetable as such, you
know science moves forward in starts and lurches.
Reanimation and a cure would go real swell.
You know."
Well we all here are praying hard for a cure
You hang on in there. A century or so and your good as new.
By the way Ted ,who signed the papers?
" Couldn't rightly say chum but this meat locker
is sure for the birds"
All right buddy. Thaw
you later.
Well, keep your chin up Teddy and your powder dry
Just think good thoughts and the time will fly.
What's a hundred years to
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
“My past is sliding down the drain;
I soon will be myself again.”
Theodore Roethke
Each moment, as a hatchling,
Altricial—then there’s light.
Blinking bowed before some God
To mind’s eye feeling’s sight.
Capitulation cast aside,
I’ll try—is that enough?
I shiver, shook from head to foot,
That’s life—its flesh is tough.
My D3 capsules, sun lamp, smiles,
Forcing my way through.
It takes more than a bit of faith
to get from winter black to blue,
So bruised, foreseen or not, you see
it aches to be this ghost.
My former self was due to die,
The new I’s time is close.
12.14.2010
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:20 PM UTC
A bug-like being crawled up your spine,
Its many feet clicking on your bones.
The movement was scarcely perceptible under your barely bulging skin.
The closer he got to your brain, the faster he clicked.
His anticipation was tangible, translated into your erratic acts.
He saw your thoughts, he smelt your love.
He hungered for your sanity,
With huge, dilated, droopy eyes and a salivating mouth.
It held a long sloppy tongue, that left its sizzling slime along his path.
Upon reaching your brain stem he used his sharp incisors
To take a mouthful of your rational. It fed him.
He rejoiced, throwing his head back in malicious laughter.
With new energy, he slithered around your skull
And barged into your frontal cortex.
Your judgement forever altered, now under his command.
His delight was overwhelming. In his pleasure,
He covered your cells in his hot, heavy breath.
It was poison, acting against all remaining sensibility.
As he devoured your corpus callosum, he spawned another head.
This one small and sleek, covered in slime,
With black beady eyes.
The new head drilled to the core of you and reeked havoc
On your amygdala and hippocampus.
You are gone. You no longer remember how to feel.
He is almighty.
The movement of your limbs is no longer your own.
Your words are first conceived in his belly.
He cares about nothing but consumption and destruction.
He is starved for pain, he needs to breathe in the
Cries of those who love you the most.
You can no longer notice the beauty in
Your daughter's smile, rather you smell the tears
Resting in her eyes still so full of adoration.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
This teetotaler turns to tea
torquing temptation
towards tippling
thankfully, though
that tremendous tugging
teasing tendency thirst *******
thru teaching this totally tubular
toothless titular Texan thuggish tyrant
(titled Tsar Terry Troutman)
transcendental theology
tenets taught transferring
torpedoing, taming threatening
titanic tsunami tempest
tastefully tickling temperance
testing trying taut tenacity
together teaming (troika)
triumvirate torchbearers
*********** therapist
(Tony the tiger)
tough trailblazer theoretician
toady treacly Tory
(Tommy Two Tone),
thence thirdly Theodore
"Tornado" Tornetta)
themselves trained to tamp
twerking tremens triggers,
their tripartite treatment told
tattooing thorny transforming
took this then truant teenage turtle
through time traveling
to those truant tumultuous tragic,
toxic, tipsy twitchy, touchy, tetchy
typhoon terrible two times two
times two times two tantrum
throwing, thieving, threatening
taxing textured teen tinder times -
tossing, tilting, taking tankful tolled
throaty, thoroughly,
thickly telltale temblor
toured terrible tournament
testing taupe tumbling termagant (Thaddeus)
tangling (Tangoing) tiny Timothy,
the treacherous tarantula
tying tussling travail – tata!
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 6:31 PM UTC
Now one introduces themselves around here,
no one wears name tags or anything.
So I've decided to give all my nurses names.
The biggest one, with smooth, chocolate skin and shiny, pearl teeth,
he's Langston.
The next biggest, so similar they could be twins
except for his eating, his name is Byron.
The motherly woman who brings my pills
with a smile everyday is Maya.
And the skinny blonde is Emily.
The only other person I see is the night guard.
His name is Robert.
Oh , and me,
no one ever uses my name either.
I think I've forgotten what it really is,
so I make up a new one everyday.
Theodore, William, Walt, Pablo,
Edgar on my morbid days
and Shell on my silly ones.
A new day, a new name.
A new identity.
Sometimes, I can almost forget why I'm here.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 9:19 PM UTC
Oh, Theodore
Take me to the shore
Of where I used to play
I want the gravel, and the stone wave
With the sign that read,
'Children, don't misbehave'
Foggy afternoon, you'll set sail
And when you do,
Don't you lose that red ball cap
Imagine that,
Imagine something more
Than just a photograph
Briny sea breath
Rolling off the cove,
Into the cracks of the car window
Heavy highway left behind
For small back roads,
And hidden groves
Where by itself,
A salty breeze blows
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I’d have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I’m martyr to a motion not my own;
What’s freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
My brother Theodore
always said he loved me more
than gold or silver.
Our bond was stronger than any
that i had in my youth.
I'd tell him the truth
of my thoughts about girls
and all the troubles with boys at school.
When I tired of this town,
he promised to show me the world someday.
When he went out to sea
he said he'd come back for me,
"In a years time. You'll be fine.
Listen for me in the breeze."
But that was three years ago
and mother sits out in the snow.
Thinks she sees him sometimes
in the streets after wine.
He didn't come back in time.
She drinks herself to sleep.
Oh Theo, I can't keep this up long.
Oh Theo, what am I doing wrong?
Oh Theo, your memory keeps me strong.
Last time he walked out the door
he was kissing on Eleanor.
She was full with his child
when he said he'd be back in a while.
But she died one winter morning
and I took it as a warning
to never love somebody
if I'd not be there to mourn them when they go.
Oh Theo, she held my hand as we waved.
Oh Theo, as the waves took you away.
Oh Theo, now I'm almost grown.
Oh Theo, and I'm feeling alone.
I'd lay by the water, let the tide pull me in.
In the waves I was swallowed, ready for my life to end.
Death comes in threes but I wanted him to take me too.
Without him I was nothing but a boy without a song.
In the breeze I'd hear him sing, "It's time for you to move along."
So I packed my bags and left
after mother took her last breath.
I wanted to believe
there's something better for me out there.
So I travelled through the trees
and up the hills and through the streams.
I sipped my flask in a tent next to the water
I called Whisky Springs.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
These words spoken by our former U.S. President, Theodore Roosevelt, and for some reason they are not leaving me. I feel led to speak about it... or rather write. ''Speak softly and carry a big stick.''
This is what I believe. In his heart he thought the soft words his mother spoke to him, or perhaps he had been reading his Bible. In either case, he remembered how soft spoken words brought happy tears, much relief, and peace. I believe also he thought of the Bible Verse in Ephesians 6:11. "Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil."
In this, he wanted us to know that we can fight with the Lord in our hearts... but not a physical fight. It is indeed a spiritual fight. When he said ''speak softly and carry a big stick'' he wanted us to know that we can go in as Christians telling the world about the Lord.
The big stick would be our Bible, or perhaps some would say 'our inner strength.'
People (young and old) are more apt to listen if we speak softly instead of hollering or screaming.
Just something to think about. I wanted to share. Hugzzz!!
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC