Diggin’ Through the Dust of My Poetry Archives

This weekend I dug into my poetry archives and dusted off a few of my old poems. Thought I’d give them a re-run and some time in the sun. So below you will find a few of my favorites. Of course, “favorites” is a relative term. Some days I like one better than another, and my preferences change with the wind, but — for today — here’s what I have to offer.


Middle age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I have too much of childhood left,
So much that I don’t know.

Why, I still love to color
And to play with paper dolls.
I still delight in bubble pipes
And bouncing rubber balls.

Ah, middle age is calling me,
But I just cannot go.
I still feel like a coed,
Full of life from head to toe.

Yes, middle age is calling me,
But my decision’s made.
I’m just too young at heart to go.
Middle age’ll have to wait!



Heave! – Ho! Heave! – Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor’s away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, me mates, Heave Ho!

verse 1
I had shore leave, but now ’tis done,
And I must sale at rise of sun,
To join the fight two weeks begun,
Heave Ho, me mates, Heave Ho!

Heave! – Ho! Heave! – Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow.
The anchor’s away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, me mates, Heave Ho!

verse 2
I kissed my love and wished her well;
Said, “I must make my way to hell;
To win this war my soul I’d sell!”
Heave Ho, me mates, Heave Ho!

Heave! – Ho! Heave! – Ho!
Over the rim and into the stow;
The anchor’s away, and we have to go.
Heave Ho, me mates, Heave Ho!



I found a locket nestled ‘neath a tree.
It sparkled, and it twinkle, and it surely winked at me.

It looked forlorn, forgotten, skimmed with dew,
And I felt an intruder as I wondered what to do.

At last I reached and plucked it from the grass.
The chain was fragile – I could tell – and had a broken clasp.

A lovey heart, engraved on back and front,
Showed me it was a gift of love that someone still would want.

I opened it with tender, loving care,
And found, all safe and snug inside, a single lock of hair.

The curly tress was of the darkest brown,
And I felt so entranced by this small mystery I’d found.

But I was in a quandary what to do:
How to locate the rightful owner I had not a clue.

Then finally I thought, “I’ll advertise,
And if the owner sees my ad, there’ll be a nice surprise.”

I tucked it in my pocket, nice and warm,
And, eager to relay my news, I headed quickly home.

I couldn’t help but sing a little song,
So happy I could have a part in helping love along.


TALL MAN MEASURED - SEPIATALL GUY (a poem and a true story)

I know a guy who’s very tall,
Stands six feet, seven inches.
He finds his height a great delight,
An asset in the clinches.

He’s very smart, and that’s a help.
It compensates the strain
Of all the time it takes for blood
To move from heart to brain.

In public he stands proud and straight;
He literally has a ball
When people lean waaaay back and say,
“My goodness, you are tall!”

Height has its setbacks, though. Take clothes:
They must be special bought.
And going in and out of doors,
He must take special thought.

And then there’s dating; it’s a trial:
He’s anxious, Heaven knows,
To hold his partner cheek to cheek,
Not middle chest to nose.

But, still, he sees his height as Heaven’s
Gift — a special gene.
Believes all men wish to be tall,
And with envy they are green.

So happily he struts about,
Looking for that perfect mate.
His only foe the hometown priest,
Who stands at six foot, eight.


(Town of Petticoat Ridge, Nevada, circa 1868)

Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
I guess you’d say the story’s set in stone.
Our town is now quite famous, and the tourists flock around.
And it’s for sure the credit’s hers alone.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
She did wait for somebody else to act.
But since no man among us would move to save the town,
The sister did her duty well; that’s fact.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
You see, a bull came charging down Main Street –
Stompin’, snortin’, chargin hard at people all around –
And all the folks made haste in their retreat.

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
She had just finished services at church.
She stepped out to the street; her smile became a frown.
Her gold-rimmed glasses on her nose she perched.

Ahh, Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The bull so wild was goin’ to take a life.
Up came her skirt; her petticoat she ripped it right around:
A petticoat as RED as cherries ripe!

Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down:
The gasps of horror echoed through the air.
For no one – not one single person ever could condone
A nun who wore bodacious underwear.

Sad Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
But at her petticoat that bull did charge.
And Sister Mary Margaret taunted him right out of town,
And off the cliff that bull she did discharge.

But Sister Mary Margaret will never live it down.
Poor Sister Mary Margaret will never, never, never live it down.



She walks in ‘beauty,’ like the night,
But morning hours she feels a fright.
She cannot seem to get it right
‘Til she’s worked hours in mirror’s light.

Each day she wakes with cheerful sun,
Then looks in mirror and feels undone.
How can she venture forth for fun
‘Til make-up’s on that weighs a ton?

