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When I gaze up, on a clear night,
at countless stars, shining so bright,
can't help but wonder how it all began.
Did this develop just by chance?
Could it be a mere happenstance?
Or is all this part of a higher plan?
How great, must be, this architect
who, this wonder, does direct.
Yet, His involvement is dismissed by some.
Whene'er a scientist expounds
a universe which has no bounds,
there's no explaning where it all came from.
In the myriad of galaxies,
the skies which have no boundaries,
the earth seems but a tiny grain of sand.
Amongst the swirling nebulae,
somewhere within the milky way,
I feel secure in the Creator's hand.
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The blind man dreams that he can see,
the mute that he can talk.
The deaf man dreams that he can hear,
the lame that he can walk.
The young man dreams of what's to come,
in years that lie ahead.
The old man dreams of yesterday,
and longs for youth, instead.
Most things we have in life are worth
a lot more than they seem.
What is reality for me,
could be your wildest dream.
We wish that we were someone else,
or in some other spot.
We fail to treasure what is ours,
not seeing what we've got.
At times, I wish that I were you,
you might wish you were me.
What are those certain traits we have,
that makes an entity?
We wish for what's beyond our reach,
sometimes beyond the earth.
That which is easy to obtain,
seldom has any worth.
If we never followed a dream,
or wished upon a star,
We'd miss out on the chance to be
much better than we are.
So, always keep those dreams alive,
don't let them fade away.
It's possible, one of your dreams
may come true on this day.
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You dance just like a ballerina
in the air, so cold.
At times, you're very shy and timid,
at other times, you're bold.
Dressed up in your crystal costume,
molded in symmetry.
Your design is like no other.
Unique, I must agree.
You play your part so gracefully
without making a sound,
whether you are pirouetting
or blanketing the ground.
You act so very innocent
when you're a solo flake.
Combined with others of your ilk,
all the rules, you break.
At spring's first hint, you shed your mask
and end the masquerade.
You quickly run off and forsake
the wonder that you made.
Next winter, you'll appear again,
your charm will mesmerize.
And you'll make me forget that you're
a rain drop in disguise.
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If, in the big card game of life, you sometimes get the feeling,
that, from the lousy hand you got, there was an unfair dealing.
If you could check the other hands that were dealt the game,
You might feel a lot differently, you may not feel the same.
You'd realize that no one holds the kings or queens or aces.
And you can't tell what cards they have by looking at their faces.
You'd see their cards are no better and that the deal was straight.
You'd gladly keep the cards you got and think you're fortunate.
So, the next time you feel bad about your situation,
understand your not alone, many others share your station.
Don't feel sorry for yourself and sit around and mope.
Reach out and lend an extra hand to help those others cope.
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If you asked me, what's my age, I most probably would say:
I was born before a lot of things most commonplace today.
Before stereos, or compact discs, cassettes, or VCR's,
ball point pens, or touch tone phones, or xerox copiers.
Before styrofoam, or fiberglas, or polyester pants.
Before the first atomic bomb or nuclear power plants.
Before the microwave oven, or the jet airplane,
the interstate expressway, or diesel powered train.
Before there was any TV, color or black & white,
or those long fluorescent tubes, which light up the night.
Before the supermarket, shopping mall, ATM machine,
power steering, cruise control, or unleaded gasoline.
Before satellites or space shuttles or lunar orbiters,
pop up toasters, plastic bags, air conditioned theaters.
Before the time when leisure suits or disco were the style.
Before there was a digital watch with liquid crystal dial.
Before the first computer, that filled up an entire room.
Before an organ transplant, HMO, or baby boom.
Before we heard of heat-index, or smog, or acid rain.
Before we heard of Microsoft, or McDonald's fast food chain.
Before there were the 50 states or even 49.
And before you ask me that again, please know that I'll decline
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Through your grace, I am not needy.
Help me, Lord, not to be greedy.
I owe to you, what I possess,
suppress my thoughts of selfishness.
You've given me all that I need,
you've blessed me with enough, indeed.
Subdue my quest for fame and gold,
that leaves me with a heart that's cold.
Change my thoughts of hate and lust,
into ones of love and trust.
Rather than fight and disagree,
let me strive for harmony.
Let me not feud nor hold a grudge.
Give my heart that gentle nudge.
To replace my rage and anger,
make tranquillity no stranger.
Take away my apathy,
that I may hear another's plea.
If I'm arrogant or rude,
modify my attitude.
Make me tolerant of those,
whose viewpoints I might oppose.
Guide me down that narrow way.
Lord, it's for these things I pray.
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They told me to get
on the internet
for a trek to a wonderful place.
Just insert this disk
and, click, with a whisk,
you'll be launched into deep cyber-space.
The countdown's begun.
Five - four - three - two - one.
I'm waiting with anticipation.
On the monitor screen
a message is seen,
"Check your modem's configuration."
COM-2 or COM-1?
X-OFF or X-ON?
What settings should I be using?
You'll have to agree,
an earthling like me
finds all of this somewhat confusing.
What do you do?
Why, call the guru
at your internet service provider.
And, if it's like mine,
in a few minutes time
your knowledge gets a little wider.
You do as you're told,
and lo and behold
you've successfully logged onto the "net."
What a surprise,
squinting your eyes,
what you see may be not what you "get."
It's all Greek to me
h t t p
//here@there.wherever
I'm lost in this loop
of alphabet soup.
