Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Looking to when I see Your face, and like a friend, feel your embrace.

Knowing then there is no more sin nor shame; no one else to blame.

Every tear gone away; knowing here is where I get to stay.

When I see Your face, full of grace

Your love abounds in this place

When I see Your face, full of grace

Your love abounds in this place

To me.

When You look at me, I feel Your grace.

No more need to roam. I know now I am home.

Every tear gone away; knowing here is where I get to stay.

When I see Your face, full of grace

Your love abounds in this place

When I see Your face, full of grace

Your love abounds in this place

To me.

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One day is not enough to say I love you.
Perhaps I should try and do.
But one day a year to say I love you,
Would not be enough, even with flowers, too.

One month is not enough to say I love you.
Even though there are cards and candy, too.
But one month only just won’t do.
One month is not enough to say I love you.

One year is not enough to say I love you.
No, no; one year just won’t do.
There’s not enough time to show you.
One year is not enough to say I love you.

Maybe a lifetime might do.
Yes, maybe a lifetime will do.
Everyday, every way, to say I love you.
From our early days to all the way through.

If a lifetime isn’t enough, there’s eternity, too!
Time without ending, a n’er ending view,
A lifetime partnership, just us two.
An eternity of sharing, me saying I love you.

With all my heart, I love you.
Time and time again will do,
Everyday, every way, eternity through,
Time without ending, just to say I love you.


c.20160214, for my wife, my forever Valentine.

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Old family photos
Wrinkled and faded with time
Old family photos
Faces staring back at me

Moments captured
Frozen faces from times gone by
Moments captured
Snippets of who they were once

Time held still, fixed on paper
Halides holding images of life
Souls stolen for a moment
Transfixed by lens and chemistry

Old family photos
Wrinkled bits of tin type
Sepia colors in washed out faces
Stuck and still until the flash subsides

Old family photos
People like you and me
Sitting or standing
Moments from their lives captured

So real yet untouchable
Imploring eyes rushed to make a moment
Sit here, look there, hold, flash, done
A family memory of their when now ours.

Robert Lee_Emmie Jewell_Snow_c.1925

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I am finished.
I ran my course.
I was obedient to the end.
I have satisfied my service.

A new adventure begins.
A new service elsewhere.
A new requirement asked.
A new testing of resolve.


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Uncertain futures
Creating lives in flux
Moments in time
Veiled in projection

All there is is now
One must do, one must do
Ever busy, ever busy
No forethought of outcome

Waving arms
Excited voices
Bold type-faced print
Uncertain tomorrows preached

Hope, what is that?
Words redefined
Lost meanings gone
Hope, no more than vapor

Tomorrow, not guaranteed
Today, one must do
Yesterday, consternations of the past
Past, future, the same in execution

Live, breathe, do
The moment passes
Faces blur
Deeds, best forgotten

With all that given
I press on
Uncertain futures
Certain in arrival

Do, decide, do
Best guess
Better than none
Try, fail, try, succeed

Go, do
What if
Why not
Maybe right

Uncertain futures
Decrying TV faces
Uncertain futures
Hopeless consternations

I persist
I do
In spite, to spite
What is there to lose?

Persist, I win.

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Too often we want what we want when we want it without regard for the actual time it takes to deliver what it is we want. I have seen this in business and in life in general. In an underfunded, understaffed, high demand work environment, the few remaining operational leaders are taking on more and more until all they have to do is work for the immediate demands of the next-level-up’s demands. The rest of life suffers, consequently. It is another side-effect of demand immediacy.

The printing press made it easier to spread ideas. Now if it is not printed with the highest quelity or with the rapidity of instant messaging, most will not read it at all.

The microwave and trivection ovens are the latest replacements for a cooking fire. What used to take days of preparation is now resolved in mere seconds by the push of a button. And some think that is too slow.

Here in the USA, like most high tech nations, many have become the ‘mircowave society.’ If it is not immediately resolved then it is taking too long! Wanting it now does not remove the fact of the reality that certain things take time. Some things are only resolved “in the fullness of time” – this is admittedly irritating, but none-the-less reality.