She struggles to impress the crowd
And hold her head up high and proud,
To make sure she is not a dowd,
But ‘neath the load her heart is bowed.

Because she feels she must comply
With this world’s rampant beauty lies:
“Wear this on lips and that on eyes,
And starve that waist, those hips and thighs.

“Walk tall on heels that are quite frail,
And don’t forget those fingernails.
Stuck on with glue that cannot fail,
All fear of fungus kept curtailed.

“Now bleach those teeth until they shine –
Until your smile the sun would blind.
Don’t button top; wear loose neckline,
So lots of cleavage you can find.”

And on she goes at each day’s light,
So stressed and strained to do it ‘right’ —
To find acceptance in world’s sight,
For deep inside there is a fright.

She fears and doesn’t have a clue,
That deep inside a beauty true
Awaits its chance to make debut,
If she’d but to herself be true.



I’ve posted a ton of articles/stories/poems/photos on here the past 3 years. And as I’ve progressed into 2015, I realize that there are a few of those “old” posts that keep pushing their way back into my thoughts even though I’ve moved on. They were the ones I enjoyed writing and sharing so much that they keep drawing me back to read them myself — even though I already know what they say. But every writer has that experience from time to time, and I have to admit that I enjoy looking back.

As a result, I got to thinking that there may be some of my readers — especially those who have come on board the past few months — who may not have had an opportunity to read some of those oldies from previous years, and they might enjoy them as well. So I’ve put together a list of 13 (certainly not all) of my own favorites from the past, and I’ve included the links — with a tiny blurb of explanation. That way, if any of them sound interesting to you, they’ll be easy to find, and you can travel back in time with me.   ENJOY!


LOVE WILL FIND A WAY — a modern-day short story that borrows some of its plot from the legend of Kaw-Liga, the wooden Indian who fell in love but never made his move. Don’t know why I like this story so much, but it’s been one of my favorites ever since I originally wrote it in May of last year.

BIRD ON MY TREE AT SUNSET — a photograph that is a special treasure to me — mainly because I can almost never get a good picture of birds. They move too much.  But this particular evening, I captured this bird with the light just right, and it will always be one of my favorites.

2014: THE YEAR OF THE AUTHOR – PART 2 – the second installment in a 4-part series about writing. I enjoyed writing this whole series, and I use this material all the time in my creative writing classes, but this particular post was about publishing in today’s writing market, and it has some very helpful information and advice, especially for new writers. It’s my favorite article of the series.

THE TRIAL OF MARYBELL WESTMORELAND – a short, short story that didn’t come from a plan to write. I just started writing, and, next thing I knew, Marybell was on trial — and with a surprise testimony to offer.

TELL ME A STORY WRITING CHALLENGE: ‘THROUGH GEOFFREY’S WINDOW – a short story based on a totally unique picture by my Portland Oregan friend Bob Mielke. The reason this is one of my favorite posts is that the story was literally born out of the picture — which is an original graphic creation of Bob’s, using his own photos. I couldn’t seem to stay away from that photo. It kept calling me to write it’s story, and I loved doing it.

WHERE DID I MISS YOU? –– a searching look at how simple choices can affect our entire life and how “finding” a person at the “wrong” time can be frustrating yet rewarding at the same time.

SNOWCHILD – a poem about my terribly ambivalent feelings concerning snow.

TRIBUTE TO AN ORDINARY POET –  a personal tribute to my mother and her poetry.

LOVE ON THE LINE – a light-hearted poem based on the true story of a WWII sailor and his very, VERY difficult task of proposing to his girlfriend while home on leave.

AZALEAS ABOUNDING – a slideshow of my glorious azaleas from the spring of 2012. The original slideshow was created using a different theme for this blog, and unfortunately, now that I’ve changed to this current theme, the pictures don’t show up as large. I’m just too busy with other things to take time to re-make the whole gallery to fit this theme correctly. However, I still enjoy going back to look at them again and again.

SEPTEMBER IN THE RAIN (‘I AM A RAINDROP’) — a post containing my original poem, “I Am A Raindrop,” and a video. This was one of the most fun poems I’ve ever written, and I often re-read it just to re-live the fun.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE A CHRISTIAN TO CALL ON JESUS – an encouraging look at Jesus and His commitment to loving, forgiving, and restoring every human being who will come to Him for help.

A QUIVER FULL OF ARROWS – an entire novel — one of three of my novels that I have offered for free reading online. I am a fan of every novel I’ve ever written, of course, but I have to say that A Quiver Full of Arrows is one of my favorite favorites. I originally posted the story one chapter a day until it was complete, and readers commented on it one chapter at a time. However, this link takes the reader to the page that hosts the novel in its entirety.