"Worry"

I worry that no one
will want to read
what I write about
I worry that
they will not be able
to see my world
as I want them to
I worry that they
will not get caught
in the thoughts
that were in my mind
when my words found
their home
I worry that they will not
be able to unlock
the meaning of each word
I worry that I will
not be good enough
to deserve their time
when they have to
transend the page
full of my words
and free fall
into my net
of thoughts
I worry that my
my time is running out
and I am not finished
but, isn't that
the way it always is?
I worry worry worry

"The Last Line"

the time to write
is the write time
holding your breath
waiting for an idea
to find a landing pattern
in your webbed brain
is a futile attempt
at grasping at a fleeting
moment in the spin lines
that surround the Earth
Earth Mother why do you
wonder how the words
make their way
to the porch where you
and your best friend wait
label it finished
before you
dance your dance
to the tune you hear
no matter how far
or near
arrows from the world
will find you
lost in the yarn ball
of thoughts
the last line
will find the end

"Choices"

a mistake maybe
given free choice
can you see?
hear my voice?

good better best
then the bad
in with the rest
making us sad

click save now
no damaged occured
you will know how
it won't be blurred

choose with care
no going back
always be fair
stay on track

gather the good
keep evil at bay
do as you should
you will be ok

choices are funny
serious and slick
some about money
don't make them quick

keep calm under stress
don't become flustered
this is a test
choices are clustered

detach unlatch
unhook let go
snag the catch
choices flow

"Life is Like a River"

life is like a river
we stand on the bank
and watch it roll by
and never see the end

it is better that
we do not know
how it will end
like the beginning

the future is ours
etched by the past
the present is all
that really matters

the never ending ripples
hold the pace
hidden from each day
loving and laughing

there is no return
from the river
just a ride
the ride of your life!

"Winter"

skies are gray
the morning air is cold
the north wind
came in the night
and brought Winter
Gypsy and I sat
on the South porch
in the morning darkness
hoping to hang on
to our perch
on the porch
where we find
the words we write
the wind brings the stories
up the hill to us
we simply watch and listen
as the Winter wind blows

"Members Only"

When I was a young child
my mother told me
to stay on the right path
I should pretend Jesus Christ
was next to me all the time.
Unfortunately I did not
connect with this until
much later in life.
The groups and clubs I joined
over the years were good.
But, something was missing.
I was searching.
I just didn't know where to look.
It wasn't until the last few years,
when God reached down
and shook me up
that I finally joined His club.
His plan was in place
unbeknown to me
from my very first cry.
Find His plan for you,
become a member of His club.
He believes in you!
At the end of your plan
He will be waiting.
Members Only.

"Pumpkin Skies and Featherbed Nights"

The pumpkins are ripe
ready for picking.
The nights are cold
ready for the featherbeds.
The lonely Winter finds
me remembering.
Janice, Nedra and Cara,
the three Hall girls
who grew up at
524 East Elm Street
in a small Ohio town.
Moving on to find and form
their own families.
The years flew by
and time etched it marks
on their lives.
I remember seeing dad
the day before he died.
He was sick, a bad cough.
It did him in.
Mom was in her eighties
when she quietly slipped
away from us.
Aunt Grace is gone
but, the memory of her
angel food cakes survives in
memory of a young child.
Aunt Wilma could walk under
the kitchen table
when she was ten.
Moms family was big and nearby,
dad had only one sister
who was far away.
Old age is catching
those Hall girls.
For once being the youngest
has an advantage.
There is much to remember
packed away in the old boxes
in the Hall closet.
The past is mixed with the present
full of good times with
children, grandchildren, and friends.
Life carried me here for today.
Perhaps life is the package
wrapped in the red ribbon
delivered at the gate the
night before Christmas.
I wiggle and squirm each day
to find the right slot
to send me on my way
mixing memories and moments
I fondly remember the pumpkin skies
and featherbed nights.

