The Creeping Crud

 

The Creeping Crud

 

The “Creeping Crud” spread o’er the land,

A virus vile smaller than sand,

It’s nada, nada, nada neat,

So wash your hands, and knees and feet.

 

But, one day soon (we hope it’s soon),

The “Creeping Crud” who’s had its boon,

Twill meet its match from antidotes,

With twisty ties around their throats.

 

And, they’ll be gone, gone with the wind,

Their devastation will rescind,

The children will come out to play,

And, we’ll praise God for this bright day!

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 16, 2020

I’ve been writing letters to our “remote” grandkids. I wrote this poem to include in this month’s letter.

God's Love

 

God’s Love

 

Inadequate it’s wholly so,

For evidence our God to know,

Yet, God created you and me,

With holy sense for God to see.

 

Philosophers both great and small,

Their writings well up from the pall,

And, searching here and searching there,

If they leave God, the cupboard’s bare.

 

For God created and refined,

The earth and universe designed,

From nothing to a wondrous thing.

Relationship his offering.

 

For some they’ll raise a halting hand,

And, walk away in sifting sand,

But, as for me, I simply must,

In loving God, place all my trust.

 

For every soul, this solid ground,

As close with simple faith is found,

E’en when the bleakest times accrue,

Praise Him! God’s love will see us through!

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

November 6, 2020

Nostalgia

 

Nostalgia

 

Nostalgia at this time of year, the younger boy in me,

Of Halloween, Thanksgiving and the coming Christmas tree,

Of fishing holes abandoned with advancing autumn chill,

And, wonders of all golds and reds in trees upon the hill.

 

It takes me back to Mom and Dad while raking leaves in piles,

To let their sons dive into them with hearty laughs and smiles,

And, the old sled, with steel rails, was from the attic drawn,

Anticipating soon enough a snowy winter’s dawn.

 

The camping gear all stowed away, in basement it is placed,

Recalling every frog or snake in summer we had chased,

The logs ablaze in fire pits, on sticks the hotdogs turn,

How sweet the tastes of summers known, as embers they now burn.

 

It floods within, and haunting some, it is the haunting time,

With gaiety I welcome them in memory sublime,

With grandkids now, new eyes they see the wonders of it all,

Nostalgia waits, one day for them, when summer turns to fall!

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

October 22, 2020

New Friends

New Friends

 

I heard a poem,

From a new friend,

A friend in need,

Calling,

In desperation of want,

A desire to be heard,

Lean in,

Listen,

Learn,

A black brother,

Who has a son,

One,

Who is a child of God,

Who sees oppression,

Who, when he hears his father,

Knows that he is a king,

Who has a smile of gold,

And, a crown of glory,

A good father,

A loving father,

When I lean in,

Listen,

Learn,

I hear,

To first repent,

Turn around,

And, believe,

In Christ,

Not by words,

Not by “checking that verbal box”,

Not by intellectual ascent,

But, investment,

Totality of faith,

Body, mind and soul commitment,

All in with Christ,

His words not mine,

For it is by Christ alone,

Through Christ alone,

That Christ,

Moving in,

Moving through,

And, then expressed,

Genuinely,

With eyes that see,

Ears that hear,

And, lame feet that move,

Forward,

Can begin to express,

Can begin to establish,

The Kingdom of God on earth,

As it is in heaven,

It begins,

With Christ,

It begins,

In conversation,

With a new friend,

Bound together in Christ,

I love my new friend!

 

Peter Lowell Paulson

September 26, 2020