Musings from the Rocking Chair

What I Can Do

2011-03-03T14:04:00.000-08:00

I can think of many things
I can speak with knowledge,
I can learn most anything
I can teach when you listen.

I can observe through my eyes
I can hear the softest notes
I can touch what is there
I can teach these things to you.

I can comprehend complex problems
and solve them most of the time,
all these things I can do
and give them all to you.

When I try to think of God
I cannot speak nor comprehend,
nor even imagine
who God is.

I cannot speak
I cannot say the words,
I cannot imagine
or conjure up a thought.

I cannot teach;
you cannot listen.
Each of us is on our own
in knowing who God is.

Paul J. Wolf 3/3/11

A Prayer

2011-03-03T12:32:00.000-08:00

When I want to pray
and have nothing to say,
sitting in an empty room
uneasy with nowhere to go;
my thoughts wander through the
forest of my life, leaving
footprints in the snow.

As a bed of crocuses gives color
to the black and white,
so a past filled with memories
gives passion to my life.

God’s blessings of special people
shaped where I should go
as I wandered though the forest
leaving footprints in the snow.

My persistence in pursuing
an education and degrees
like pine trees ever green
in that forest of memories.

The people who were there
when I needed them,
trail markers for me to follow
through the forest of my life.

When that trail was hard
causing pain and strife
I was blessed with loving people
helping me though that forest
which was my life.

Feeling God was with me
when I became the helper,
setting me on the path
that leads to a better life.

Then I know what my prayer
must be as I sit in that empty room.
Thank you God for all you’ve done,
without you I could never have traveled
through the forest
leaving footprints in the snow.

Paul J. Wolf 2/24/11

The Zoo

2010-11-22T12:26:00.000-08:00

We went to the zoo the other day,
my Mama, my Grandpa and me.
I had never been to a zoo before,
I was excited about animals I might see.

We got to the zoo’s parking lot,
and I grabbed my Grandpa’s hand
as I was taught. I held it too,
til we got into the zoo.

Then we went into a little
house where they gave us maps
and told Mama where to make
bathroom stops.

First we went to the children’s zoo
to see the small animals
some in little cages, a small owl in a tall one.
There were a bunch of frogs,
a few little snakes, and the owl,
that was about all,
except for a furry little animal
asleep by a waterfall.

We walked by a woods
where wolves ran free.
There was a high fence
between those woods
and me. I was kinda scared.
If it wasn’t there,
we would have been eats
at a wolf-feast.

We saw some giraffes,
they were really tall
like they were walking
on stilts and they didn’t fall.

There was a white bear
which swam in a pond.
There were other bears too
but they were brown.

There were lions and tigers
and other big animals with
names I couldn’t pronounce.
Grandpa called them big cats.
I said, “ No Grandpa, they can’t be that
because they won’t fit on my lap.”

We saw monkeys in bunches
some with white beards
which looked like my
grandpa’s except they had more hair.
There were these great big monkeys
who sat and did nothing. Someone
called them gillas or something like that.

Then we ate lunch at the zoo
in a building with lots of things to choose.
I got a hamburger and some fries too,
as usual, Grandpa paid for our food.

We passed a wagon which sold
peanuts and popcorn.
Grandpa bought a large cup
of that good stuff.
He and I ate it as we walked
until Momma said, “That’s enough!”

We went to a farm in the zoo
and saw horses and cows
a pen full of goats which I could pet.
One of them followed me and tried
to eat the shirt on my back. The lady in charge
told me to give it a whack.

We came to the pen
where the seals swam,
it had large rocks
where the seals
could sun themselves.

It was the best fun
watching a man in the pen
play games with the seals
feeding them fish
when they did tricks.
The seals would swim
down to the bottom of the pond
turn in circles around and around
then come back up to eat again.

On the way out my grandpa
bought me a gift.
I chose a seal doll,
it was of soft stuff.

When we got to Mama’s car
and I was put into my seat
I snuggled down
holding my seal
and went to sleep
all the way home.

I have-ta say
I had a good day.

Paul J. Wolf 11/9/2010

Growth

2010-09-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

When I was a child
in a small town
looking at the stars
in a darkened sky,
it excited me.
I didn’t know why.

