My Brother, Chuck
By Larry Linville
Things started out very well in my life.
For two year I was an only child.
A baby brother crashed my party --
And soon things turned pretty wild.
From the beginning he questioned all things.
When they said things were done a certain way
His questioning mind went into motion
And found something else he could say.
When he joined me at school with my record so good
He wasn’t going to clone my way
He had to make a name for himself
No matter what others would say.
Though we were different we came from good stock
Our parents gave both of us love.
We were nurtured by an unselfish couple
Who showed us respect from above.
He, because of his unique outlook ,
did things they said he couldn’t do
They laughed and said he will fail
But he stubbornly carried it through.
When you talk of self-made men in our day
There are not too many to see.
My brother, Chuck, is at the top of the class
And if you knew him you’d agree.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Jack Horner's Pie
Jack Horner’s Pie
By Larry Linville
“What a good boy am I,” he said.
Are we sure he was telling it right?
We don’t even know when he’s eating,
was at morning, or noon, or at night?
If he was so good, we can wonder
why in the corner he sat.
Was he there because he was punished
for his eating that was making him fat?
It could be that he was in hiding
so his eating would never be seen.
Maybe he’d eaten at mealtime
and had the pie in between.
The pie had been baked for Christmas
and shouldn’t have been eaten alone.
When the family finished the main course
was the dessert mysteriously gone?
His parents weren’t very happy
for the gallon of milk that he drank.
They decided together that they’d give him
his very own Chrismas spank.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
“What a good boy am I,” he said.
Are we sure he was telling it right?
We don’t even know when he’s eating,
was at morning, or noon, or at night?
If he was so good, we can wonder
why in the corner he sat.
Was he there because he was punished
for his eating that was making him fat?
It could be that he was in hiding
so his eating would never be seen.
Maybe he’d eaten at mealtime
and had the pie in between.
The pie had been baked for Christmas
and shouldn’t have been eaten alone.
When the family finished the main course
was the dessert mysteriously gone?
His parents weren’t very happy
for the gallon of milk that he drank.
They decided together that they’d give him
his very own Chrismas spank.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
I'm The One Who Carried The Cross
I wrote a first person sermon in 1968. It is Simon of Cyrene talking to his 2 sons about his visit to Jerusalem and the experience of carrying the cross. The congregations have wanted to hear it over and over again. This year I tried to put it to poetry.
Warning --- it's long.
I’m the One Who Carried the Cross.
By Larry R. Linville.
Luke 23:24-26
Hurry! Hurry! Come and sit down – I have a special story.
So special it is that I hurried home to tell you.
It was late when I left for my Passover trip
Hurrying only made me later.
With Jerusalem in view my head was spinning,
With all the things to get done.
One more interruption.
Is it a parade?
Traffic jam near Golgotha
Like I really need that now.
Elbowing through the crowd I saw a strange sight
A man badly beaten
Worse than I’ve ever seen in all of my life.
He was carrying a cross, what can this mean?
“Oh, Ananias,” I shouted to a godly Pharisee, “what is going on?”
“This guy says he’s the son of God!
He said that to the court.”
“You traitor” I shouted.
“You hypocrite!”
“You’re getting what you deserve.”
As I continued shouting – I’m not sure what I said,
He collapsed right at my feet.
I wanted to kick him.
“Pick up that cross!” a soldier barked.
I hated to hear those words.
He should have to carry it himself!
An order I had receive, an order I must obey.
Impatience and anger were filling my heart,
as I moved the cross from his shoulder to mine.
The atmosphere was electric as I brushed against his skin,
His blood dripped upon me
And I recalled our forefather long ago
Who were freed from Pharoah’s prison
By the blood of the lamb on the doorposts.
Our faces were inches apart
And his eyes peered into mine.
I’ll never forget what that stare did to me
I could see he wasn’t a violent man.
Those eyes seemed to forgive me for the terrible words,
I had screamed at him
And they told me he forgave me – for I didn’t know what I said.
Love flowed from his eyes like water from a spring.
It flooded my heart and made me feel very special.
I forgot my busy schedule and concentrated on the now.
Love surrounded in a way I’ve never experienced.
He said I could show that very same love to others
Because God would give it to me.
He spoke to me all the way up that hill.
I felt like it was only to me.
I should have been comforting him but he was making me calm.
He said it’s better to give to those you love than to try to make them change.
And when you are persecuted God gives you strength.
So I asked about my life – you know I have something lacking.
“All you lack is sharing God’s love with others.” He said.
I didn’t know what he meant at first – but I’m beginning to learn.
When our goal is just to keep the law – the law becomes our obsession.
When we love people – our obsession is people.
Many special things happened on that trip.
I tasted his suffering and his pain – as if it was happening to me.
It was as if those nails were driven in my hands and feet.
I struggled for each breath with him.
Loneliness – oh such a pain!
The friends he was so close to were watching from afar.
Shouting and hurled rocks and spit were all around.
Hate was greater than I’ve ever seen.
You could feel in the air – it was so intensified.
A scapegoat he had become.
While I carried the cross the fantasy became so real.
This wasn’t a game anymore.
When I first yelled at him, I shouted at a thing.
But after I had met him, I had a new view.
I knew that so much religion is only just a game.
When we pray, God is just an object to hear selfish talk.
God is a handy outlet for our wishes.
I think I knew how Moses felt when he met God in a bush.
And Jacob must have felt the same while wrestling God all night.
This is not a toy and certainly not a hobby.
It’s not a side interest for my spare time and spare money.
It’s not a punch line to get a laugh.
That reality that filled me changed me from the start.
I even spoke to Uriahs – for the first time in ages.
And you know, I really meant it as we hugged and shed tears of relief.
By the way, I didn’t tell who this special person was.
His name was simply “Jesus.”
He was a Nazareth carpenter’s son.
Born in Bethlehem in lowly barn.
But more important than parents of home town,
He allowed God very presence to live in him.
I’m not the only one with this thought as we stood at the cross.
A soldier shook in his boots as he said, “This, truly, is the son of God.”
I have so much to learn but I’ll make it I am sure.
It’s too much to accomplish at once.
When they drove that first nail in his hand anger exploded again.
I reached for my knife to take them all on
But he looked at me with those eyes.
And I felt so small, but he seemed to say,
“It’s alright!”
He loved them, yes, he loved them, as they put him to his death.
I have so far to go.
Your’re wondering why I am telling you this.
Simple, it’s so simple, boys.
He died on that cross for me and for you.
He wanted to show us a better way.
Anyone can hate others --loving enemies is something new.
He did this so we might have faith when we are knocked down.
We can get up and try loving again.
He did this for us.
Can we simply keep it for ourselves?
He did this not only for us, but for all of the people of earth.
He did this for Jews, and Romans and Greeks.
We are not to keep this great love that I felt – we’re supposed to pass it around.
Another great lesson I learned is so real.
While I hurried at my hectic pace, A cross was given to me.