Is someone trying to be clever?
Just relax, my boy.
Enjoy your new toy.
Get on with the new introductions.
Rely on your luck,
and if you get stuck,
you can always read the instructions.
A click of your mouse
and right from your house
you 're off on a cyber-excursion.
There's sites to explore
with URL's galore.
You'll find it a welcome diversion.
With proper software
and a comfortable chair,
you'll be surfin' like one of the pros.
You'll not be alone.
You'll tie up the phone
and wonder where all your time goes.
You're never too old.
You've got to be bold
and go where you've not gone before.
On the other hand,
the site where you land
just might be as close as next door.
I 'm really impressed,
most sites passed my test,
while some seem to have an affliction.
I'm surfin' the net
for other sites yet.
I think it's become an addiction.
I've run short of rhyme
and run out of time
and must re-enter the world of the sane.
And so, with a smile,
I log out in style,
and can't wait to log in again.
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I looked into the mirror today, and was surprised to see
someone, with gray and thinning hair, just staring back at me.
Who is that funny looking man? Who, on earth, can he be?
I am sure, beyond a doubt, that fellow can't be me.
I wiped off my side of the glass, to get a better look.
He wiped off his side of the glass. He read me like a book.
He mimicked every move I made. He was a clever gent.
He knew exactly what I'd do. What could be his intent?
He seemed just as surprised as I, dismayed by what he saw.
Was there a defect in the glass, perhaps some kind of flaw?
He had a longing in his eyes for days of long ago
when he appeared as young as I . Where did that person go?
What was he doing in the place where my image should be?
Where is the true reflection of the one who looks like me?
Why, only yesterday there was another standing there.
He had a younger looking face and color in his hair.
I'm sure that by tomorrow he'll be standing in his place.
He'll have that twinkle in his eye and smile upon his face.
Who am I trying to delude? All that was yesterday.
I've got to face reality. That man is here to stay!
You're only as old as you feel, not as you may appear.
It's what's inside of you that counts, not what's within the mirror.
I'll get acquainted with that man, as I once did before.
And I don't think that he will be a stranger anymore.
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"Warning! Do not read this poem." That's what the title said.
Do not ignore what's written there. Read something else instead.
I strongly urge that you turn back, and heed those words that warn.
You might be feeling differently, tomorrow in the morn.
This is your third and final chance to look the other way.
Oh, what the heck! You've gone this far, you might as well just stay.
What do you think is in this poem? What's hidden from you view?
Is it a little knowledge that we wish to keep from you?
Is it something that has top-secret classification?
Is it the truth about UFO's, or Elvis' location?
Is it a new a conspiracy, which needs exploitation?
Perhaps, some covert evidence of an assassination?
Maybe, a bit of gossip that would really make your day?
Could it be something that is crude, or naughty, or risque?
No, it's just a poem about your curiosity.
It killed the cat, the saying goes, and might be killing thee.
Ok..., its not a death sentence, it only kills your time.
You could be reading something else, instead of this dumb rhyme.
"Warning! Do Not Read This Poem." That's what the title said.
I do not know a better way to get this poem read.
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There are the seven senses that
we use for work or play.
Most of us would say only five.
There's six, others would say.
The first one is the sense of taste,
to tell the tang of lime.
The second is the sense of smell,
with which you'll judge this rhyme.
The third is the sense of hearing,
to tell when there's no sound.
The fourth one is the sense of sight.
See the great poem you found.
The fifth one is the sense of touch.
You feel pain or pleasure.
You'll feel this poem's not worth a dime,
or that it's a treasure.
The sixth sense is called ESP.
I seem to have some doubt.
I sense from some of you out there...
Oh! That's what it's about.
The seventh sense is obvious,
there's no need to explain.
A sense of humor is a must,
or else you'll go insane.
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It started with sporadic verse,
just to pass the time.
Then it became an obsession,
I had to make things rhyme.
I couldn't stop after just one,
I did three, four and more.
I kept a rhyming dictionary
hidden in a drawer.
I said this madness can't go on,
I had to seek support.
Rhymeaholics anonymous,
I joined. Here's my report.
Part of the cure was a meeting
with others of my ilk.
We would discuss the issues over
coffee, tea and milk.
They looked like any other folk,
but something wasn't right.
The talk was dull and lusterless,
no sparkle and no light.
Their problem was under control,
spoke not a rhyme in weeks.
Their faces had a downcast look,
no color in their cheeks.
There rhyming problem had been cured,
but, what a price to pay.
Imagine going through your life
without a rhyme each day.
They said that poems don't have to rhyme,
or some other theory.
I rhyme because it's lots of fun,
and not drab or dreary.
I introduced myself and then
avowed my addiction.
Suddenly, this urge to rhyme
overcame restriction.
"Can anyone out there tell me,
what rhymes with the word orange"?
They looked kind of surprised to me,
their reaction was strange.
One of them said, "I know, I know.
The answer is a range."
Another stood up and said this,
" What about the mange"?
Then someone asked, "What rhymes with this"?
Another asked. "With that"?
Poems were spouting everywhere.
Months of progress laid flat.
I was banned from all their meetings.
My influence was bad.
I recall those smiling faces
and the fun that we had.
When I woke up the next morning,
I had a pang-over.
I vowed that I would swear off rhyme
and remain "cold sober."
I try to live up to that vow,
but now and then I'll slip.
I'll grab that rhyming lexicon,
and take a little nip.
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