Friday, July 8, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Ahhhh Sweet Spring!
I have ordered garden seeds although they have not yet arrived and the ground is too wet to rototill. There is something about just getting ready for spring that makes me smile. I love to spend time dreaming about what this summer's garden will look like and planning how I can go about making that plan come to fruition. Spring is like a clean slate after a long cold winter. The trees are starting to bud and you can step outside for the first time in the new year and feel the greening grass beneath your barefeet. The robins are singing early every morning as are the mourning doves who are busily arranging their nests in the evergreens. The first spring rain comes and washes away the last remnants of the winter from the landscape and from your soul. Better days are ahead. Days where you can forget about coats and gloves and boots and scarves. Where you can replace those thoughts with sunny picnics and fishing and the sweet smell of the lilacs that will bloom in May. Perhaps God made spring to follow winter to make us realize that although life can often be bleak and dismal and we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel---there generally comes a time when the sun comes out and we once again smile in the sunshine and feel the warmth of the spring sun on our souls and all is once again well with the world.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
WHY??????
man’s inhumanity to man
an inexorable wrenching stain
that blemishes man’s existence
and makes our world so pained
the hunched shoulders of man trace the torment
the heavy yoke of our lament so recalcitrant
from the origins of our beginnings
until this day among all days
man’s feet of clay are mired
in this mesh of mangled malaise
why must we maim the reflection
of our own image still
what makes man so wretched
with such a monstrous will?
have the Amistad, Auschwitz, & Big Horn
taught us nothing as we trudge on
must we weep in the blood of our brothers
unchanged by each new dawn?
repeating and repeating our transgressions
stuck on this same sullen path
unwilling to admit torturing our own souls
with such unmitigated wrath
the unending question still unanswered
the essence of man still blind
why must history repeat and repeat itself
an implacable scourge on mankind
an unrequited scourge on all mankind.
c l schrage
Envy of the Mischievious Marauder
ENVY OF THE MISCHIEVOUS MARAUDERS
It’s an early muddled morn on a snowy winter day
It’s an early muddled morn on a snowy winter day
Undeterred the bushy tailed knaves are at play
Among the pines beyond the pane of frosty window glass
As I watch in amazement slumped in a pajama-ed morass
I envy their whimsical tricks on the limbs bowed with snow
Their antics unaffected by the watchful cat below
As they walk the swaying branches like agile tightrope walkers
They refuse intimidation by their obvious waiting stalkers
They leap and spring with unbridled “mischievity”
For this they show enviable proclivity
As I can only huddle here and dream of how it must be
To live life high in the oaks and laugh at humanity
c l schrage
OLD MAN WINTER
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.
C. L. Schrage
Hear the old man’s wily whisper echo as he draws near
The thud of frosty footsteps---his visage comes crystal clear
No mystery that jagged breath on the northern gale
The deep guttural gasps can make Beelzebub’s soul turn pale
His long icy digits grasp the hemlocks and glass the lagoon
As he settles in and sprawls out under a gossamer moon
The old man’s mane lies glistening like diadems in the night
As all beings are bade breathless by such an ethereal sight
No creature doubts the power of this oracle of old
The breadth of his mighty shadow ---makes a brave man’s blood run cold
One wave of his fabled fist can topple towering, timberline trees
Seize up rushing rapids and bring the whole world to her knees
He may seem old and weary but all wise souls take heed
Old man winter is still a demon
Who lives by his own creed.
Aye he lives by his own creed.
C. L. Schrage
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