I wasn’t consulted to see if the time was right.
If we picked the time of our cross, we would say, “some other time.”
And if the time was ours to choose
We’d next want to pick the size and the weight and the convenience.
Crosses have come to us already, my sons,
When your mother was ill for so long.
When the people at the synagogue had their petty spats
And they tried to get the rabbi involved.
We tried to be peacemakers, we made a good choice.
When we carry our cross and troubles arise
God give us a helper.
That’s what I was.
A helper in his time of need.
When we carry our cross, that’s all God can ask.
When we stumble, a helper is there.
Let me say one more thing before I lie down.
I know that my sins helped kill this great man.
But I also know that by the power of God, I was his helping hand.
You boys can help him carry that cross.
When you do it, you will be ready it’s true,
When the unexpected cross is placed upon you.
“Must Jesus bear his cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there’s a cross for everyone,
And there’s a cross for me.”
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Warning --- it's long.
I’m the One Who Carried the Cross.
By Larry R. Linville.
Luke 23:24-26
Hurry! Hurry! Come and sit down – I have a special story.
So special it is that I hurried home to tell you.
It was late when I left for my Passover trip
Hurrying only made me later.
With Jerusalem in view my head was spinning,
With all the things to get done.
One more interruption.
Is it a parade?
Traffic jam near Golgotha
Like I really need that now.
Elbowing through the crowd I saw a strange sight
A man badly beaten
Worse than I’ve ever seen in all of my life.
He was carrying a cross, what can this mean?
“Oh, Ananias,” I shouted to a godly Pharisee, “what is going on?”
“This guy says he’s the son of God!
He said that to the court.”
“You traitor” I shouted.
“You hypocrite!”
“You’re getting what you deserve.”
As I continued shouting – I’m not sure what I said,
He collapsed right at my feet.
I wanted to kick him.
“Pick up that cross!” a soldier barked.
I hated to hear those words.
He should have to carry it himself!
An order I had receive, an order I must obey.
Impatience and anger were filling my heart,
as I moved the cross from his shoulder to mine.
The atmosphere was electric as I brushed against his skin,
His blood dripped upon me
And I recalled our forefather long ago
Who were freed from Pharoah’s prison
By the blood of the lamb on the doorposts.
Our faces were inches apart
And his eyes peered into mine.
I’ll never forget what that stare did to me
I could see he wasn’t a violent man.
Those eyes seemed to forgive me for the terrible words,
I had screamed at him
And they told me he forgave me – for I didn’t know what I said.
Love flowed from his eyes like water from a spring.
It flooded my heart and made me feel very special.
I forgot my busy schedule and concentrated on the now.
Love surrounded in a way I’ve never experienced.
He said I could show that very same love to others
Because God would give it to me.
He spoke to me all the way up that hill.
I felt like it was only to me.
I should have been comforting him but he was making me calm.
He said it’s better to give to those you love than to try to make them change.
And when you are persecuted God gives you strength.
So I asked about my life – you know I have something lacking.
“All you lack is sharing God’s love with others.” He said.
I didn’t know what he meant at first – but I’m beginning to learn.
When our goal is just to keep the law – the law becomes our obsession.
When we love people – our obsession is people.
Many special things happened on that trip.
I tasted his suffering and his pain – as if it was happening to me.
It was as if those nails were driven in my hands and feet.
I struggled for each breath with him.
Loneliness – oh such a pain!
The friends he was so close to were watching from afar.
Shouting and hurled rocks and spit were all around.
Hate was greater than I’ve ever seen.
You could feel in the air – it was so intensified.
A scapegoat he had become.
While I carried the cross the fantasy became so real.
This wasn’t a game anymore.
When I first yelled at him, I shouted at a thing.
But after I had met him, I had a new view.
I knew that so much religion is only just a game.
When we pray, God is just an object to hear selfish talk.
God is a handy outlet for our wishes.
I think I knew how Moses felt when he met God in a bush.
And Jacob must have felt the same while wrestling God all night.
This is not a toy and certainly not a hobby.
It’s not a side interest for my spare time and spare money.
It’s not a punch line to get a laugh.
That reality that filled me changed me from the start.
I even spoke to Uriahs – for the first time in ages.
And you know, I really meant it as we hugged and shed tears of relief.
By the way, I didn’t tell who this special person was.
His name was simply “Jesus.”
He was a Nazareth carpenter’s son.
Born in Bethlehem in lowly barn.
But more important than parents of home town,
He allowed God very presence to live in him.
I’m not the only one with this thought as we stood at the cross.
A soldier shook in his boots as he said, “This, truly, is the son of God.”
I have so much to learn but I’ll make it I am sure.
It’s too much to accomplish at once.
When they drove that first nail in his hand anger exploded again.
I reached for my knife to take them all on
But he looked at me with those eyes.
And I felt so small, but he seemed to say,
“It’s alright!”
He loved them, yes, he loved them, as they put him to his death.
I have so far to go.
Your’re wondering why I am telling you this.
Simple, it’s so simple, boys.
He died on that cross for me and for you.
He wanted to show us a better way.
Anyone can hate others --loving enemies is something new.
He did this so we might have faith when we are knocked down.
We can get up and try loving again.
He did this for us.
Can we simply keep it for ourselves?
He did this not only for us, but for all of the people of earth.
He did this for Jews, and Romans and Greeks.
We are not to keep this great love that I felt – we’re supposed to pass it around.
Another great lesson I learned is so real.
While I hurried at my hectic pace, A cross was given to me.
I wasn’t consulted to see if the time was right.
If we picked the time of our cross, we would say, “some other time.”
And if the time was ours to choose
We’d next want to pick the size and the weight and the convenience.
Crosses have come to us already, my sons,
When your mother was ill for so long.
When the people at the synagogue had their petty spats
And they tried to get the rabbi involved.
We tried to be peacemakers, we made a good choice.
When we carry our cross and troubles arise
God give us a helper.
That’s what I was.
A helper in his time of need.
When we carry our cross, that’s all God can ask.
When we stumble, a helper is there.
Let me say one more thing before I lie down.
I know that my sins helped kill this great man.
But I also know that by the power of God, I was his helping hand.
You boys can help him carry that cross.
When you do it, you will be ready it’s true,
When the unexpected cross is placed upon you.
“Must Jesus bear his cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there’s a cross for everyone,
And there’s a cross for me.”
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Time Out
Since I began my blog
I have provided a poem each day.
Sometimes more than one.
I'm caught up now.
It is my goal to have something new each day
except when I'm out of town
like this week when I go to Annual Conference.
It's Memorial Day and I'm leaving town within the hour.
There may be no visitors to the blog anyway
because of the holiday.
This is a good break in my schedule.
When I return, I will be concentrating
on my last month as a pastor of a church.
on my preparation to be a police chaplain.
on my personal spiritual growth
which never ends.
I have given thanks this morning
for those military who sacrificed for my freedom.
Especially, for my uncle Wilbur.