The same is true of God (YHWH Elohim of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob-Israel, Jesus, and me). Adherents and non-adherents make the same time demand on GOD. “Show us you are God and right now.” A bit on the arrogant side by us humans, don’t you think? Making that demand on the God of the Bible shows our amazing ignorance. The greatest chess-minds will tell you that though the objective is to take the opponent’s king there is required some ‘set-up’ to make that happen. Even so with GOD. Do note however, once the required set-up is made the initiation of activity comes on with the rush of a tidal wave – which means those who are paying attention take action; those who do not are inundated.

I think the message here is patience. Have patience. Be patient. Has God said? Will He not do?

Though the word God has given you seems to tarry, wait for it. It will surely come to pass.

Isaiah 40.31; 55.11
Jeremiah 29.11
Habakkuk 2.2

Special note:
This note does not take into account varying systems of belief. I am irreligious and Christian. By that I mean I know there is but one true god – the God of Israel. If you differ with that, you may. I will refer you to an essay I wrote regarding truth. Follow the link.
“Whatever Occupies the Mind”


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Containers and Jars
by Dave Doc Rogers
© 20091206

A rhythm beats across wood and hide
Strumming guitars ride the tempo
Notes picked on steel strings
Words hang in the air just a moment
As paint is swirled on blank canvas

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Poem: I Should Like To Write

By Dave “Doc” Rogers

© 20090322


I should like to write


‘Tis a proper English thing to say


I should like to write

A whimsical fancy, a childish foray


I awake from dreams of stories grand

Of adventures and quests, might of hand

Of perils and dangers, a hero’s stand

Pushing off bed my feet to floor land


I stumble to shower; heat, soap, wake

Dreams on hold, this the road I take

The office, the people, my heart ache

Reality hit, no time to make


The creative, delayed one more time

Swirling within, thought in mystic rhyme

Stories worth telling; to not, a crime

Dearest held at bay; pain felt, sublime


Money to be had, work is required

Labor in exchange, skill to be hired

Time given in compulsion now mired

Boards, the meets, the endless task list sired


To sit and retell stories well done

From rising to falling, the day’s sun

The pen and paper, my companion

Alone with my thoughts, working day one


I should like to write


‘Tis a proper English thing to say


I should like to write

A whimsical fancy, a life’s foray

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Urban … a poem
by Dave Doc Rogers
© 20090130

Gray and white sidewalks
Trees trapped within islands of dirt
Paper and glass pushed into corners
Grime coats everything

People huddle close
Flitting eyes glance
Hands clutch purses tighter
I walk by

Shuffling feet
A bum looks my way
Imploring eyes plead
I look away

Four hours in fluorescent
The massive herd escapes
Parks, benches, little tables
Coney, mustard, sauerkraut, two

Five hours in fluorescent
The hubbub wanes
Little clicks of keyboards
Lights switch off

Same drunken faces
Stained yellow with cigarettes
Non-talk and bad food
Waves and last nods g’night

Neon flares
Twitching light
Buzzing grows loud then wanes
I walk by

Corrogated hotels of cardboard
The destitute rich for a night
No one sees anyone
They all just walk by

Up the steps
Past one lock
Three flight walk up
Two locks I’m in

City street lights shine
Vacant eyes stare
Inebriated zombies stagger
People walk fast by slow moving cars

Staring out my window
One more butt
One more bottle
Time slips by

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What Does It Mean To Be A Writer?

By Dave Doc Rogers


[For a Writers Café contest bearing the same name]


A moment in time captured in thought

A word, an emotion, a feeling sought.

A temperate anvil beating words wrought

Imagination’s folly momentarily caught


Whither are we bound? Forested wood?

Boy under stair, turning bad for good?

One ring to rule them? Mystery brewed?

A lost car hunted. Friend crying, Dude!


What strikes the fancy to make one write?

To hunt for meter and rhythm tight?

Of structure and flow, continuous plight?

What does it mean making pains to write?


For some it is the expressive tone

For others it seems they are alone

For others they are picking at bone

For others still there are ideas sown


What does it mean to be a writer?

The weight of words to make one lighter?

The challenge of phrasing made tighter?

At the end, ‘tis not pen made mightier?

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