"For Bard"

listen closely Bard
the wind is whistling
a soft tune
for the Autumn leaves
as they sway back and forth
on their way to the woods floor
looking like ceramic tile
carefully placed by artisans
to please the eye
and warm the heart
look closely Bard
see the sunrise and sunset
send their rays
like paths through the trees
finding their way
to the woods floor
watch closely Bard
as the rain clouds and
the lightening and thunder
perform their play
with the sky as a stage
smell the sweet rain
watch the new growth
its dark on the cabin porch
surrounded by the trees
we listened and watched
and saw this story of
what the woods had to say
perhaps Bard the story
will find you today

"The Nose Knows"

Now if you told Gypsy she had a big nose she would be flattered. If you told me I had a big nose I would not be flattered. The reason is because Gypsy is an English Pointer hunting dog. Her whole being is to sniff out birds. If she does not smell it, it is not there. When we are on her porch early in the morning and the West wind is blowing at a good clip, she sits next to me and with her nose ever so slightly tilted up, sniffs the crisp, cool air searching to fill a memory from her past. I always wonder what she is smelling as her eyes follow her nose pointing at the morning sky. I am not sure how good her eyes and hearing are, so it is good she has a big, good nose.
Now, when a person goes out to purchase an English Pointer dog, they want to be sure the dog will use its nose and not its eyes to find birds. A pointer is low to the ground and could not see birds in tall grass. Most of the time it is difficult to read puppies skills. So if possible, look at two year old pointers who have had just alittle training. Put a quail feather in the cuff of your pant leg and see if the dog finds it. Also, you can see a two year old dog work on the ground in the field. It is very important to get a dog that has a good nose, smell birds and wants to do this more than anything else in the world. Gypsy is this dog.
There are other things you can cope with if they aren't perfect. One dog we had had a terrible overbite, and Gypsy a kink in her tail. They are all hard of hearing when you are trying to give them your instructions on hunting. Gypsy is one of those dogs that the purest hunter would have problems with because of her tail. It is not quite straight. When she points it is like a ski slope, except for the kink, from the tip of her tail to the end of her nose. You can pick her up and move her, but she will not break this point. She is like a statue. A few of our dogs knew how fast to approach birds so as to not flush them and just how close to get so the birds would not run. This is a delicate situation where alittle too much or alittle to little could ruin the point. Gypsy knew about this and executed her skill perfectly. A good hunting dog is born with this ability as well as the ability to honor another dogs point. That is a hunting dog. This is Gypsy. She lived for these moments.
Another thing about this dog. She can take you or leave you. Dirty looks abound if your behavior is questionable. She expects you to feed her, take her for walks and scratch her belly. Her bed must be made everyday (when mine isn't) on her highway 281 red leather chair and ottoman. Her chair is named this because the couple, Angie and Lynn who sell furniture, put it outside along highway 281 on nice days where folks driving by can see it. There is always a red leather chair included. It has become famous. Everyone looks for it.
Pointers are intelligent, single minded, stubborn dogs who decide early on to do it their way no matter what the consequences. They don't bother with small stuff. She has never tried to fight with another dog. She worked hard most of her life. Her first two years she was in a kennel where we found her. She had never even been in a veterinarians office. It didn't take her long to figure it out.
She twitches and yipes in her sleep dreaming of the good old days when we were walking the fields of South Texas hunting. We always tried to hunt into the wind which would carry the scent of the birds to Gypsy nose. She would be running as fast as she could and stop on a dime when she found birds. I wonder if her dreams are as good as the real thing? Maybe they are better.

"Holy Rain"

the rain came down
like silver threads
through the sunshine
not making a sound

a rainbow a promise
a message said
caught in the drops
held by the thread

"Boom Boom"

white wings are flying
your shotgun moves
through the air
following your eyes
held in your hands
tight to your shoulder
Boom Boom
it speaks to the
late afternoon breeze
as doves fall to the ground
silenced early forever
your chessie retrieves them
to your hand
for your dinner tonight
no beef pork chicken or fish
just doves wrapped in bacon
stuffed with jalapenos
on the charcoal grill
no added hormones
or antiobiotics
the tired dogs have been checked
for ticks and thorns
and received their massage
the sun is setting
the Black Label in the glass
in your hand is gone
as you watch the sunset
in South Texas after
a day of hunting on your lease
it is pitch black dark
as you take the doves
off the grill
and go inside for dinner
sleep comes easily to this bunch
and their dreams are of hunting
point the shotgun
pass the bird
pull the trigger
Boom Boom
doves for dinner

" Webs in the Woods"

just when we thought
the storms were over
a gentle rain fell
with the sun
shining through it
we could find no rainbow
as we checked each porch
but saw the miles of webs
that connect the woods
sparkling as the sun found them
wet from the rain shower
I was amazed that it could rain
and not make a sound
on the metal roof of the cabin
A deer walked down the road
seemingly with no place to go
like us sitting on Gypsys porch
in the cool clear morning air
allowing our minds
to wander and wonder
like the webs in the woods

"The Little Bake Shop"