But I also have prayed that our leaders
rather than concentrating of a "war czar"
would conentrate on a "peace czar."
I pray that we follow the methods of Jesus
who went about doing good
who talked about peace
who resisted force
while spreading love.
I have provided a poem each day.
Sometimes more than one.
I'm caught up now.
It is my goal to have something new each day
except when I'm out of town
like this week when I go to Annual Conference.
It's Memorial Day and I'm leaving town within the hour.
There may be no visitors to the blog anyway
because of the holiday.
This is a good break in my schedule.
When I return, I will be concentrating
on my last month as a pastor of a church.
on my preparation to be a police chaplain.
on my personal spiritual growth
which never ends.
I have given thanks this morning
for those military who sacrificed for my freedom.
Especially, for my uncle Wilbur.
But I also have prayed that our leaders
rather than concentrating of a "war czar"
would conentrate on a "peace czar."
I pray that we follow the methods of Jesus
who went about doing good
who talked about peace
who resisted force
while spreading love.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Led By The Spirit
Led By the Spirit
By Larry Linville
“all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.” Romans 8:14
Happiness comes from God’s spirit.
I think that’s what Paul has said.
We need to watch and wait for Him
And we’ll be spirit led.
We’re part of Jesus’ family
It’s not something for which we pled.
We’re heirs – not something that we earn
So we are all spirit bred.
We need to be nurtured
And feast on the daily bread.
The spirit grows within us
As we are spirit fed.
If we fail to be in His presence
And live our life in deep dread.
There’s little he can do to help us
Because we are spirit dead.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
“all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.” Romans 8:14
Happiness comes from God’s spirit.
I think that’s what Paul has said.
We need to watch and wait for Him
And we’ll be spirit led.
We’re part of Jesus’ family
It’s not something for which we pled.
We’re heirs – not something that we earn
So we are all spirit bred.
We need to be nurtured
And feast on the daily bread.
The spirit grows within us
As we are spirit fed.
If we fail to be in His presence
And live our life in deep dread.
There’s little he can do to help us
Because we are spirit dead.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
To Brittany
When you write a poem for one granddaughter, you can't ignore the other. This poem is for the younger of my two granddaughters.
Brittany
By Larry R. Linville
Before you could express yourself you seemed to say
“stay away old man!”
In envy, I watched as other held you
When you were forced into my hands
You let them know that was not a part of your plans
I tried to never let it show
How I ached to hold you close
Then one day out of the proverbial blue
This old man seemed to matter to you
We laughed together just like I had dreamed
Your laughter is different than what I expected
Never a loud roar
Always that special way
A slightly tilted mouth
And a twinkle in your eye
It was always at its highest moment
As you watched closely when we ate
The eyes sharply looking for the food on my plate
Anticipation and expectation on your face
Knowing that before long
A spot would appear on my shirt
At that moment
Your inward roar erupted
And you once again pointed
The baby who would not give me the time of day
Had her own very special way to play
Now you are getting tall
Your talents are emerging
You are like a springtime flower
That has moved from bud to flower
I don’t yet know what kind of flower you will be
But your special smile
Will color every petal
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Brittany
By Larry R. Linville
Before you could express yourself you seemed to say
“stay away old man!”
In envy, I watched as other held you
When you were forced into my hands
You let them know that was not a part of your plans
I tried to never let it show
How I ached to hold you close
Then one day out of the proverbial blue
This old man seemed to matter to you
We laughed together just like I had dreamed
Your laughter is different than what I expected
Never a loud roar
Always that special way
A slightly tilted mouth
And a twinkle in your eye
It was always at its highest moment
As you watched closely when we ate
The eyes sharply looking for the food on my plate
Anticipation and expectation on your face
Knowing that before long
A spot would appear on my shirt
At that moment
Your inward roar erupted
And you once again pointed
The baby who would not give me the time of day
Had her own very special way to play
Now you are getting tall
Your talents are emerging
You are like a springtime flower
That has moved from bud to flower
I don’t yet know what kind of flower you will be
But your special smile
Will color every petal
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Let Me Brag
I learned today that my poem, "Mystery Odor" has been featured in the most recent issue of the Comedy Newsletter. This newsletter is a part of the Writer.com website. I was greatly surpised and very pleased to receive this word.
If I shouldn't brag, I'm sorry.
If it's OK to brag----WHEEEEEE!
Larry
If I shouldn't brag, I'm sorry.
If it's OK to brag----WHEEEEEE!
Larry
Lessons From Goldilocks
Lessons from Goldilocks
by Larry Linville
Let’s review the case of Goldilocks
That girl of Mother Goose fame.
Her careless little antics
Help give blondes a bad name.
We don’t know how old she was.
She was surely over two.
But we do know she was not at home
and doing what she shouldn’t do.
You don’t walk into some else’s house
Even if you’ve knocked on the door.
Furthermore, she was in the woods
Where she’d never gone before.
The bears were not without their faults
They have to share some blame.
Why did they leave cooked porridge
To tempt this little dame?
They should have locked the house
Before going on their walk.
But they didn’t, and she entered.
They have no room to talk.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
by Larry Linville
Let’s review the case of Goldilocks
That girl of Mother Goose fame.
Her careless little antics
Help give blondes a bad name.
We don’t know how old she was.
She was surely over two.
But we do know she was not at home
and doing what she shouldn’t do.
You don’t walk into some else’s house
Even if you’ve knocked on the door.
Furthermore, she was in the woods
Where she’d never gone before.
The bears were not without their faults
They have to share some blame.
Why did they leave cooked porridge
To tempt this little dame?
They should have locked the house
Before going on their walk.
But they didn’t, and she entered.
They have no room to talk.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
To Bethany
One of my earlier poems. This one is for my oldest granddaughter. She is a sophomore and I wrote this after watching her a concert with the Wichita Youth Symphony. Am I proud?
To Bethany
Larry R. Linville
Peek-a-boo, I see you
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake baker man
Playing games and watching you laugh
Laughing, laughing until the hiccups begin
Pushing you in your swing
Watching you with your learning wheels
Softball, soccer, basketball, and band
There’s always the laughter but I don’t hear hiccups anymore
As I watch you in high school performance
Performing with the best in the state
Your training wheels are no longer needed
Pat-a-cake would be too childish these days
My pride at what you have become overwhelms me
My emotions flood
At one moment wanting to play peek-a-boo
Carry that little child again
The next moment I see not only the accomplished youth
But I see the potential of what you will become
Old memories are great
Present reality is so wonderful
The future – a treasure yet to be opened.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
To Bethany
Larry R. Linville
Peek-a-boo, I see you
Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake baker man
Playing games and watching you laugh
Laughing, laughing until the hiccups begin
Pushing you in your swing
Watching you with your learning wheels
Softball, soccer, basketball, and band
There’s always the laughter but I don’t hear hiccups anymore
As I watch you in high school performance
Performing with the best in the state
Your training wheels are no longer needed
Pat-a-cake would be too childish these days
My pride at what you have become overwhelms me
My emotions flood
At one moment wanting to play peek-a-boo
Carry that little child again
The next moment I see not only the accomplished youth
But I see the potential of what you will become
Old memories are great
Present reality is so wonderful
The future – a treasure yet to be opened.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Country Music Puzzles Me
Country Music Puzzles Me.
