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.

Life Before Children

Find an old photo your parents are in,
one that was taken before you were born.

If they’re like mine, they were handsome and thin.

I had no notion before mine were gone.

Are you aware what your mother declined,

how, for the joy of her caring for you,

plans of her own had to be left behind,

scholar or writer or singing the blues?

Has it occurred to you, maybe your Dad

gave up a job that he really enjoyed,

solely because of the low wage it paid,

took something boring, to better provide?

Most of us don’t know who Mom and Dad were,

how, in their youth, they had bright hopes and dreams.

We, self-absorbed, yet remain unaware,

thinking that we were their sole lifetime schemes.

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

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

Alas, Poor Morpheus, I Knew You Well

I’m getting tired and need a nap,

just something short to fill the gap

between my brain and competence.

Today, I’ve made so little sense.

At night, it’s hard to get to sleep;

and, getting there, I cannot keep

myself in slumber, but I snooze

and wake and stew till dream ensues.

My awesome bed can’t be the cause.

Perhaps arthritis makes sleep pause,

or all the thoughts that flood my mind.

In any case, sleep lags behind.

Exhaustion daily takes a toll

and solid sleep’s beyond control.

But I’m at work, can’t take a break.

I have to try to stay awa...

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

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

Down the Hill

Jack and Jill went off to school,

but each to a different place,

Jack to be an engineer

and Jill to play string bass.

Jack has learned just how to howdy

every Aggie he may meet.

Jill on some nights may get rowdy

down on Austin’s weird Sixth Street.

Last spring break took both to Corpus,

playing in each school’s beach games.

Those broke down into a circus.

Drinking was their truer aim.

Morning sun above the sand,

soon revealed the fate of each:

Jack marooned on Orange strand,

stranded Jill on Maroon beach.

Copyright ©2018, Paul H. Harder II

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