Oh Baby, Oh Baby

Oh Baby, Baby

Oh Baby, baby on my knee,

The twinkle in your eye I see,

Make you laugh, and make you grin,

Funny faces now begin.

Where do little laughs come from?

The land of Biddle Bubble Gum,

Or Da-Da-Da-Da by the sea,

And also noisy Raspberry.

You laugh, I laugh; we laugh and then,

We “goo-goo”, “ma-ma”, laugh again,

And now the sleepy eyes are here,

The land of Cribby Cribby near.

You reach out as you slip away,

Your tiny head on pillow lay,

And dream of all the fun you had,

With Grandpa, Grandma, Mom and Dad.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 28, 2010

I Am a Talker; So is My Daughter

I am a talker. So is my daughter. Don’t get me wrong, my two sons are wonderful conversationalists, but there is a difference. My daughter doesn’t do this anymore, but when (and she knows this story) she would come home from elementary school, and the family was sitting at dinner, she would start talking about her day at school starting with the moment she met the first person in her class and proceed to recount most every detail of her day. At some moment during our dinner one of the boys would say, “Summarize, summarize.”


There are social situations that any “talker” will be “forced” into silence. It is an interesting phenomenon, but it DOES happen. I believe it happens when other “talkers” are engaged with each other. One such social dynamic occurs when my daughter comes home by herself. This is the most wonderful thing when a child returns home. This is a person that was a baby, toddler, child, youth, and adult under your roof. There is no other person in which you will be more intimately involved with than this child which you have raised.

But, when my daughter returns, she and her mother immediately connect. I chalk it up to the “female encounter”. As a dentist, I have worked with women all my life. I love women. I grew up in a family with four brothers, so “girls”; “women” were always a wonderful mystery to ALL of us. But, there is a special dynamic here. Not unlike we men who gather to watch sporting events. Women feel engaged at times, but it is a guy thing.

So when my daughter comes into the house, she and my wife start doing the women thing. I am not a big fan of shopping, recipes, clothes, child rearing techniques, etc., so this talker is silenced. Usually seated in the living room listening for the moment that they will launch into subjects like baseball statistics, politics, religion, golfing, football, etc. Never happens. Women stuff. They are welcome to it, and I still LOVE every minute of it.

I recently got a chance to travel to St. Louis International Airport to pick up my daughter and our grandson and travel two and one-half hours home. The next day my daughter and I had to make the same round trip to attend a baptism of another wonderful grandson. My wife had to stay at home with my daughters son, because he had a fever. So it was daughter and I in the car for another five-hour trip.

Two talkers engaged. It was fabulous! There is nothing like two talkers together. There is never a lack of “dead air”, as they say on radio. Now I am the older of the two and have to take a nap after lunch, but the conversation rolls when we are compos mentis.

Seven and one-half hours. Where do you find that in a life-time with anyone? One-on-one. Now add to that equation, two people that like to talk. If you haven’t gotten a better handle on the other individual, where they are, what makes them tick, what makes them happy, what they are doing, where they are going or want to go, what is important in their lives, personally, etc., then it is not for lack of opportunity.

Those seven and one-half hours are like gold. I will treasure it forever. It is now wrapped. I can take it out unfold that adventure over and over. My daughter is a child of mine. She is a wonderful lady, my baby, too. Everyone loves their baby!

Wilow Tree

Willow Tree

Whisper, whisper, willow tree,

All your dreams of yesteryear,

And what you wish in life to be,

As vigil watches water near.

The lake is rough, October wind-

Blows warm, and winter soon will send,

As signs of summer now rescind,

Its freezing, frosty, fingered friend.

The arctic North wind hiding he,

Behind some mountain far away,

Propels his slow trip by degree,

And, brings his snow grip to your bay.

For soon you notice leaves are gone,

As naked by the water stand,

And see the frozen lake at dawn,

Your dreams and wishes now command.

You still see winter birds aloft,

It gives you hope for coming spring,

You now will love these snows so soft.

All beauty in its offering.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 26, 2010

Oh, Mother

Oh, Mother

The moon is very full tonight it has a hazy hue,

With all the water in my eyes, yet no cloud is in view,

I want the rain to fall tonight as I walk from this place,

To blend with all the tears which fall so freely on my face.

Our mother lays and looks at me with love within her eyes,

She captures every moment, and with all her being she tries-

To tell me that she loves us all for this is why she lives,

As frail she is; without restraint her love to all she gives.

Oh mother, sweet, sweet mother “We are strong because of you!”

“We are here, we’ll never leave and we will see you through.”

I tell her that it is alright to leave and take her rest.