By Larry Linville
How can a country singer have a name like Urban.
If he lived in the middle-east, would he wear a turban?
Why does a white singer have a last name of Black?
Is it an explanation for what reason seems to lack?
How can a man named Paisley dress in colors drab
Instead of having wild colors to make him look so fab?
And when the Thunder Rolls and Garth’s world get shook
Can he still be in low places with a last name like Brooks?
If Carrie sang a song while on a stage she stood
Can she still take the wheel and be Underwood?
If Willie went to wrestling and a Bar-B-Que
would he be a full Nelson when he was through?
If these other names are backward can we really wait
to see if that singer named George is really Strait?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
How can a country singer have a name like Urban.
If he lived in the middle-east, would he wear a turban?
Why does a white singer have a last name of Black?
Is it an explanation for what reason seems to lack?
How can a man named Paisley dress in colors drab
Instead of having wild colors to make him look so fab?
And when the Thunder Rolls and Garth’s world get shook
Can he still be in low places with a last name like Brooks?
If Carrie sang a song while on a stage she stood
Can she still take the wheel and be Underwood?
If Willie went to wrestling and a Bar-B-Que
would he be a full Nelson when he was through?
If these other names are backward can we really wait
to see if that singer named George is really Strait?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Mystery Odor
Mystery Odor
By Larry Linville
I spend much time in my study.
It’s a family room as well.
It’s right next to the basement
And I’ve sensed a musty smell.
I’ve tried to find where it comes from.
Perhaps from this rainy spring.
I’ve checked everything in that basement
And I haven’t found a stinkin’ thing.
Then I started to smell it
Away from the basement below.
My nose captures that essence
No matter where I go.
I think I have solved the old problem.
I think I know what to say.
It comes from that new deodorant
That I spray on every day.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
I spend much time in my study.
It’s a family room as well.
It’s right next to the basement
And I’ve sensed a musty smell.
I’ve tried to find where it comes from.
Perhaps from this rainy spring.
I’ve checked everything in that basement
And I haven’t found a stinkin’ thing.
Then I started to smell it
Away from the basement below.
My nose captures that essence
No matter where I go.
I think I have solved the old problem.
I think I know what to say.
It comes from that new deodorant
That I spray on every day.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Monday, May 21, 2007
The Duct Tape Bible
The Duct Tape Bible
By Larry Linville
He carries a paperback Bible.
It’s well used there’s no doubt.
Pages are bent and dog eared
And it has book marks all about.
The outside colors have faded much.
Duct tape holds the cover together.
It appears it’s the only Bible for him.
There cannot be any other.
It didn’t get this way sitting on the shelf.
It’s from preparing for Sunday School.
This has worn it inside and out.
And in it’s own way, it looks so cool.
What shape is your Bible today?
Does it on your coffee table stay?
Or is it something you reach for
At the beginning of every day?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
He carries a paperback Bible.
It’s well used there’s no doubt.
Pages are bent and dog eared
And it has book marks all about.
The outside colors have faded much.
Duct tape holds the cover together.
It appears it’s the only Bible for him.
There cannot be any other.
It didn’t get this way sitting on the shelf.
It’s from preparing for Sunday School.
This has worn it inside and out.
And in it’s own way, it looks so cool.
What shape is your Bible today?
Does it on your coffee table stay?
Or is it something you reach for
At the beginning of every day?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Twinkling Star Visits Again
The well has been getting dry. I'm working on a couple of poems, but they aren't ready yet.
You may remember the "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" a few weeks ago. I saw the star again and came up with this poem.
Twinkling Star Visits Again
By Larrry Linville
I think I saw you again, O star
You are so far away
I saw you first in March
And now it’s almost May.
I know it had to be you
Out in that great beyond
Your brightness was in the same spot
As, again, I went to my john.
If it weren’t for those late night trips
I might have never seen you
And wondered – I just wondered
If you were looking at me, too.
Will I see you again, my friend
Or will you move away?
If this is my last time with you
A part of you will stay.
Are you like people in my day
Whom I see only once or twice.
And give the greatest gift to me --
Variety – the spice of life.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
You may remember the "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" a few weeks ago. I saw the star again and came up with this poem.
Twinkling Star Visits Again
By Larrry Linville
I think I saw you again, O star
You are so far away
I saw you first in March
And now it’s almost May.
I know it had to be you
Out in that great beyond
Your brightness was in the same spot
As, again, I went to my john.
If it weren’t for those late night trips
I might have never seen you
And wondered – I just wondered
If you were looking at me, too.
Will I see you again, my friend
Or will you move away?
If this is my last time with you
A part of you will stay.
Are you like people in my day
Whom I see only once or twice.
And give the greatest gift to me --
Variety – the spice of life.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Hair Standing UP
Since I wrote about my little dog yesterday, I might as well share an earlier poem which she inspired.
Hair Standing Up
By Larry R. Linville
The hair stands up on her back.
No, she’s not an ugly woman,
She is my dog.
She doesn’t do it when she’s scared
Or bored
Or happy.
She only does it when she’s angry.
She barks at the dogs next door
When they get too close to our lawn.
What makes that hair stand up?
Is it a chemical reaction?
Is it bad for her health?
When I see what anger does to humans
I can only wonder if it’s good for my dog.
When you get angry
And you bark out bad words
And you try to run others away.
Just picture your self
With hair standing up on your back
And see if that’s what you want
To have happen to you.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Hair Standing Up
By Larry R. Linville
The hair stands up on her back.
No, she’s not an ugly woman,
She is my dog.
She doesn’t do it when she’s scared
Or bored
Or happy.
She only does it when she’s angry.
She barks at the dogs next door
When they get too close to our lawn.
What makes that hair stand up?
Is it a chemical reaction?
Is it bad for her health?
When I see what anger does to humans
I can only wonder if it’s good for my dog.
When you get angry
And you bark out bad words
And you try to run others away.
Just picture your self
With hair standing up on your back
And see if that’s what you want
To have happen to you.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Friday, May 18, 2007
My Startled Dog
It was so funny. My dog was outside the windown and I called her name.
Oh, let's let the poem tell it.
My Startled Dog
By Larry Linville
My dog was just outside my house.
With window opened, she was near.
As I spoke she looked up suddenly,
So I knew that she could hear.
She heard me call her name,
Looked up and saw a bug
at the moment it flew away
and she only gave a shrug.
If she could talk
I’d have heard her say,
“Oh, my daddy
Just flew away!”
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Oh, let's let the poem tell it.
My Startled Dog
By Larry Linville
My dog was just outside my house.
With window opened, she was near.
