Author: peterbaldwinpoet

Gale: 2016

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A little girl was born,
68 years ago.
You may not know who,
but I happen to know.

She grew up in Brooklyn,
’til the age of eight.
Then she moved to Farmingdale,
a new life to create.

No more city living,
pure country, now the task.
Truly a different style of life,
with many questions to ask.

Travel now was different,
you needed a car to go.
The bus wasn’t at the corner,
to take you to and fro.

But life can always be adjusted,
it’s just a matter of when.
And once you know your way around,
all will be fine then.

You make new friends,
you hope for life.
Then you meet me,
now a wife.

So 68 years,
have come and gone.
Memories still linger,
as time goes on.

And our own two daughters,
have families of their own.
And I hope that their memories,
make a happy home.

Much more was packed,
in those 68 years.
Many were happy times,
but some brought tears.

But that is part of living,
as we do, day by day.
But God holds you in his palm,
and carries you along the way.

So let me take the time,
to wish you happy birthday, dear.
And I hope that your memories,
are cherished from every year.

A Good Gift From a Good Father

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When Jesus was baptized in the River Jordan,
Heaven was opened above.
The Holy Spirit descended,
in power and in love.

Baptism changed the life he led,
and began his ministry.
That same power that lives in Christ,
now resides in you and me.

The Holy Spirit gives us strength,
wisdom and freedom of choice.
But we must listen,
to His still small Voice.

He guides and directs,
and fills us with power.
We are never alone,
He is with us, hour by hour.

It’s a gift from our heavenly Father,
a part of the blessed Trinity.
He gives us power and strength,
to defeat the enemy.

The Holy Spirit was the power,
that rained at Pentecost.
The mighty wind and tongues of fire,
gave the Apostles strength to preach to the lost.

Many receive the Good News,
as the Apostles preached in power.
Filled to overflowing by the Holy Spirit,
they preached hour after hour.

Olympiad: The World Throughout

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From the very first Olympics,
which was held in Greece.
Man has tried with competition,
to bring about world peace.

There are many, many participants,
that compete in every sport.
The best each country has to offer,
coming from every port.

In 776 B.C., the first and only race,
was won by a cook name Coroebus.
Every four years ’til 393 A.D.,
the Olympics continued and grew thus.

For fifteen hundred and three years, competition ceased,
until April 6, 1896.
Renamed the games of the Olympiad,
for these nine days, it became the Olympic fix.

In 1932, the first Olympic Village,
became an Olympic fixture.
Many things began to change,
much being added to the mixture.

Competing for gold, silver or bronze,
the pressure is very intense.
It takes everything you have,
and even above more resilience.

The competition is very fierce,
and the winner will concur, no doubt.
But the modern version of it all,
is broadcast the world throughout.

These athletes work to the very edge,
of all that they can be.
To etch their name in worldly fame,
to be everlasting in history.

So join your favorites,
and root for your country.
It will be four more years,
of competition and sports unity.

World Lung Cancer Day

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Today is World Lung Cancer Day. This poem is dedicated to the victims of lung cancer & their families.

A day set aside,
for people who care.
Some are gone,
yet others are there.

The first day of August,
is World Lung Cancer Day.
Those who are survivors,
carry on, come what may.

Father-in-law, brother-in-law,
just to name a few.
Non-smoker or smoker,
it can still affect me and you.

Even my wife’s uncle,
and my older brother.
They’ve lost this terrible fight,
as lung cancer takes another.

More than any other cancer,
even the three most common combined.
Approximately 1.37 million worldwide,
their families and loved ones lives realigned.

I was with my brother and watched him suffer,
wanting to know why it was so.
With all the cancer foundations and research,
by now, a cure someone would know.

Yet this fight still rages on,
it just seems like it will never end.
But because of World Lung Cancer Day,
you have survivors to be your friend.

They understand more than we know,
they have battled and seen it through.
Because of this they have a compassion,
that can be a comfort for both me and you.

So on this day may it come to be,
as we need a cure for this uphill fight.
So on this August the First,
may the future begin by looking bright.

May the breakthrough be so clear,
that we see the forest through the trees.
May it be soon and very soon,
we find a cure for this horrible disease.

Gale

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This poem is dedicated to my hard-working wife.

The day has come,
and you need to rest.
You can’t go on,
and be your best.

The days are short,
and the hours long.
And with that the case,
you can’t be strong.

So this weekend,
without question or doubt.
You’ll be able to relax,
that’s all you’ll be about.

I will care for everything,
including my best friend.*
If it’s the last thing I do,
and it may be the end.

I want you to be off,
rest a recoup.
Taking care of the kids and house,
has thrown you for a loop.

So sleep late in the morning
and I’ll do my best.
I’m sure I am capable,
to pass the test.

You need to rest,
with all that is coming up.
So sit back and relax,
with your coffee cup.

I’m able to do,
whatever needs to be done.
Just watch me,
it will be fun.

I’m your butler, chauffeur, and maid,
for whatever you need to do.
I’m at your beck and call,
just tell me, I’m here for you.

I love you!

Teach Me and Guide Me

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Teach me and guide me,
that I would know Your ways.
Walk the straight and narrow,
all of my days.

Teach me to know you,
intimate, like father and son.
And the only Voice I would hear,
would be the Father’s One.

Teach me to walk,
in spirit and truth.
Trusting as I did,
as the child of my youth.

Teach me how to pray,
and when I need to listen.
The world has so many distractions,
and I fall, by my own admission.

Teach me to have a servant’s heart,
and look for the best in everyone.
Become more like Jesus,
and be the Father’s son.

Teach me to share words of Truth,
only the ones You Speak to me.
May those words of wisdom,
make powerful poetry.

Guide me by the Holy Spirit,
as I write what He Speaks to me.
May the words He writes here,
set many chained souls free.

So, Lord continue to speak,
and anoint the words put here.
May I never lose the Spirit,
always sense His presence near.

Come In, BB-8

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This poem was written by my grandson, to whom I gifted a Sphero BB-8. To show his gratitude, he renewed my website for another year.

Come in BB-8,
you rowdy droid.
Your ball-like self,
makes me overjoyed.

Where did you come from,
‘cause it ain’t Jakku.
Was it someone else,
who gifted you?

Somebody else used Amazon,
and purchased you on the web.
Your adventures take you places,
And your emotions flow and ebb.

Sometimes your head gets knocked off,
But I think that’s okay.
‘cause you’re pretty resilient,
Each and every day.

But even through that orange shell,
I can see right through.
It wasn’t the fact that you were cool,
That someone gifted you.

That someone had a lot of thanks,
And didn’t know how to show it.
But he was a good guy,
A grandpa and a poet.

He went online and shopped around,
Probably as best he could.
He asked the ones who knew the best,
And they answered, as he knew they would.

That’s how You, bb-8, came to be,
Rolling around, to and fro.
And something else tags along,
Wherever you may go.

The fact that someone did something,
‘cause another helped him out.
I think it’s time to return the favor,
And present this gift with a shout.

BB-8 will give it to you,
As he rolls across the floor.
Beep-beep, boop-boop, beep,
Your blog’s renewed another year more.