For she has lived a life of love and for this she is blessed.


"But one more thing that you must know", I look into her eyes,

"This is just a beginning; there are no final goodbyes"

"For we will be together with you; this is what I know"

"And hand in hand we'll walk together, and our love will grow"


She smiled a simple smile and with her all pervasive grace,

The tenderness of motherhood was clear upon her face,

It felt as Heaven opened doors to share in our release,

As many angels hovering here would come to give us peace.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 23, 2010

The Dress

The Dress

I remember when we bought the dress,

“Little thing”; “exciting” comes to mind,

My only thoughts, this is what I confess,

As we walked in the shop a dress to find.

I don’t pretend to have the women’s wit,

When she peruses all fine things to wear,

But only know that if I must submit,

The choices that I opt are sexy fare.

The romance in her eyes is clear to see,

As begins the process ‘fore her now,

Perhaps an elegance like princess she,

Yet not beyond what her peers would allow.

And so begins the perfect time of all,

A man and woman in this prior dance,

Before they set a foot into the hall,

A perfect dress for evening’s great romance.

Like magic in the air she finds the one,

And puts it on; the contour; form is pure,

Delight and sparkle in her eyes like sun,

And walks transformed with feminine demure.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 22, 2010

A Child in Fear

A Child in Fear


I looked into his eyes I saw such fear,

The fire within my heart a crimson fire,

He backed up to the wall no way to flee,

Submitting to my will he faced his doom.

And I enraged began to rant and rave,

To set him straight; correct the err he’d made,

But, seeing him defenseless sitting there,

Not knowing what his fate would be today.

My heart was flooded with such awful guilt,

That I could put a child into this state,

And make him fear his father in this way.

That day I changed the way that I would live,

And love this child for all that he would be,

This loving child a soul of God was he,

True consequences paved a change of heart.

A softened voice now spoke to child below,

And raised him up I knelt to hug him close,

A tenderness between a father; child,

With loving care to each I must bestow.



Peter Lowell Paulson

October 18, 2010

Our Cats

Bugs drive them crazy,

Most times they’re lazy,

Curl up and sleep on soft chairs in the sun.

Often times holler,

Fight and then squalor,

O’er toys; our attention, or tumble in fun.

Moses our big guy,

N’er lets a meal by,

If food's in the bowl, then like lightening he’ll run.

Albie is quite thin,

Fond of cooked chicken,

When Moses is finished then Albie has none.

They are a good pair,

Kings of this house lair,

In life as a species they’d say that, “We’ve Won!”

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

 

October 17, 2010

Sonnet II

Sonnet II

No one can know the love I have for you,

So deep within my heart and in my soul,

Impossible to keep within; subdue,

For you complete my life and make it whole.

Remembering the day I saw you first,

With golden hair and oh, that loving smile,

You took me in, a dying man of thirst,

And quenched all doubt which held me in denial.

The walks we took along the country road,

We sat in fields under a shady tree,

As this became a lover’s fair abode,

Entwined within a blissful rapture we.

One look is all it took for you to gain,

An everlasting love which will remain.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 16, 2010

Heaven's Sweetest Song

Heaven’s Sweetest Song


I never saw my father weep or be despondent long,

Until my mother passed away and ceased her morning song,

My mother used to sing; you’d hear small nonsense songs each day,

They could annoy, or charm, but often chased one’s fears away.


My mother was a cheerful soul with sunshine on her face,

That brightened every person in whose presence that she’d grace,

And, even as a teenaged son who wished to sleep awhile,

You’d hear her lilt; complain or groan, yet it would make you smile.


And now my father prayed each day to God in Heaven above,

That she, his wife, our mother, was now safely in His love,

And held within Christ’s promise, and his arms they would surround,

And feel no pain or fear, but only sense His grace abound.


One day my gladdened father, overcome with peace and calm,

Received an answered prayer, and assured as Gilead’s balm,

His faith was lifted; fear allayed, now earthly life would end,

For in four months he died; back to his loving wife he’d wend.


I hear my mother’s music now, for it was never gone,

My children sing it to their sons, so it continues on,

And father’s faith is shared with each a true foundation strong,

And all are carried through this life with Heaven’s sweetest song.





Peter Lowell Paulson



October 10, 2010

A Cold October Morn

A Cold October Morn

***

A cold October morn,

And branches bending low,

A pine tree withered worn,

In rain frigid as snow.

Dark clouds are now within-

A grey enveloped sky,

This blustery day begins

With melancholy sigh.

The trees in autumn phase

With wind tall grasses roll,

And, yet my heart’s ablaze,

As silence fills my soul.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 2, 2010