As I spoke she looked up suddenly,
So I knew that she could hear.
She heard me call her name,
Looked up and saw a bug
at the moment it flew away
and she only gave a shrug.
If she could talk
I’d have heard her say,
“Oh, my daddy
Just flew away!”
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Jesus Ascended
This Sunday's sermon will be about Jesus ascending in Acts 1:1-11. I wrote this poem as I prepared.
Jesus Ascended
By Larry Linville
Jesus ascended.
The disciples watched.
They kept looking up after he was gone.
Two men in robes
stood by their sides.
“Why do you stand looking up?”
They said to go
to Jerusalem
to worship and to pray.
We are like them.
We stand looking up
when we should be looking ahead.
If they kept looking up
and hadn’t prayed
they’d not been ready when the Spirit came.
If we worship
we’ll be prepared
for our own special Pentecost.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Jesus Ascended
By Larry Linville
Jesus ascended.
The disciples watched.
They kept looking up after he was gone.
Two men in robes
stood by their sides.
“Why do you stand looking up?”
They said to go
to Jerusalem
to worship and to pray.
We are like them.
We stand looking up
when we should be looking ahead.
If they kept looking up
and hadn’t prayed
they’d not been ready when the Spirit came.
If we worship
we’ll be prepared
for our own special Pentecost.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Has-Been Preacher
Has-Been Preacher
By Larry Linville
I’m a preacher who’s been retired for nearly four long years.
It seems I’m really only known by that big group of my peers.
Things continue well – like they did when I was there
When the young ones hear my name they look at me and stare.
I met a young vibrant preach that I’d never met before
And we spoke to each other as we stood inside the door.
He told me what his name is and then just was he does.
I said -- I’m just an old has-been who really never was.
If success could be symbolized by a great big wooly beard.
My accomplishments were much less and really kind of weird.
My ministry might more accurately be like some peachy fuzz
I’m just an old has-been who really never was.
I know I did a lot of things that touched some people’s life
I joined them in the good times and helped in time of strife.
I’ve helped young preachers who now are quite a buzz.
So I shouldn’t feel like a has-been who really never was.
I think I’ve been too good at putting myself down
I may never have ruled the city but was a big man in my town.
I know I’ve done the things that some would think is odd
But I guess I’m a has-been who’s a still-been to my God.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
I’m a preacher who’s been retired for nearly four long years.
It seems I’m really only known by that big group of my peers.
Things continue well – like they did when I was there
When the young ones hear my name they look at me and stare.
I met a young vibrant preach that I’d never met before
And we spoke to each other as we stood inside the door.
He told me what his name is and then just was he does.
I said -- I’m just an old has-been who really never was.
If success could be symbolized by a great big wooly beard.
My accomplishments were much less and really kind of weird.
My ministry might more accurately be like some peachy fuzz
I’m just an old has-been who really never was.
I know I did a lot of things that touched some people’s life
I joined them in the good times and helped in time of strife.
I’ve helped young preachers who now are quite a buzz.
So I shouldn’t feel like a has-been who really never was.
I think I’ve been too good at putting myself down
I may never have ruled the city but was a big man in my town.
I know I’ve done the things that some would think is odd
But I guess I’m a has-been who’s a still-been to my God.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
From Customer Support To Brother In Christ
From Customer Support to Brother in Christ
By Larry R. Linville
My life goes into panic mode
When my computer doesn't work.
I know it's filled with demons
Which destroy my thinking.
So with my shaking fingers
I called for technical support
“This call is being monitored”
“Select the number”
I don’t know what number.
Now I have that soft music
Will I be able to understand him?
Oh, the music stopped
I’m going to finally talk to a human
Wow, his accent isn’t bad
I wonder how my accent is to him?
My name should be Smith – Linville is so hard to spell.
I can understand his question so I don’t sound technically stupid --
At least not too much.
Oops, I let him know I’m a minister!
How about that – he’s studying to be one too.
He’s starting and I’m concluding
But we already have this sense of oneness
He’s trying so hard to learn how to remember all that Bible stuff
So here’s how I did Sunday’s sermon.
I hope that was helpful.
You know I have a friend that I’ve never seen
A person who also feels God’s call.
Thank you, God, for starting my day on such a high note!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R. Linville
My life goes into panic mode
When my computer doesn't work.
I know it's filled with demons
Which destroy my thinking.
So with my shaking fingers
I called for technical support
“This call is being monitored”
“Select the number”
I don’t know what number.
Now I have that soft music
Will I be able to understand him?
Oh, the music stopped
I’m going to finally talk to a human
Wow, his accent isn’t bad
I wonder how my accent is to him?
My name should be Smith – Linville is so hard to spell.
I can understand his question so I don’t sound technically stupid --
At least not too much.
Oops, I let him know I’m a minister!
How about that – he’s studying to be one too.
He’s starting and I’m concluding
But we already have this sense of oneness
He’s trying so hard to learn how to remember all that Bible stuff
So here’s how I did Sunday’s sermon.
I hope that was helpful.
You know I have a friend that I’ve never seen
A person who also feels God’s call.
Thank you, God, for starting my day on such a high note!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Monday, May 14, 2007
To Nicole
A very special young lady graduated from high school yesterday. Her mother lived with us back in the 80's when she was an exchange student from Mexico. After returning to Mexico, Irene was courted by a fine young Trenton boy and later they were married and returned to Trenton. Nicole is their daughter. We weren't close to her until she fought a major battle with an illness and was in and out of the North Kansas City hospital.
So, you see, she's like a granddaughter to me --- and such a beautiful young woman. I wrote this poem on the way home from a visit to Trenton in March.
To Nicole
By Larry R. Linville
My blood does not flow in your veins.
You have none of my DNA.
When I saw you the first few times in your life
You were only the daughter of someone special to me.
We did not see each other enough to be friends
And you probably wondered “who are these strange people?”
When you were much older you opened a very strange box
Or was it a “mixed bag”?
It brought you much suffering and pain.
Nausea stirred your delicate insides
And the chemo took your beautiful hair.
You had to miss much school
And lie around in a bed.
Not the kind of thing you would want to find in a box.
But the bag was mixed
It brought our paths back together again.
You had the opportunity to get to know those strange people
And we got to know you.
Each time you were brought to our neighborhood
We began to build a relationship that became special.
As the treatments were over
And your beautiful hair returned
The uncomfortable and the inconvenient
Were placed back in another box.
You have become such a beautiful young lady
Who has dreams
And plans
And new joys.
But there’s something we cannot put back in that box or bag
I wouldn’t want to try.
That child of someone who was special to me
Has become special in her own way.
The blood and DNA deny
What my heart celebrates with great joy.
My granddaughter – Nicole.
So, you see, she's like a granddaughter to me --- and such a beautiful young woman. I wrote this poem on the way home from a visit to Trenton in March.
To Nicole
By Larry R. Linville
My blood does not flow in your veins.
You have none of my DNA.
