Winter Preparations
Red squirrel with bouncing tail
Ascends the cedar,
Tree top sways in autumn gail.
Jaws stuffed with shredded bark
He scrambles upward,
Building out his winter’s ark.
Cold comes with frightful speed,
Winter gathers,
A catalyst of urgent need.
11-08-2022
Our two kids have enjoyed the opportunity to be home schooled these past two years. My wife does a fantastic job and while our homeschooling looks very little like a traditional classroom, the kids are having fun learning.
One of the great things about home schooling is the ability to identify our kids passions, dreams and strengths and then spend more time focusing on them. There are no bells telling them it is time to move on if they are in the middle of a project or are caught up in the heart of a chapter of a good book.
Malachi is all about story. He loves stories – both reading them and writing them. His love for writing has tumbled over into poetry as well.
Poetry is such a great outlet for beginning writers – it’s shorter, grammar matters less and it’s fun.
Today Malachi wrote a poem and I thought I’d share it. As the leaves begin to fall and the temperatures drop, he naturally chose to write about fall. Enjoy.
——————–
Leaves
will fall one by one
surely now fall
has come.
Grass will die
and flowers fade.
Green to brown and
crumple down.
The golden corn
swept away.
Winter comes
around the bend.
————
October 2013
The Parker’s metal
sides bulge
like fat pigs
gorged on grain.
The tractor strains
a mighty heave,
wagons ease from soft
end rows.
A dusty country
road welcomes
this swaying
train,
a tractor and two wagons –
green wagons,
green tractor
like spring,
like hope.
Toward home
the tractor goes,
to the auger,
to the bin,
to the thought just
months away
of the planting once
again.
——————
October 2013
Hope stands round
in fields of green
gone gold.
Sown in May
through long hot summer
grown.
Ready now,
the reaping’s come,
bins now bear
the work of man and God
here done.
——-
September 25, 2013
Deckert Farm, South Dakota
Do they tire of ceaseless sitting,
of knowing their created purpose –
hauling loads –
yet remaining unused, unmoved,
unhitched from the engine that will move them?
Have they seen the schedule,
the timetable of upcoming action?
And do they know – in their waiting –
the calling that awaits?
Waiting without knowing –
a most difficult task.
4/22/2013
We have been in the process of moving into our new home in Freeman, South Dakota and in that process have unpacked countless boxes and bags, some of which were packed over five years ago. It has led to more than a few interesting discoveries, one of which was a yellow piece of legal paper with a poem scribbled on it.
I believe I wrote it sometime between 2002 and 2004 while we were living in the Twin Cities. I find it interesting as it reflects my long-standing and nuanced distrust of technology and innovation. It is the tension I still live in and in fact, live in now more than ever as I work to craft a business based on technology and the innovation that has given us the world-wide web in all of its fullness.
– – – – – – – – – –
It has come
to save us from
the mundane tasks
of paper and pen.
Instead of letters
of time and of thought,
emails are sent
and emails are caught.
Instead of visits
within sight of a friend,
chat rooms entice us
to a life of pretend.
Life will be better
is the thought of the day
as technology and innovation chase us
into the grave.
We sit together, you and I
Beneath a moon lit sky,
The stars above
Behold us here,
Grace in celestial eyes.
You are two, I thirty more,
Both travel toward death’s door,
My hope for you
Is nothing less
Than Christ’s eternal shore.
The sky is dark, the night is long,
All heaven sings her song,
The earth is warm,
Our time is sweet,
Enjoy this gentle calm.
And now we go, our sleep to find,
The day has been too kind,
A gentle sun,
The placid breeze,
Recollections of the mind.
Good night my son,
Good night.
October 5, 2006
Grey swept sky
carries a lonely day
up the steps
to my backyard.
Clouds come by,
breaking up, coming
again, breaking once more,
then returning with rain.
Lonely day leans with a sigh,
kisses my cheek,
says goodbye–
leaves me with empty remnants
of a once clear day and
of a life gone awry.
——-
Written sometime in the spring of 2004 in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Cobbled Together 