As a young man
living on a farm,
I knew more about
those lights up there.
I expected it.
I didn’t think why.

When I moved to the city
I could never see the beauty
of those dots of light.
I knew they were there.
I didn’t care why.

Now that I am old
when I look to the sky
I see one or two dots of light.
I wonder why.

I know there are uncountable
planets, suns and galaxies,
an awe inspiring array,
more beautiful than I can imagine
I marvel why.

What minds human’s have
to see into space and pierce
the grandeur
of all the heavens above.

Of course there is no answer
it is a miracle to me.
It stops my heartbeat as I gaze
at those two little lights
knowing what is beyond
in the middle of the night. Paul J. Wolf 9/21/10

The Vagabond

2010-07-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

The Vagabond

I am a vagabond spirit
knowing what I seek
traveling from place to place
desperately wanting peace.

My travels have sent me
where other spirits have not been
taking me from ecstasy
to the depths of despair
all in a youthful year.

My spirit followed a call to prayer
which ended after trying years,
and I was left
rudderless in an endless sea.

Then what seemed by chance
a course was given me
the work of helping others
guided my spirit through the waters
no longer lost, still searching for my peace.

Then I married, had a family
my spirit soared with worth
until illness took my wife
and left my spirit drifting in the sea.

So I floated, losing faith,
still wondering if my spirit would
find that special place
where peace could touch
my wandering spirit soul.

Again I was blessed with
my daughters love and my grandchild
I met another lady who
loved me and I loved her.
Yet I wandered still.

As I grew older and more unable
to live so many lives,
my spirit found the peace it sought
it was no special place.

I await the end
of my many journeys
treasuring all the turns
I took to find the peace
to satisfy my wandering soul.

Paul J. Wolf, 7/25/10

A Sunny Morning

2010-07-08T12:01:00.000-07:00

When I wake up and there is sun,
things are bright throughout the house.
I feel like a gift has been given me
that particular day.

My thoughts are lively, my step is quick
my pains seem diminished,
the burdens dismissed
as I go about my daily tasks.

This doesn’t happen all the time
only when the sun does shine.

Paul J. Wolf, 7/5/10

Soul Search

2010-05-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

I opened up my soul
to find the guts of it,
the thoughts and feelings
deep inside
its terrifying essence.

What I saw immediately
were memories of long ago,
shame and fear, but most of all
hurt from slights, rejections
from those I wished acceptance.

Then anger spread throughout my soul
like spores from some unearthly fungus
touching every part of me
pushing hate, energizing action.

Hate crawled in slowly
moving like a hunter
sneaking upon its prey
unseen until it kills.

I looked in horror
watching this unfold
seeing it as the damnation
of my sinful soul.

More memories poured out of me
of greed devouring my mind
focused on material
forgetting the spiritual.

Despair began to enter
as I cried out in my fear,
“there must be more to my soul
than what I see deep inside.”

Then memories of people
who loved me young and old
came forward in my soul.
Love evolved like a flower
blushing as it opens its petals.

Hope then entered slowly,
quietly calming my fear
ordering the memories
to focus on what is real to me.

Peace came to me quickly
when all this was seen,
I closed up my soul
to live with it.
It is everything I am.

Paul J. Wolf 5/20/10

It has been awhile

2010-04-17T06:38:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since I last entered poetry. I have been busy getting a children's book published on ebooks. The site is www.bobbiesebooks.com if you are interested. Look for Sissypus, the name of the story.

I have added a few poems I had written while doing this. Thank you all for being so patient with me.

Early Spring Outing

2010-04-16T06:55:00.000-07:00

We took a walk one early spring day
when the crush of winter was sliding away,
me and my love down the village walk
enjoying the fresh air, each other’s talk.

Along the way we watched our steps
for doggie doo was in the way.
Slush covered areas of the concrete,
cars splashed it on us in the street,
it was enough to make us weep.

With all the dodging, being alert,
we sometimes had to step into the dirt,
which, of course, was gooey mud
covering our shoes, they were full of crud.

Still we got some exercise and fresh air
even though the odor wasn’t there
except for fumes from the exhaust
of those cars in the streets by us.

The snow so white at one time
was now black with sooty grime.
We came back home that lovely day
ready to be inside and stay.

