Grace

Grace

Getting to know you,

You’re a toughie,

Grandpa likes that,

Daddy likes that,

Mama likes that, too,

You’re young,

But, Grandpa knows young, too,

Times, seven,

You ARE my babiest girl,

Your mama has always been one to say,

“Here, take, him!”

(Referring to her brothers),

As infants they immediately know these grandparents are special,

Trusted people,

They almost shiver with amazement,

Even as infants,

This happened for the first with you,

You looked at your Mama,

And then at me,

And,

You smiled!

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 5, 2014

Winter's Edge

Winter’s Edge

This morning I saw a boat,

Overturned for the season,

Oars beneath,

Peeking,

Hiding, and waiting,

For, their owner’s return,

Winter’s edge,

Shadows long,

Too, long for this time in the morning,

Grasses which remain are brown and bending,

And, I am tending to lean with them,

Not to submit,

(I am a man, not sexist, but a man)

But, emotion pulls me,

Toward long shadows,

I love this Winter’s edge!

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 5, 2014

The Whispering Wind

The Whispering Wind

Oh, I hear the whispering wind,

The pine tree, normally silent,

Is billowing toward the warm blue sky,

The orange-red tree leaves,

As much as they would love to stay,

Are cheerily waving in the same warm wind,

They are dancing,

And, and as they sway,

They say,

“Goodbye, for now,

But, don’t you worry,

We’ll back,

Same time next year!”

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 3, 2014

My Grandmothers Cottage

My Grandmothers Cottage

I remember my Grandmother’s cottage,

I was quite young,

My Grandma was always busy,

(or wanted to be, because she never came),

She let our family go out to those Northern Wisconsin woods,

I remember traveling down a dirt road,

It was the kind that had a mound of grass growing in the middle,

The place where the tires never disturbed,

We arrived at the cottage,

Out of the car and down to the beach,

Chequamegon Bay of Lake Superior,

The water was almost always too cold to brave,

But, we would brave it anyway,

My brothers and I,

We were reminded,

That we were born from the blood,

That came from this place,

That came from here.

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 31, 2014

One Day_Part II

One Day_Part II

Have you ever wanted to sleep,

You felt it incumbent,

You felt it succumb-ent,

But, you could not,

Was it a “knot” upon your conscience?

(I always thought “conscience” was an odd word)

Every hour, and bits of hour,

Your eyes would peek at the clock,

And, in your shock, the old tick tock,

Would say,

“It’s still night, not day!”

But, you still smile,

Just snuggle in,

For you still win,

You’re still in bed,

Now rest that head,

Don’t dream of mourning,

In the morning,

That sun will show,

Your heart will glow,

This day is yours,

As God outpours,

His love for you,

In all you do,

For others,

We all have it,

One day!

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 2, 2014