My Only Book

An Anthology of Poems & Prose Penned by a Protestant Poetaster ~With the Best of Inspired Others~

MyOnlyBook

Of Love and Understanding

Posted on July 14, 2010 at 9:44 PM Comments comments (0)

Can I expect you to understand the way I do?

    And yet, you have understood the way that you could,

    and stretched yourselves to see me through.


Never will my eyes be as yours, which tell the pain,

    of years of love and patient waiting —

    a grey reflection of your grief, and my shameful failings.


Now — youth and age, life and death

    dare to cut our paths asunder.

    Your sacrifice and your love carried my life

    on and on, the fruit of years of aged wisdom —

    to me a ceaseless wonder.


**********

And then I think of “HIM”,

    who for our plight became so poor;

    yet sacrificed his all for even others still—

    and paved the way, a gainful path unnoticed,

    that “others,” such as you and me,

    might go, and plow, and sow, and till.


He lends us gain, a sum untouched by hands in dirt,

    and reminds our hearts of life’s most glorious worth —

    To live for others, in coin, in thought, by possessions and deeds

    Through the life of him whose blood-life was let —

    that “we cold be bought.”


So grateful to him, whose mind I pray will be mine,

    and so thankful to you, who’s gifts and giving ways

    beckon to carefully call to mind

    life’s most forgiving, accepting ransom,

    and loves most heartful gift and sacrifice —

    Our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.


Written to my Grandparents with love —1985

 


The Season's Cry

Posted on July 13, 2010 at 12:16 AM Comments comments (0)

From whence August’s heat

frees September’s first falling leaf—

comes October to remember

***

Chill cascades with wind,

swirls October’s darkened leaves—

burnt November sways her scepter.

***

Crystals of the sky,

Glory! December’s frozen seas—

Come O’ winter’s cold offenders!

***

O’ January!

Thou frigid month of lazy lees—

Mourneth O’ summer’s September?

***

O’ February!

Thou deathly trump of darken eves—

Sigheth for thy baneful members?

***

March on! Surprise!

Spring forth thou buds of early seed—

April’s glories bid thee farewell O’ Winter!

***

And May! Her colors!

Sharpened hues and rushing greens!

Hail thou Summer’s warmth of the timbers!

***

Sweet June and July!

Twin sisters of the season’s cry,

“Get ready! Comes hot August to remember!”


2000

You Are Special Gramps!

Posted on July 13, 2010 at 12:06 AM Comments comments (0)

Roses are red and violets are blue

(Remember I ain’t a real poet, so let this do!}


Been thinking about you Gramps

and all that makes you a “Champ”.


KNOW that ALL your Kees kids you love

hold you as dearly as a dove!


Even though you feel a bit alone,

Hey! CALL US ON THE PHONE!!!


Well, say you’re a bit short of breath?

That’s OK, how-a-bout a minute or less!?


That’s even too much stress?

OK! We’ll write to your address!


 You know we’d all fly to your side,

as soon as we could get a ride!


No one has forgotten that man

that has been such a fan


of all the years of growth

that has blessed “us” kinfolk.


So remember that dear “old man”

when the tears of sadness break o’er the dam!


YES! “Good thoughts” are near your side!

Remember YOU are dearly prized.


Roses are red and violets are blue,

May this by you be often read, and

Remember Gramps— We love you!


                                        Your Grandson, Scott 1999


Keyboard Boredom {or Writer's Block}

Posted on March 14, 2010 at 6:02 AM Comments comments (0)

I came to the keyboard to type,

me fingers quick poised to write.

When me spirit’s moving ALL flows,

but if me mind be blank nothing goes!

Just now in me is a tired ole brain,

stopped with thoughts in trackless veins.

So me answer’s to stop for awhile,

taking a rest in thoughtful denial.

I’ll come back as soon as the flame,

with its glow all bright fills a frame.

So be pleased to excuse me short rhyme,

it’s obviously just not the time.

Do come back when me keyboard to type,

is bright as the Northern Auroran lights!

Come back when the swirls of colors do tell,

I’m un-bogged and me boredom's all dispelled!

 

Lawrence Scott 2004

The Season's Cry

Posted on March 10, 2010 at 3:31 AM Comments comments (0)

From whence August’s heat

frees September’s first falling leaf—

comes October to remember.