Paul J. Wolf

Meditation

2010-04-16T06:53:00.000-07:00

From my window on the fifth floor
while saying my morning prayer
I saw so many different sights
it flooded my thoughts with awe.

Across from me was a wood
filled with tall trees.
I felt the beauty of that site
the wonder of their growth
from a simple seed to such heights.

All around me was the proof
of man’s ingenuity.
An airplane flew overhead,
a train came roaring down the tracks,
cars were driven on the street
where factories stood by the side.

Above me was an endless sky
with galaxies I could not see
knowing from the books I read
how vast was space beyond
any imagined possibility.

I felt a God in all of this
the wonder of His Plan
how loving He was to include
me, in the grandeur of it all.

Paul J. Wolf 02/19/2010

January Thaw

2010-04-16T06:49:00.000-07:00

The trees stand naked
each small twig exposed.
The woods are open
for all to see, an x-ray
of its bones.

There are deer running,
jumping over logs; a sight one
never sees when the trees
are clothed.

January thaw clears the snow
leaving the ground open
with its dead wood and vines,
imperfections one might see
that clothing covers over.

There is beauty in its bareness
with all its scars, trees fallen by wind
or split with lightning bolts, hollowed
by the rot of time; homes
for small animals who burrow there.

Enjoy it for it doesn’t last.
Winter brings a cover of snow again
and Spring brings the clothing back
covering up that beauty of yearly wear.

Paul J. Wolf

Voice

2010-01-20T08:46:00.000-08:00

The Voice

In an ancient age,
in an ancient land,
Samuel heard God’s voice
waking him to listen
although he was not yet a man.

According to the story
God’s voice was sparkling clear
not a whisper or a clap of thunder,
but a conversation
as you and I might have here.

Not a lecture nor demand
but a simple telling
Samuel what would happen,
his destiny when he became a man.

How does this story apply to us?
If we listen with open mind and heart
will He tell us what he wants
as we grow older too?

The more I think about these questions
the more I become confused
feeling like a child lost
in a distant land.

Sometimes I think I understand
and I listen as best I can
but he leaves me
with my own thoughts
to struggle with the person I am.

P.J. Wolf

Relating

2009-11-29T09:36:00.000-08:00

These are thoughts I had while driving through the Appalachian Mountains.

It is a marvel to see
the Appalachians in the Fall;
not just the many shades of red,
yellow and green,
but the thought of it all.

Hillsides at angles too steep to climb,
rock cliffs that fall straight down.
The trees dense with scrubs and vines,
vivid colors both high and low
it makes one wonder what's inside.

What if I could walk within those colors
beautiful to see, find a path
where a deer might run
or a stream that flows beneath.
Would I see flowers or bramble bush
bluebells or poison oak or both?

Would the walk be easy
like sauntering down a street,
or would I stumble and fall
from the roots that pull at your feet?

Would there be blue birds and squirrels
and rabbits running along, or would I be attacked
by rattlers and bears and perhaps large cats?

The forest is full of beauty;
part to cherish, part to fear.
I can admire that beauty
from afar, it is safer here.

Or would it be better
to walk under the trees,
taking a chance to experience
life in that atmosphere?

Would one gain confidence
in the forest, overcoming the fear,
eventually feeling comfortable
among the dangers there?

Paul J. Wolf 11/25/09

Emerging

2009-11-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

While I was musing in my rocking chair, I started thinking about my childhood, living in a small city by the Mississippi River. In those days in that small city, one could look up at the stars and actually see them. Where I live now you can't do that. There is too much stuff in the air to let the lights of the stars shine through. But there were other things to do. Play was not organized by the adult world and children were left to their own to do whatever they could find to do.

Emerging

Lying on my back in the grass
wet from the night dew
looking at the Milky Way
wisps of lights up in the sky
wondering what they are.

A night hawk screams overhead,
bats dart after bugs I cannot see:
too young to think about it all
soon to be called into bed.

The morning sun is hot
bare feet on concrete
walking in grass as I can,
wondering what to do all day
while looking for my friends.

It's Summer, there is no school,
no homework or a time to study.
We have a few chores and the rest of the day
is ours to enjoy with our play.