"The Little Bake Shop"

the little bake shop
full of wishes and dreams
just a short hop
off sun and moon beams

sifter full of flour
only lumps left behind
bake for and hour
after mixed with time

butter, sugar and salt
a wonderful blend
tasteful no fault
a delight at the end

pies, cakes and cookies
lifes best desserts
even good for rookies
even good for flirts

don't burn while baking
your timer get set
recipes are for making
the best you can get

special you are
a gardenia in bloom
you are the star
lunch is at noon

"Gypsy"

They say dogs don't have souls.
That's ok I guess.
Gypsy my 10 year old English Pointer,
can ride along with mine.
We know each other well
after so many years together.
Sometimes I wonder if she wonders
where the dogs and people
who have died have gone.
She never says anything about it.
She takes each day like
the new one it is.
She is just glad to be here.
She remembers and dreams.
She likes my nine year old Grandson Kody.
When he is here at the cabin
she is his constant companion.
She puts her head on my shoulder
and bats at me with her paws
telling me not to stop scratching her.
She likes her new highway 281 red leather chair
which is covered with her favorite soft blankets.
I wonder if she is ever lonely
without her old dog companions?
She tells me when she is not feeling well,
and always hates the trip to the vet.
Even as we get older
we remain alittle bit silly.
She reminds me everyday
we are fortunate to be here
to see the sunrise together.

"Uncle Mike"

Uncle Mike died yesterday
the last of the Daniel Spengler clan.
His smile is what I remember best,
a smiling, friendly good looking man.
Before him came others, after as well;
William, Walter, Edwin and Ida
James, Wilhelmina, (Anna) and Julia
Jacob, (Infant Daughter), Harold-Uncle Mike
Christian and (David)
I remember well moms stories
about life on the farm
in the beautiful, rich flat land
which brought their ancestors
from the hills of Schaffhausen, Switzerland
to their farm near Elmira, Ohio.
There was a wood burning stove in the kitchen
the dog slept under during the cold, Ohio Winters.
There were warmed stones from this stove
put in their beds on or under the feather ticks
that kept them warm.
There was a Summer kitchen near the big farm house
where their mother cooked during the hot Ohio Summers.
On Monday many loaves of bread
were baked for the coming week.
One story mom told us about Mike
was that he was headed into town one day
with his father, which was a big treat.
On the way they met one of the older brothers
coming home in a new surrey with a fringe on the top.
Do you want to go to town with dad Mike
or come ride with me in the new surrey?
Needless to say a tough decision.
When he was still a small child
he use to crawl up high on the wind mill
scaring everyone to death.
Mom also use to tell about the little boy
who use to run out around the wind mill
yelling fire, fire, fire.
When they all ran in from working in the fields
there was no fire.
Well one day there was a fire
and no one left the fields to check it out.
Someone was in alot of trouble.
I remember seeing Mike and his wife
and cousin Dan at the Spengler reunions
at Archbold, Ohio every year.
Then the reunions were moved
to the school in Elmira, Ohio.
Tables of food down the hallways so good
I can't describe it. Boys playing basket ball in the gymn.
The women in the school kitchen with the big food mixer whirring
making a big batch of mashed potatoes. Lots of children
just big enough to see what was being done.
The aroma of the food was wonderful.
A family laughing and eating together,
what fun for my two sisters Nedy and Janny and I.
It might be Mike was alittle spoiled
by all the older brothers and sisters.
I don't think so. However, as I recall that wonderful smile,
there might have been just a slight twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
As luck would have it I see that same smile
was passed down from father to son.
We see that same beautiful smile in cousin Dans eyes.
We know this is a sad time for all of us. But the memories
we have are of good times. We go back to look at our lives,
so maybe we will get a glimps of where we are going.
We will remember Uncle Mike and continue to feel fortunate to have known him.

"Zen 0"

What is?
What isn't?
Harems of meditation
Leaking the truth
Through brain wrinkles
Lavished by too much
Rotting on the vine
Only time to wish
Slime in the gutters
Mans obliquity
Falling from grace
Lost in the desert sand
Sitting on stacks
Of stolen gold
Held by their hands
As Hell opens the door
Me, myself and I
Slaves in chains
At "Zen 0"

"Hill Country Autumn 2008"

the Autumn leaves
dazzle us today
catching our eyes
enjoying in everyway

keeping us in their spell
so we do not look away
seeing what they tell
adding beauty to our day

floating in space
carrying their hues
to yet another place
that make up our views

this year is the best
the Hill Countries brighter
more than the rest
it's a real delighter

thankful we are
for beauty abounding
wherever we find it
we find it astounding

" Cabin Porch Perfect Morning Memories"