When I saw you the first few times in your life
You were only the daughter of someone special to me.
We did not see each other enough to be friends
And you probably wondered “who are these strange people?”
When you were much older you opened a very strange box
Or was it a “mixed bag”?
It brought you much suffering and pain.
Nausea stirred your delicate insides
And the chemo took your beautiful hair.
You had to miss much school
And lie around in a bed.
Not the kind of thing you would want to find in a box.
But the bag was mixed
It brought our paths back together again.
You had the opportunity to get to know those strange people
And we got to know you.
Each time you were brought to our neighborhood
We began to build a relationship that became special.
As the treatments were over
And your beautiful hair returned
The uncomfortable and the inconvenient
Were placed back in another box.
You have become such a beautiful young lady
Who has dreams
And plans
And new joys.
But there’s something we cannot put back in that box or bag
I wouldn’t want to try.
That child of someone who was special to me
Has become special in her own way.
The blood and DNA deny
What my heart celebrates with great joy.
My granddaughter – Nicole.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Grampy
My mother's father was a special guy -- although we weren't around him as much as my father's father. He has still influenced my life.
Grampy
By Larry Linville
My Grampy was always a stranger to me
His vagabond nature made him rare to see.
He and Grammy dropped in once in a while
But they didn’t stay long—then they left with a smile.
He was jack of all trades and master of none.
But his stories all claimed he was number one.
A newspaper man without a Pulitzer prize
But he claimed he had one without blinking his eyes.
With trumpet in hand he made the great claim
That he invented jazz --but he never had fame.
He wrote many marches and led many bands
But when his help was needed he had injured his hands.
When we asked him to prove his great claims about jazz
We said we hadn’t heard it and nobody has.
He said “you can look it up in the book.”
Then walked away with his smug little look.
When he started his stories we sat back in doubt.
With a smile on each questioning face.
We knew he was lying but he said it so well
As he loudly presented his case
It finally hit me – how he influenced my life
At first I just took a wild stab.
Now I’m convinced from the depth of my heart
He gave me the great gift of gab.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Grampy
By Larry Linville
My Grampy was always a stranger to me
His vagabond nature made him rare to see.
He and Grammy dropped in once in a while
But they didn’t stay long—then they left with a smile.
He was jack of all trades and master of none.
But his stories all claimed he was number one.
A newspaper man without a Pulitzer prize
But he claimed he had one without blinking his eyes.
With trumpet in hand he made the great claim
That he invented jazz --but he never had fame.
He wrote many marches and led many bands
But when his help was needed he had injured his hands.
When we asked him to prove his great claims about jazz
We said we hadn’t heard it and nobody has.
He said “you can look it up in the book.”
Then walked away with his smug little look.
When he started his stories we sat back in doubt.
With a smile on each questioning face.
We knew he was lying but he said it so well
As he loudly presented his case
It finally hit me – how he influenced my life
At first I just took a wild stab.
Now I’m convinced from the depth of my heart
He gave me the great gift of gab.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Sitting Alone
Sitting Alone
By Larry R. Linville
I sit here alone.
No one to share a kind word
Or even discuss a topic
neither of us knows much about.
The TV is boring.
The programs are all the same.
The news never changes.
Someone’s always complaining
Or arguing
Or trying to be funny.
So I sit at the computer.
I send out my words.
And I wait for someone to respond.
Is my computer working?
Is the email broke down?
No message.
No response.
Perhaps I’m missing the message.
It’s not to be found setting here.
Why waste my time just sitting?
When, out there, is a person
Who is waiting and willing to talk?
Or perhaps someone needs my attention.
When I find them I’ll feel all refreshed.
Why wait for virtual excitement
When excitement is what fills the world?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry R. Linville
I sit here alone.
No one to share a kind word
Or even discuss a topic
neither of us knows much about.
The TV is boring.
The programs are all the same.
The news never changes.
Someone’s always complaining
Or arguing
Or trying to be funny.
So I sit at the computer.
I send out my words.
And I wait for someone to respond.
Is my computer working?
Is the email broke down?
No message.
No response.
Perhaps I’m missing the message.
It’s not to be found setting here.
Why waste my time just sitting?
When, out there, is a person
Who is waiting and willing to talk?
Or perhaps someone needs my attention.
When I find them I’ll feel all refreshed.
Why wait for virtual excitement
When excitement is what fills the world?
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Paper Clip
Paper Clip
By Larry Linville
A paper clip takes residence in the corner of my screen
When I work with my computer – it’s the strangest thing I’ve seen.
It's always hanging there and stares and rolls its eyes
And lifts those crazy eyebrows which look like some disguise.
It rolls its eyeballs back and forth and then stares straight ahead.
I turn the volume up but I can’t hear a word that’s said.
I wonder what it’s doing there – it’s been there now for days
Does it have a purpose more than the stupid gaze?
Once I saw it drive a way on its little motorbike
But I don’t know what I did to make it take that hike.
And what’s that legal pad upon which it stands?
How’s it supposed to help me when it clearly has no hands?
It’s purpose, as I understand, is to answer what I ask
But when I wrote this poem inside, it went into a trance.
I guess I’ll quit worrying – I’ll have to let it be.
For after all I’ll never know if it’s a she or he.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
A paper clip takes residence in the corner of my screen
When I work with my computer – it’s the strangest thing I’ve seen.
It's always hanging there and stares and rolls its eyes
And lifts those crazy eyebrows which look like some disguise.
It rolls its eyeballs back and forth and then stares straight ahead.
I turn the volume up but I can’t hear a word that’s said.
I wonder what it’s doing there – it’s been there now for days
Does it have a purpose more than the stupid gaze?
Once I saw it drive a way on its little motorbike
But I don’t know what I did to make it take that hike.
And what’s that legal pad upon which it stands?
How’s it supposed to help me when it clearly has no hands?
It’s purpose, as I understand, is to answer what I ask
But when I wrote this poem inside, it went into a trance.
I guess I’ll quit worrying – I’ll have to let it be.
For after all I’ll never know if it’s a she or he.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
The Song of the Wren
The Song of the Wren
By Larry Linville
The avian choir sounded weak with the snow.
With the greening of grass the choir starts to grow.
Sparrows and Blue Jays had sounded so plain.
Prettier sounding bird returned with the rain.
The robin, her refrain gave background so strong
but something is missing ‘til the wren comes along
Her song is so special, it touches my heart
And no other bird can match her sweet part.
She works to prepare the cute little gourd
I had hung from a tree with a strong little chord.
All day long she brings things to add to her nest.
It seems that she never takes time for a rest.
It must be so tedious, so slow and so hard
to build her cute little home in my yard.
She can’t take the time, even though it be brief
But her sweet little song seems to bring her relief.
With the hatching of family things still go so fast
As she moves into her next demanding task.
She brings bits of food for them all day long
and announces each feeding with her sweet little song.
When her babies have grown and tried out their wings
she watches their efforts and sweetly she sings.