Will we have enough players
for a ball game,
or we can get on our bikes to fish
on the banks of the Mississippi
where we can explore cast off
boats rotting on the shore.

Maybe we will ride into the woods
out of town to that old shack,
the one we found by Sugar Creek
across the railroad tracks.
Or ride to the ball bark
sneak in to watch the Gems play.

If we can't do any of that,
we can play mumbly peg
in the dirt by the street.
You know, I kind of wish
we were back in school

Paul Wolf 11/3/09

Holocaust Museum

2009-10-06T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hi readers,

We went to the holocaust museum in Skokie,IL and this is my reflection on that visit.

Genocide

A boxcar sits alone
Empty
The door open for all to see.
An old car
made of rough, wooden boards and steel
Foreboding

Enter and the boards scream
sounds you never want to hear.
Ears are punctured with the sounds.
Captured

The boards stink
with the smell of human waste
sweat, urine, feces.
Overwhelming

The boards have faces
Crowded
Gaunt, with eyes terrified
wondering if they will die.
Pleading eyes, pointing eyes.

Empty

Paul Wolf, 10/6/09

What Do You Say?

2009-09-13T13:23:00.000-07:00

What do you say to your God when you pray
not in a Church, or a Mosque or a Shul.
When you're at home or go out for a walk,
possibly dreaming on the side of a hill.
What do you say? "God, are you having a good day."

Do you talk to Him like a good friend
or in such awe you don't talk at all,
either way, what do you say?

What do you say when you feel blessed
everything going the right way.
You're healthy and strong in the midst of your family.
What do you say when you pray?
"God, it is truly a lovely day.

What do you say when things go black,
your soul is empty, you're all alone
sitting with Job on that hill of dung.
What do you say? "God, I curse your day."

When everthing is bleak, full of despair,
only then can thoughts enlighten your mind,
and echos like something you have never heard.
And so you know why you're alive.

Then you can say when you pray
to your God that day,
"I understand, I'll do my best
as well as I can.

Paul J. Wolf

The Water Mocassin

2009-09-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

A Water Mocassin slithered through a pond
deadly as it approached its prey.
Down into the depths it swam to kill
eating all it came upon.
It seemed it would grow large and strong
destroyin all life in that small pond.

A young man came to the shore
to fish with his rod and reel.
The fish came to his bate,
along with that deadly snake
which attacked the young man
who took a hefty board
and bashed it on its head.

So the snake no longer lived
to feed upon the fish.
Life in the small pond
was spared that wondrous day.

However, there will always be
a fear wihin that pond.
Death can just as easily appear
some summer day when no one
is aware and consume the life
that is there.

Paul J. Wolf

Long Time

2009-08-03T17:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

I know I haven't written any poetry lately or published any. I have had a bit of a battle with cancer. I have won round one and will start writing more in the near future. Give me a week or two more.

Paul

Struggle

2009-05-20T08:33:00.000-07:00

I wrote this as a comment on stuggle. Struggle with belief systems, not a thesis on theology. As you can tell from my biograph, I am a person immersed in religion. So I write about it.

Through The Years

Through the years I wondered why
Jesus chose to die the way he did?
I know the reasons faith gives
about our sins and sacrifice,
salvation of the human race,
the way Romans punished crime.

God died that day upon the cross
in excruciating pain, a bloody death
Why would he choose to die that way?

I know by faith he rose from the dead
to spread his teachings throughout the earth
for centuries to come until the end
for all mankind to emulate
embracing death instead of fear.

Through the years I wondered why
so many people on this earth
have never heard of his death
or don't believe he died.
What of those people
in other univers,
will they be saved as well?

I have so many questions
about our life, death and
what happens at the end.
I don't know what to think
I am told to just believe.
It is hard as Thomas knows.

Through the years
I have strggled
with all this
doing the best I can.
I know the answer lies
in how I treat my fellow men,
who stand with me
before a loving God.

Paul Wolf 5/10/09

Waiting

2009-05-03T10:49:00.000-07:00

If you have had the experience in the poem, "Medical Test", then you will have had the following experience.

The Phone Call

Have you ever felt death's shadow
sitting beside you,
trying to hold your hand
like a lover you reject.
Persistent.