***

Chill cascades with wind,

swirls October’s darkened leaves—

burnt November sways her scepter.

***

Crystals of the sky,

Glory! December’s frozen seas—

Come O’ winter’s cold offenders!

***

O’ January!

Thou frigid month of lazy lees—

Mourneth O’ summer’s September?

***

O’ February!

Thou deathly trump of darken eves—

Sigheth for thy baneful members?

***

March on! Surprise!

Spring forth thou buds of early seed—

April’s glories bid thee farewell O’ Winter!

***

And May! Her colors!

Sharpened hues and rushing greens!

Hail thou Summer’s warmth of the timbers!

***

Sweet June and July!

Twin sisters of the season’s cry,

“Get ready! Comes hot August to remember!”

Lawrence Scott

Life is a Poem [2]

Posted on March 7, 2010 at 4:49 AM Comments comments (0)

Life is a poem filled with lots of candy n' cream n’ butterscotch flavored rum.

Life is a poem for wordy souls who write nonsense and call it sagely wisdom.

Life is a poem filled with darkness n' sadness n’ all mysteries lost in time.

Life is a poem of worldly dread one day at a time, one thread at a time.

Life is a poetic dream in cadences of that or this, n' aromas of this or that.

Life is a poem mounting with sin *"heaped upon heap" next to all forgiving facts.

Life is a poem arising in the artful heart seeking to get heard, seeking to get read.

Life is a poem-ful, come to it’s end

n’ the little or much that is said,

in the little or much that is said.


Lawrence Scott 2010


*Therefore, it is written, "Be consoled, be consoled, my people..." (Isaiah 40:1), and Chazal said, "Just as Israel heaped sin upon sin, so their consolation will come, heaped upon heap." In Masechet Makot (24b) The TORAH Lawrence Scott

"Filled with Metal"

Posted on March 3, 2010 at 6:22 PM Comments comments (0)

{I once WAS!} :roll:

Me head all *be-fuzzed.

Me poor liver sick!

Me poor kidney’s - ick!

{I once WAS!} :dry:

My nerves all bent.

My smile lost, Oh!

My poor head, woe!

I once WAS!...

“Toxic from teeth!”

Now I have NONE!...

What, Sweet relief!!!

T’was all d’Metals!

Amalgams n’ more!

Fake porcelain crowns!

And bridges galore!

I once WAS!...

“Filled with METALS!”

Wherefore? Because...

I trusted my dentists!

They “loved” my teeth!

But alas, were remiss -

“informed consent's sheath” ...

For gross Root Canals

and those vain “Cover Ups”;

Of Silver Amalgam fillings,

For the Golden money cup!

I once WAS!...

“Filled with Metals!”

:D

In your own body,

It's sure to unsettle!

It’s poisons goeth deep

To the cavernous pits;

Where the “ooze” seeps

In “Cavitational” zits.

I once WAS!...

“Filled with Metals”

I’ve the toxins no more,

As my DENTURES settle!

:cool:

Learn now the lesson!

Don’t be “dental mental!”

Ask your dentist questions!!!

Nay!? It’s extremely detrimental!

For there’s “DEATH IN DENTISTRY!”

Through the Oral Cavity!

Defend IT as your ministry!

Lest you find sickening misery!

:ohmy:

[And , O’ - the POST SCRIPT! >

BEWARE the Devil’s new “implants”

Yes, use your witty-wit-wit!

Or in the Grave you he'll IMPLANT!!!]

*be-fuzzed is an invented word.

This poem was written to reflect the sore and painful struggles with dental pains and problems I've had most of my life.

Lawrence Scott

Life is a Poem

Posted on February 21, 2010 at 11:32 PM Comments comments (0)

Life is a poem filled with

lots of candy and cream,

n’ butterscotch tasting rum.

Life is a poem for fools

who write nonsense

and call it “wise.”

Life is a poem filled with

darkness and sadness,

n’ mysteries lost in time.

Life is a poetic dream,

a cadence of that or this,

an aroma of this or that.

Life is a poem full of fun,

"heaped upon heap,"

and filled with fun.

Life is a poem of dread,

one day at a time,

one at a time.

Life is a poem lost,

upon an aching heart,

tossed about “to n' fro.”

Life is a poem-ful,

come to it’s end,

n’ little or much said.

Lawrence Scott 2010