And when the very last offspring has gone
She has taught them to sing that beautiful song.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
The avian choir sounded weak with the snow.
With the greening of grass the choir starts to grow.
Sparrows and Blue Jays had sounded so plain.
Prettier sounding bird returned with the rain.
The robin, her refrain gave background so strong
but something is missing ‘til the wren comes along
Her song is so special, it touches my heart
And no other bird can match her sweet part.
She works to prepare the cute little gourd
I had hung from a tree with a strong little chord.
All day long she brings things to add to her nest.
It seems that she never takes time for a rest.
It must be so tedious, so slow and so hard
to build her cute little home in my yard.
She can’t take the time, even though it be brief
But her sweet little song seems to bring her relief.
With the hatching of family things still go so fast
As she moves into her next demanding task.
She brings bits of food for them all day long
and announces each feeding with her sweet little song.
When her babies have grown and tried out their wings
she watches their efforts and sweetly she sings.
And when the very last offspring has gone
She has taught them to sing that beautiful song.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Where I Came In
Where I Came In
Larry Linville
Back so many years ago
a movie was called a picture show.
You got your ticket and took your seat
and you could watch a movie and see it repeat.
This was nice when you got there late
after it ended you just had to wait.
Time was given for people to go
and you could just sit there and see the next show.
Those who arrived after the first start
could sit there – and later depart.
As they left, they’d say with a grin,
“I’m leaving – this is where I came in.
"Born after Pearl Harbor – raised during Korean War
Viet Nam dominated my college days – and more.
When the Berlin Wall came down
a smile replaced my life-long frown.
Peace became the rallying cry
but it ended abruptly and now more people die.
I wish it was a new picture show – and I just got there late
and I have been here for so long, I shouldn’t have to wait.
I wish the show on the screen wouldn’t run again
or I can leave and say – this is where I came in!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work
Larry Linville
Back so many years ago
a movie was called a picture show.
You got your ticket and took your seat
and you could watch a movie and see it repeat.
This was nice when you got there late
after it ended you just had to wait.
Time was given for people to go
and you could just sit there and see the next show.
Those who arrived after the first start
could sit there – and later depart.
As they left, they’d say with a grin,
“I’m leaving – this is where I came in.
"Born after Pearl Harbor – raised during Korean War
Viet Nam dominated my college days – and more.
When the Berlin Wall came down
a smile replaced my life-long frown.
Peace became the rallying cry
but it ended abruptly and now more people die.
I wish it was a new picture show – and I just got there late
and I have been here for so long, I shouldn’t have to wait.
I wish the show on the screen wouldn’t run again
or I can leave and say – this is where I came in!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Let Them Eat Cake
Let Them Eat Cake.
By Larry Linville
The queen and her crowd go to the Derby
and spend money like it’s going out of style.
While very near are the homeless and hungry
who struggle to put on a smile.
Let them eat Cake!
Hats which speak of days long ago
have changed at the least little whim.
Not far away a blue collar man is working
to feed those who depend on him.
Let them eat cake!
The White House hosts a fancy state dinner
which costs the tax payers a wad.
While hungry children cry themselves to sleep
as they call out for help from their God.
Let them eat cake!
The gap between poor and wealthy is big
it gets bigger with each passing year.
We say its OK – no need to change
for the truth they don’t want to hear.
Let them eat cake!
If Jesus were to speak to us today
as he did to the people before.
He’d tell us our own well-being
depends on how we treat the poor.
Don’t make them eat cake!
He would ask us to help them meet all their needs.
Good job, education and help to survive.
When we help them secure what they need to succeed
so they are feeling fully alive.
Then – and only then – let them eat cake!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
The queen and her crowd go to the Derby
and spend money like it’s going out of style.
While very near are the homeless and hungry
who struggle to put on a smile.
Let them eat Cake!
Hats which speak of days long ago
have changed at the least little whim.
Not far away a blue collar man is working
to feed those who depend on him.
Let them eat cake!
The White House hosts a fancy state dinner
which costs the tax payers a wad.
While hungry children cry themselves to sleep
as they call out for help from their God.
Let them eat cake!
The gap between poor and wealthy is big
it gets bigger with each passing year.
We say its OK – no need to change
for the truth they don’t want to hear.
Let them eat cake!
If Jesus were to speak to us today
as he did to the people before.
He’d tell us our own well-being
depends on how we treat the poor.
Don’t make them eat cake!
He would ask us to help them meet all their needs.
Good job, education and help to survive.
When we help them secure what they need to succeed
so they are feeling fully alive.
Then – and only then – let them eat cake!
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Monday, May 7, 2007
All-American Zoo
All-American Zoo
By Larry Linville
I went to the All-American Zoo today.
So many animals had gathered to play.
Wal*Mart was printed all over the place.
Action was running at a feverish pace.
As I entered, I saw some old people in blue
They were so friendly and greeted me too.
The animals I met were all in such a rage
I don’t know when they escaped from their cage.
To see a rhino was where I wanted to go
And he filled the aisle and traveled real slow.
In his hurry the elephant lost his long list
But thanks to his memory, nothing was missed.
A pair of hyenas was parked in the aisle
They stood with each other and laughed for a while.
A giraffe had an advantage that wasn’t for me
The things on the top shelf were easy to see.
Some of the animals had all of their young
When I got to a corner, out one of them sprung.
In fear, I started to run from the door
And would you believe, there were two more?
It said it was Walmart but it must be a zoo
There were monkeys and apes and gorillas, too.
I quickly checked out from this super market.
I wonder how different is would be at Target.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
I went to the All-American Zoo today.
So many animals had gathered to play.
Wal*Mart was printed all over the place.
Action was running at a feverish pace.
As I entered, I saw some old people in blue
They were so friendly and greeted me too.
The animals I met were all in such a rage
I don’t know when they escaped from their cage.
To see a rhino was where I wanted to go
And he filled the aisle and traveled real slow.
In his hurry the elephant lost his long list
But thanks to his memory, nothing was missed.
A pair of hyenas was parked in the aisle
They stood with each other and laughed for a while.
A giraffe had an advantage that wasn’t for me
The things on the top shelf were easy to see.
Some of the animals had all of their young
When I got to a corner, out one of them sprung.
In fear, I started to run from the door
And would you believe, there were two more?
It said it was Walmart but it must be a zoo
There were monkeys and apes and gorillas, too.
I quickly checked out from this super market.
I wonder how different is would be at Target.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
A Spotted Dog Story
It's Sunday morning.
I'm ready to go to church and will be giving my all to lead the worship.
I need a little silly relaxation first.
So here's a poem with absolutely no message -- it's just for fun.
A Spotted Dog Story
By Larry Linville
The dalmation
In the fire station
Greatest dog in the whole nation
Entered the contest in anticipation
Leading to great expectation
Which quickly became a celebration
The culmination
Of great determination
Announced on the local TV station.