You wait and wait
days and hours pass,
hoping it will disappear.
Knowing all along
a single call, the right words
will banish it to some other dark place.

You hope and hope that call will come.
Wait! It could be the message
that marries you to the frightful specter.
You don't know and you won't
until the phone rings.

Paul Wolf, 4/30/09

Visiting the Doctor

2009-04-26T09:12:00.000-07:00

I am sure most of you who are older have had this experience.

Medical Test

Have you ever been in between
with nowhere to move
knowing the way
afraid to go.

Time stands still
like a movie in pause.
It has to continue
to know what will happen,
your life in its hands.

You talk to your mind.
"Stop that worry!
Don't obsess,
creating images, fantasies,
nothing more until you have the facts.
You have to take that test."

As slowly as icicles melt
on a cold winter day
warmed ever so slightly
by a winter sun,
time moves again.
You are afraid.

Nobody knows.
The results will bring
either relief or pain.

More Poems

2009-04-24T11:17:00.000-07:00

I have not been keeping this blog up to date. My writing has bent to another area. But I am back today. The poems I am leaving are short and occurred when I was in a hospital room in a place far from home. I hope you enjoy them.

Little Brown Mouse

A little brown mouse came scurrying in
singing to God a little hymn.
Bringing with it a little joy
to a sad and lonely day.

I wondered why that liitle mouse
entered into my troubled life.
Did she enter to spread some cheer
to move my fearful thoughts
away to places of hope so dear?

Then I wondered all the more,
Why was I here in this place of woe?
Did I do something so very bad
that punishment was needed to change my path?

The hymn she sang was one of love.
The tune was light
lifting my spirits high above.
Then I knew why I was here
to learn how a little mouse
can spread in a troubled life
the cheer needed to survive.

Eddie

On a lonely day in a lonely place
I sat down to a meal.
There I met a gentleman
whose smile drew me like a bright tune.

The man was old, hearing impaired,
intelligent, wise and quick of mind.
I knew he lived a long long life
I listened as he spoke.

He told of a life of grief and good times
of fear and facing death in war
when he was a youth.
He talked of the loss of his first wife
and a child, a boy so dear.
There were other children who lost their way,
the hurt caused furrows above his eyes.
He praised his present wife of many years
who cared for him so well.

He spoke about his accomplishments,
the pride was in his voice,
of working steadily all his life
of loyalty, what was right.
He didn't understand where
all these values have disappeared.

But most of all he talked about
a little dog he loved
small enough to fit his lap
and snuggle under his arm.
His pleasure brightened the dreary room

And then we talked of facing death,
of being tired of holding on.
The fear and strange attraction death brings
as age creaps up our spine.
Some small things that holds us here,
keeps us hanging to a thread
such as a little dog, whose love
gives such cherished need.

Paul

My Lady

2009-02-16T15:36:00.000-08:00

Nutmeg brown the color of her eyes,
Silver-black her hair
a smile that opens like a rose
greeting the morning air.
A blossom slowly opening
on a century plant.
A river of bluebells with
a forest for its banks.

A chipmunk shyly peaking out
ready to scamper under the leaves,
or a couple of squirrels
on the ground searching for their burried food
worried about losing what they have,
in constant motion to feed their brood.

Waves lapping on the shore
smooting jagged pieces of stone
like water flowing over a cliff
forming its cup in the rock below
creating a basin of foam.

Or a Grandfather Clock in a hall
ordering time by its pedulum swing,
never stopping its persistent march
to never ending dreams.

Constantly thinking of ways to please
like getting a kiss from a springtime breeze.
Catching fireflies on a summer night to place in a jar
watching the eerie green light.

These images and memories past
are brought to life by her acts
of kindness and generosity.

P.J. Wolf

The Robbin's Song

2008-11-21T08:41:00.000-08:00

Each spring I listen
for the Robin’s song,
hoping and straining
to hear it’s unique trill
which lifts my spirit,
renews my will.

When I was a young man
walking the woods
listening to the sparrows
squawking in the bush,
watching the cardinals
flit in the snowy brush
singing their songs in the
morning’s blush.

It was the Robin’s song
that said winter is past,
spring would be here
with its color and warmth.
I never forgot how pleasing it was.

