An Ode to Football

Let me ask you a question,
what happened to football as a sport?
Now some of the players,
spend more time in court.

When we were kids,
football was lots of fun.
When the big kids chased you,
you had to be fast to outrun.

We played tackle,
on any type of ground.
Equipment didn’t matter,
as long as the ball was found.

Almost everyone had cuts and bruises,
no one really got away clean.
We never held a grudge for losing,
we just weren’t that mean.

Football was a winter game,
we played from morning ’til night.
And when we came to the end of the day,
it was forgotten as we turned off the light.

None of us were super stars,
and we only played for fun.
But every day, the team changed,
and it felt good when you won.

But with a little coaching,
who knows what might’ve been.
We may have done things better,
instead of taking it on the chin.

There was no Super Bowl when I was little,
but there was a championship game.
And whoever was the winner,
held their claim to fame.

But don’t get deflated,
call me on the cell.
If I can find the right phone,
I’ll answer and give you a yell.

Don’t get deflated,
call me at home.
I’ll answer if I’m not busy,
writing another poem.

Remember, don’t get deflated,
I’ll be home all day.
Watching two teams battle,
in San Francisco Bay.

My Cemetery Walks

I took a trip to the cemetery,
and used my time to look around.
To my own amazement,
I was surprised at what I found.

Some sat on a bench,
while others had their lunch.
Some were planting flowers,
making such a pretty bunch.

Some others at a grave site sat,
so lonely and depressed.
They seemed to talk to themselves,
yet to others for sure, I guessed.

I walked up to one man,
who sat there by himself.
Put my hand on his shoulder,
and asked him if I could help.

He looked right into my eyes,
and then he began to speak.
He needed a moment to clear his throat,
but his voice seemed rather weak.

But as we continued to talk,
he seemed to gain more life.
He told me he was all alone,
and here lies his son and wife.

We talked a little about the war,
he had me by twenty years.
But he seemed grateful for company,
yet I would have shared his tears.

He made me think of future days,
when I might be sitting there.
Would my shoulder feel a hand,
of someone who might really care.

I need to spend more time,
among the grave sites there.
To walk among the lonely,
and be an instrument of God’s care.

May God, by His Holy Spirit,
guide me along the way.
May my cemetery walks,
inspire and comfort every day.

May my opportunity to share,
comfort many in need.
And many get to know,
Jesus Christ indeed.

Riverside Rediscovered

This poem is about the planned revitalization of Riverhead and Riverside, towns on the Eastern End of New York’s Long Island. An excerpt of this poem was featured in the Riverhead News-Review, a local newspaper, on October 19.

Trying to change the town,
can be a trying task.
Changes needing to be made,
bring many questions to ask.

Where do you start,
who is put in charge?
Be the change small,
or be the change large.

Traffic, no doubt,
will need some work.
Stores will open,
giving the town a perk.

Will people see the vision,
when you explain it to them?
Will they gather ’round and give a hand,
and create a shining gem?

Riverside will be changing,
ask yourself what you can do.
Because it is a long process,
and can’t be done by just a few.

The plans on paper look good,
and the overall vision has begun.
My picture of the future,
sees it all in place, the job done.

Many will come to see,
the changes put in place.
The new buildings and attractions,
that will change Riverside’s face.

All the nearby towns,
will wane as they compare.
They’ll see the new life it brings,
and wish it had been there.

So get ready and roll up your sleeves,
there is lots more work to be done.
Contractors galore will invade us,
and Riverside will shine, bar none.