Relating

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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