Through the years of worry and work
when doubts of survival touched my soul,
never knowing what madness the day would bring
I listened for spring and the Robin to sing.

Like a horse that’s burdened
with a wagon’s load,
plowing ahead step by step,
never knowing when it will end,
expecting the rights to become wrong,
listening then to the Robin’s song.

When nature took the good things away
leaving of life an empty loft,
nothing existed that brightened the day
and darkness settled into my bones.
I remember what I learned
when walking as a young man
listening to the Robin’s song
until the sadness fades away.

P. J. Wolf

2008-11-20T06:32:00.000-08:00

Treasures

Today I stopped to watch
a squirrel scurry from tree to tree
carrying acorns in its mouth
burying them in a squirrel pantry.

Its coat fluffy with winter fur
intent upon its work;
driven for what was needed
to live through cold and snow.

Looking around I see the earth
bedding down for the frosted months,
brown and grey with little green,
waiting for its coat of white.

The wind picks up, the rain begins.
Hurrying toward my warm home,
I think about the dark days
during winter’s blast, bone chilling cold.

Wondering whether it will be
a long and dreaded interval
before the crocuses raise their heads
through the melting snow.

When did I lose
the joy of looking at winter’s fare
full of fun, sledding down hills,
snowball fights and snowmen?

Those buried treasures of my youth
never to be lived again,
except deep in my memory
waiting patiently for new birth.

P. J. Wolf

The Baby-Sitter

2008-10-30T11:32:00.000-07:00

I sit in a quiet house
Darkened in the middle of the day.
My grandchild asleep on a couch
A cat asleep at her feet.
I sit alone with my thoughts
To keep me company.

Time passes slowly as I watch
Looking at her, I question
How beauty can embrace peace
Which before was stormy action
How quickly it can change.

I wonder if this beautiful child
Will find a future filled with love
Long past the time I'll be gone.
Will I be able to see her then
Watching over her from a place
I believe exists, but cannot know.

At this moment I wish I could live
As long as she, protecting her
A wish I know cannot be.
But then, maybe it can,
I'll never know while I'm alive.
That can wait, I'm happy here.

P.J.Wolf

Questions

2008-10-30T11:14:00.000-07:00

Years ago when I was young, I drank the doctrine taught to me.
Many ideas to read and learn, I sought them out more and more
A thirst I am proud to own.
Facts and theories about creation, The universte and all within,
Plants, Animals, man, Divinity, the hardest to comprehend.
The older I grew the more I studied The more I wondered
What we really understood. Who is this God? What is his creaton?
What does it mean to me? How can I reach my destination?

Now I am past all those years When questions stirred within.
I have learned to quiet them, Living now in peace.

I have done what I could To follow my beliefs.
Not always, Nor somethines with a perfect heart.
But then, I am just a man.

For all of this the one belief, That gives me comfort in the end
God will forgive for he loves me
Just the way I am.

P.J.Wolf

Grand Child

2008-10-12T17:06:00.000-07:00

I haven't been attentive to the blog for various reasons, mostly just too lazy. However, a certain nephew reminded me that he reads my poetry and I should get with it. So here I am again.
I have written a number of poems about my granddaughter. She had major heart surgery when she was three months old and I wrote something about those harrowing experiences. Here it is.

Intensive Care by P.J. Wolf

You see your granddaughter lying there, A baby in Intensive Care
Tubes and wires floating around, Machines making sucking sounds.
Gauges flashing signs about her tiny body's health
It scores the heart like eagle's claws, Especially when that baby smiles.

Her mother there by her side, Bends to kiss her on the head
The one free little arm and hand, Grabs a bit of the mother's hair
Both giggle and laugh giving some light
To a place where worry and fear Permeate the air
In that room in Intensive Care.

You put yourself in a different place, Looking down from an outer space.
The surgeons did a miraculous job, Complications, however, have occurred.
A lung collapsed in her tiny chest. They work to make it breathe again
So the baby remains with her mother there
In that room in Intensive Care.

Nurses come and nurses go, The baby greets them
Looking around as if she knows, Each one personally and lets
Them turn and touch her with tender love.
While we continue with worry and fear
In that room in Intensive Care.

