Words!

They line up, on paper, commanding attention –

Just squiggly, wiggly, odd looking marks!

Transformed by reading, they stimulate thinking and

Thus become useful, workable tools.

Passed on to others, these very same words can be

Badly twisted or misunderstood.

So it isn’t the words but how they are taken

That destines them to be junk or jewels!

Copyright ©1986, Elva May Harder

My mother sent this to me in July, 1986.  We just rediscovered it in a box in our garage.

Recipe for Success

If, at first, you don't succeed,
take a break to sit and read.
If there's naught to read in sight,
tap your keyboard, start to write.
If there's naught to write about,
grab your coat and just go out.
Take a walk beneath the sky.
See what's there and then ask why.
Now you've got a thing to write.
But, to get a true insight,
you will find you have the need
to crack some books and start to read.
Having learned, you'll then possess
all that's needed for success.


Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

First Two Winters

Our eight by thirty-eight Nashua trailer,
had a heater fed by gas bought in
pressure tanks that tended to run dry
on the coldest night of the Kansas year.

Our 1960 Olds Batmobile had bad shocks
and a battery we had to bring
inside on winter nights, setting it
beside the heater to be warmer than us.

Christmas decorations were six tiny, gold,
plastic angels purchased at the drug store,
strung on thread, and hung on the wall, so festive.
We were so poor. We were so happy.

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Vote

What do I get when I cast my vote?
Only a sticker to wear on my coat.
That and the knowledge that I have made
my very small voice come out of the shade,
out where it counts if the race is tight,
out where it takes on power and might.
Now go vote!

 

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Joy in Joblessness

He was feeling mighty glum
when he shuffled through the door,
for his job and his income
were now vanished and no more.

Shedding tears, he told his wife
how the boss had called him in,
so, henceforth, their fiscal life
would be looking super thin.

But she cheered him with a kiss
and reminded him that they
had survived things just like this.
then she told him of her day.

She had made another sale
and was well above the norm,
so her boss had raised her scale.
God would help them through this storm.

She reminded him, their kids
were both healthy and well fit,
that they now had three grandkids
and the family was close knit.

In the weeks which then ensued,
up until he got rehired,
joyous hours with them accrued:
the great times he had desired.

In the years that he had left,
he quite often would recite
that those weeks of joblessness
were the best times of his life.



Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

At a Beach Town Wedding

Rick and Krisynda Collins

In Galveston, folks sometimes say that life's a beach.
This metaphor, not just cliché, has much to teach,
for married life has parallels to seashore days:
the wind and calm, the waves and swells, the golden rays.

You watch the children laugh and play beneath the sun.
They'll surf a wave (or web) all day, to make their fun.
You're there to bandage every wound and salve each pain,
to counsel when they feel marooned or spirits wane.

In daily life, you sometimes swim among the sharks.
A partner makes things not so grim and shares your heart.
And when you need to stand your ground on shifting sand,
it's best to have a friend around, a helping hand.

As you two walk along life's strand, look often back.
Observe the trace left in the sand, three sets of tracks.
You may not see Him every day, but He'll be there,
prepared to help and guide your way, to answer prayer.

You'll build your castle artfully, the home you crave,
and then protect it tirelessly from every wave.
At length, when comes the last sunset of married life,
you'll watch together, no regret, as man and wife.



Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Maxim Maximus

Someone once gave this to ponder:
Anything that does not kill you
Will instead just make you stronger.
I propose a higher truth:

Anything that does not kill you
is a chance to praise the Lord.
But, the thing that finally will do
shall then lead you heavenward.


Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.