Gypsy and I were on the cabin porch early this morning. It was so dark we could only distinguish the trees in the Angel Patch that were outlined by the stars in the morning sky. The lace work formed by the leaves of the red oaks against the morning sunrise is truely magnificent. Then we saw it, a shooting star across the horizon. Surely this was a good sign. It was beautiful. The lantern we had lit was sending its flickering glow accross the cabin porch like small, golden, feathers dancing to the gentle breeze that reached the crack in the lantern door. It was very quiet and very dark. The stars were bright, all in all a perfect morning here at the cabin. We could not pull ourselves away, so Gypsy crawled into her pink porch bed and soon was snoring away. I moved from my chair to the first step of the porch so Gypsy could come and sit with me and get scratched. She was so comfortable she choose to remain in her bed. As I sat on the step, the morning dew dripped off of the cabins metal roof into my espresso and onto my hands. It had a cool and fresh feeling. We wanted to savor all we could of this wonderful morning, atleast I did.
My mind began to drift and I remembered that my fathers birthday was on Halloween, which was yesterday. I wondered if my three children knew this and if they did would remember it? I remembered all the things I had learned from my father.
He always told me to get the work done first and then go out and play. He never liked being in debt, and told me it was best to pay for everything up front. He made car deal after car deal with a handshake. I use to hang out at his office in the building where he made good deals selling Chrysler cars and International trucks. His handshake was his word and his reputation of honesty followed every handshake. I learned you do what you say you will do. When folks got stranded with car trouble on the Ohio Turnpike and ended up at my fathers garage, he sent them on their way in one of his cars and a handshake that would hold their deal, until they would return on their way home to leave his car and pick up there car. Your reputation was a big part of who you were, and brought many people to my father to buy a car.
He took me hunting with my BB gun and our old fox terrier dog Gus. Now, Gus was a great hunter until the first shot was fired. He then, on his own volition returned to the truck and was still shaking when we got there. We hunted in the woods and cornfields of my dads customers and my mothers relatives near the small town in Northern, Ohio. We also picked our share of wild sponge mushrooms mom would wash shaking out the small insects that hid in the sponge part and then dust them in flour and fry them in butter. I usually ate so many I got sick. Some things we never learn.
My dad also let me drive brand new Chrysler cars home from Detroit, Michigan on
Telegraph road. This road was a three lane, cars going in both directions used the middle lane to pass. You guess it, head on collisions just waiting to happen. This was pretty exciting stuff for a fifteen year old, and it made me happy to think my dad trusted me so much. He taught me how to drive. And, by the way, I wasn't sixteen yet and did not have a drivers license. So, this was the reason I always wanted to go to Detroit to pick up new cars. If by chance they had an extra car for dad, I got to drive it home. It scared me alittle each time because of Telegraph road but, not enough to make me stop wanting to do it. We also got to stop at a big city restaurant for lunch. Wow!
My moms folks, Grandpa and Grandma Spengler had died so young I never knew them. I only knew Grandma Spengler had 12 children at home, nine of whom survived. They had a big farm in Ohio, and Grandpa died young of a heart attack. We would visit dads parents, my Grandpa and Grandma Hall most every Sunday afternoon in the small, Ohio farmimg town where they lived. My mom counted the distance from where we lived to their house by how many fingers we had yet to go. Janice and Nedra and I would constantly ask her, "How many fingers yet mom?" I remember the rain on the metal roof of their farm house, the apple orchard and the beautiful shrubs Grandpa trimmed in the cemetary just down the road from their house. My two sisters and I loved to go on those visits, it was fun.
When my dad was still young his lingering heart problem caught him one day after work. He went out in their backyard and laid down in the hammock, as he did so often. Mom found him there when he did not respond to her call. I felt fortunate to have seen him the day before, having gone back home for a few days to look after mom.
So, you see, remembering as the morning drifts by out on the cabin porch we are mindful how lucky we are to have memories like these that hang around us through the years like ghosts in the night. As much as I want to stay out on the porch, I want to get to the computer and write as much as I can for my children and grand children. So, they can know that from the farms in Switzerland, to the farms and towns in Ohio their legacy is of fine, honest, hard working, independent people. People who took care of themselves and others. People who were not afraid to make sacrifices for what they believed. Their blood flows through our veins and will hopefully influence all of us as well as Kody, my grandson and his coming brother or sister. I am sure as I write this, my mom and dad will read it and be as pleased as I am by these memories. Our lives are like rivers whose end we never see.