Eventually the surgeons solve the case, The baby is using both her tiny lungs.
The tubes and lines and all the machines are removed so she can leave that place.
Going home with her mother and father to her own familiar room.

Joyful for all of us, To have her home again
They say my granddaughter won't have a memory of her stay
In that room in Intensive Care.
I wonder if that might be true, I know the tear in my heart I felt
Will stay for all eternity, Especially when my granddaughter
Smiles at me.

Pets

2008-08-24T14:53:00.000-07:00

Over the years I have had to care for many pets. My wife loved animals and our child had every kind of pet available, even a lop-eared rabbit who loved to chew electric wires in two. I could never understand why the animal never got electrocuted. Generally my daughter had cats and dogs. I always ended up caring for them. And I always ended up as their companion for most of their lives. Here are a couple of poems I wrote about those pets.

My Cat

Striped gray fur flying through the air, landing lightly on a small table top. Chasing squirrels from window to window, Trapped inside, but afraid to go out. Calling to birds with a guttural chirp, cocking her ear as if they could hear. Seeming to wonder why they don't come, Ready to pounce, like a tiger hunting its prey.
Batting a crumpled paper across the floor, like a soccer player heading for a goal. Chasing a long lace of leather around a chair like a dog chasing its tail. Playfully poking her paw through the crack in a door, hoping you'll join her for a game of make believe. Play, play playin much of the day.
Sitting in the window when I return from a brief outing or a long sojourn.
Never coming to meet you, or show any concern. Seemingly aloof, as if to say, all I need is food, that's enough for me. But then she jumps into my lap and snuggles, or sleeps on a pillow near mine. And I think I'm okay in her eyes. She's my cat.

My Dog and I
Most mornings just about dawn, my dog and I walk in the town. Taking in the sights and sounds all as part of healthy exercise.
Rows of houses on large lots. Three different kinds on lawns of green, one a ranch, one two storied and third one in between.
The yards are cut, the trees are trimmed, the streets are lined with maple, elm and larch, old trees high into the sky, touching there to make an arch.
The early morning sun shines low through the branches, leaves and over the roofs. Latticed shadows fill the street lying at our feet, my dog and I.
In the winter, crisp and cold, chimmeys spew wisps of white, reflected by our breath as it appears. I bend into the wind, my dog behind.
In early spring we listen hard for sounds of birds that disappeared. Or look for buds in the early light. We straiten up, my dog at my side.
As the morning sun grows warmer, we listen to the birds and watch the gardens grow with flowers and herbs. Unburdened with my dog in front.
In the fall the air is cool and fresh. Colors of the trees grow bright.
There is a joy and sadness too, another year has parted for us two.
I watch my dog on these walks grow older as, indeed, I too. Her coat motley with gray, my hair hoary with each passing day.
Some day soon I'll walk alone. Sad but looking for the season's goods. Wondering when I won't be able to walk the streets of my neighborhood.

Religions-The Debate

2008-08-04T07:44:00.000-07:00

I have often wondered how much more good religions could do for mankind if they would stop worrying about which religion is the one God wants. So I wrote a rather long poem about my thoughts. This may take two sections. So be sure to look for that.

The Debate

As I was taking a midnight stroll through the neighborhood, A building blocked my path, that was never there before.
It was a very ancient hall with flickering candle lights, huge compared to the houses here. It was, indeed, an unusual sight.
I was drawn to enter this ancient hall by some forece well beyond my strength. I entered and saw a crowd of men, women too, but just a few. Dressed in robes that draped and flowed as if they were a spirit world.
Some of the men I recognized from pictures in history books, like Socrates, Plato and Buddha, all with their distinctive looks.
I realized then these people were the ancient and modern philosophers representing religious beliefs, from every age and place, known for what they said about the nature of God and mankind.
With awe I stayed in a corner where I could see and hear, for I truly wondered why these great men were gathered in this ancient hall.
At the center of this August Group, Logic stood to speak. All turned their heads to hear what he said about why they gathered in this hallowed hall.
"This is a debate for each of you to argue your beliefs, so we can judge what's best for man to worship God. Each will have for as long as it takes to present their case to the others. When all have argued we will vote to decide, once and for all, which religion all mankind will follow to praise God.
It was a long and tedious debate lasting for days with no breaks. When the last of the theologians gave their case, a vote was taken, the results were in. To no one's surprise no one changed, each religion got one vote. The exercise to no avail. Nothing was settled with logic's debate.
Then in walked a very old man, horrible to see. Scarred and crippled from head to toe, scarcely able to walk to the center of all who gathered there. He spoke to this remarkable crowd, each hearing clearly what he said. "I am an endless people from every age who was tortured and killed for my beliefs. From the time of Baal to this very day, fed to the lions, killed in the Crusades. Who can forget what happened to me in the death camps during Hitler's rage. Down through the ages men have tortured and killed in the name of God and religious beliefs. What blindness shadows your minds to think that this is what God desires.
Then a gentle breeze filled that ancient hall, God's presence permiated each and every soul, till tears flowed freely from our eyes, each understanding how ignorant we are as intelligent man, fighting and squabbling about who knows God best.
I left that ancient hall continuing my walk filled with thoughts of what happened there. Wondering if it will finally bring together all the power that religion has to change a needy world. for evey religion at it's core believes all men, powerful or poor, must be treated with respect and love in order for God to be adored.
P.J. Wolf

2008-07-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

As you grow older, you have a lot of memories. These are some poems about memories. The first was written when I started writing these verses I call poetry. The second was more recent. You can see the difference. The first was inspired by Walt Whitman.

A Memory

From thoughts that constantly ramble inside me, From sounds of the creek as it flows through the hills. From visions of light as sun shines through the leaves, From tints of redness in the hair of the sky.
From awakenings of sensitivities deep, From feelings of sadness that slowly have faded, I sing and I dance and refoice in their strumming, The music created by togetherness bundling, Pulses and prods and pushes my heartbeat, The drumbeat that surges the blood of my youth.
A remembrance of you.

Memories

Time can go awry, Moving backward, Decades at a time.
Set off like a rifle's report, Triggered by a single sight or some passing thought.
A feeling tugs, Memories flood, Emotions overwhelm.

P.J.Wolf

Love

2008-07-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

You can view love in a number of ways. You can consider the human side of love and Devine Love. These are the thoughts I have had about both.

God Is Love
I thought about some words I heard, "God is Love" a wise man said. They startled me.
I had heard those words before, never so loud and clear.
I thought of all the meanings those three words explained. Infinite love, limitless in its entirety.
I never understood, a cloud of cotton in my brain, this time pierced as the words came through.
A fleeting feeling of awe, a sense of something beyond, no intellect can argue.
Only elation follows.

Young Love
I remember love when I was young, like a burning burst of flame,
An exploding firecracker within my chest, totally insane.
When I was young I relished all the turmoil of the moment. The rush of feelings overwhelming,
The blush of craziness in my head.
Now my love is sedate, surrounding me with warmth,
Like an old easy chair, snuggling down into its depths.
This seems better to me now, comfort soaks and lets me know, the love I feel will last and last
Till my bones lie in my grave.
Both loves are something I have had
Both are welcome in my soul
They fulfill my greatest wish, to be loved until the end.

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2008-07-13T15:26:00.001-07:00

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Growing Old

2008-07-08T17:27:00.000-07:00

As I grow older, I think about what has changed. This poem expresses some of those thoughts.
Growing old is confusing, A world inside that never squares with what you really are. Like waking up in some land where Alice lived, Never knowing when the rules will change. It is very strange. You feel able to do the things you did as a youth with dreams, that faith and work executed. They you try but find a rebellious body, a forgetful mind. The more you muse, The more you see. Your house of steel crumbling. Thoughts turn to a coming end. When you're young Life's an adventure like a novel, Never knowing where its author will delight or madden, Assured you will get to its end. When you're old, you never know if you will finish this chapter, putting the book to the side and leaving it there. Work began, projects started, Stand idle like the ancient stones waiting forever to be completed. Youth thinks not of death. Death embraces age, lurking in the corners of the mind as a shadow one ignores, clinging to the habit of the past. A time arives and mortality stares. We cannot ignore it, it is there before us with it's awesome fear. When it comes, we have no choice for death is what we, every one of us, share.
P.J. Wolf