Award will be received while on vacation
At an undetermined destination
In a rare situation
This poem has no explanation
It is poetic deterioration
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
I'm ready to go to church and will be giving my all to lead the worship.
I need a little silly relaxation first.
So here's a poem with absolutely no message -- it's just for fun.
A Spotted Dog Story
By Larry Linville
The dalmation
In the fire station
Greatest dog in the whole nation
Entered the contest in anticipation
Leading to great expectation
Which quickly became a celebration
The culmination
Of great determination
Announced on the local TV station.
Award will be received while on vacation
At an undetermined destination
In a rare situation
This poem has no explanation
It is poetic deterioration
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
I'll Show You Mine, If You'll Show Me Yours
This title is to catch your attention, but the material is not what you think. Come on in and take a view.
I’ll Show You Mine, If You’ll Show Me Yours
By Larry Linville
Two poets sit at a table discussing their mutual art.
How they work at their craft and speak from the heart.
One tells of a poem she has penned -- the other his poem so fine.
When they finished promoting their personal work -- One says,
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
Two parents are talking of their daughter and son.
They brag of all of the things each brilliant child has done .
One goes for the billfold a photo to find.
“You show me your and I’ll show you mine.”
They read from two different Bibles – which really isn’t odd.
The spiritual things they discuss lead them both to God.
They avoid the issues which cause faith’s detours
And simply say, “I’ll show you mine if you show yours.”
We’re placed in this world to find the secrets of life
To help us to live through the troubles and strife.
It’s the depth of our talking and not what we say
That will give us the treasures we need for today.
Talking is good as far as it goes – but it’s limited that is true.
Words can be taken the wrong way and distort another’s view.
Giving a picture gets the message across better than a printed line.
So if you show me yours, I promise I’ll show mine.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
I’ll Show You Mine, If You’ll Show Me Yours
By Larry Linville
Two poets sit at a table discussing their mutual art.
How they work at their craft and speak from the heart.
One tells of a poem she has penned -- the other his poem so fine.
When they finished promoting their personal work -- One says,
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
Two parents are talking of their daughter and son.
They brag of all of the things each brilliant child has done .
One goes for the billfold a photo to find.
“You show me your and I’ll show you mine.”
They read from two different Bibles – which really isn’t odd.
The spiritual things they discuss lead them both to God.
They avoid the issues which cause faith’s detours
And simply say, “I’ll show you mine if you show yours.”
We’re placed in this world to find the secrets of life
To help us to live through the troubles and strife.
It’s the depth of our talking and not what we say
That will give us the treasures we need for today.
Talking is good as far as it goes – but it’s limited that is true.
Words can be taken the wrong way and distort another’s view.
Giving a picture gets the message across better than a printed line.
So if you show me yours, I promise I’ll show mine.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Friday, May 4, 2007
Saved From Or Saved For
Saved From or Saved For
By Larry Linville
“Are you saved?” they ask in a confronting voice.
“Will you go to heaven when you die?”
Why are they obsessed with these questions –
And do nothing to help people live now?
We can answer all their questions
And get baptized with the proper wetness
And put our names on the “books”.
But we can still be just as dead in our heart.
What do they believe about this life we live today?
Does living only come to us when we die?
Don’t they think that God loves it –
When we do our living now?
Feeding the hungry and helping the sick –
Clothing the naked and hearing those who are alone –
Washing the feet and giving cold water.
Being a servant – like Jesus was.
Could they help us so much more
By surrounding us with life.
And replace all their judging
With the gift of caring love.
The kind of love Jesus showed us
When he walked upon this earth.
Then we will live with fullness
In the days before our death.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
“Are you saved?” they ask in a confronting voice.
“Will you go to heaven when you die?”
Why are they obsessed with these questions –
And do nothing to help people live now?
We can answer all their questions
And get baptized with the proper wetness
And put our names on the “books”.
But we can still be just as dead in our heart.
What do they believe about this life we live today?
Does living only come to us when we die?
Don’t they think that God loves it –
When we do our living now?
Feeding the hungry and helping the sick –
Clothing the naked and hearing those who are alone –
Washing the feet and giving cold water.
Being a servant – like Jesus was.
Could they help us so much more
By surrounding us with life.
And replace all their judging
With the gift of caring love.
The kind of love Jesus showed us
When he walked upon this earth.
Then we will live with fullness
In the days before our death.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Higher Power
Higher Power
By Larry Linville
What is meant by the term “higher power”?
Is it geographic as we point above?
Is it someone “out there” so far away
Or someone so close we can love?
Could we mean a power with more authority?
With more wisdom or judgment than we?
Is it like the next court to whom we appeal
For understanding of what we see?
How does this rank with some lower power –
Which drags us down from below?
Does it make things look good which really are not
And make our progress go slow?
When that higher power becomes real to you
And moves into your heart to reside.
You must move that power from above
And place it deep inside.
With that power deep inside your heart
Compassion is easier to find.
It permeates all the thoughts of your day
And helps your attempts to be kind.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
By Larry Linville
What is meant by the term “higher power”?
Is it geographic as we point above?
Is it someone “out there” so far away
Or someone so close we can love?
Could we mean a power with more authority?
With more wisdom or judgment than we?
Is it like the next court to whom we appeal
For understanding of what we see?
How does this rank with some lower power –
Which drags us down from below?
Does it make things look good which really are not
And make our progress go slow?
When that higher power becomes real to you
And moves into your heart to reside.
You must move that power from above
And place it deep inside.
With that power deep inside your heart
Compassion is easier to find.
It permeates all the thoughts of your day
And helps your attempts to be kind.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Prayer Request
No poem today -- at least for now. I want to take time to request your prayers. From the time I started preaching 47 years ago, I always felt God was leading me. I think God has done a good job of putting me where I could best use my talents. God has even done this through the itinerant system of the United Methodist Church!
When I decided to retire four years ago, it seemed right. Now I have decided that it's OK with God for me to give up the church I have been serving. Although I will miss them, I know that God approves.
It was with great surprise that the door has been opened for me in my next step in ministry. It is not something I have sought -- it came after me. I feel good about it. I think God will use my talents in a new and different way.
On July 1, 2007 I will become the Chaplain of the Pleasant Valley Police Department. Can you believe it? It was offered. I prayed about it. I've said "yes." Pleasant Valley has not had a chaplain before, so I will be setting up a program that I will pass to someone else someday. This is a part time job with a group of men and women who are dedicated to protecting our community. I hope to be able to be a listening ear for them when they need such an ear. In fact, I will even use both ears.
Here's where you come in. I will have the next couple of months to prepare myself for this task. One of the most important parts of the preparation is prayer. I ask you to join me in praying that God will help me be prepared for this important ministry.
Thank you.
When I decided to retire four years ago, it seemed right. Now I have decided that it's OK with God for me to give up the church I have been serving. Although I will miss them, I know that God approves.
It was with great surprise that the door has been opened for me in my next step in ministry. It is not something I have sought -- it came after me. I feel good about it. I think God will use my talents in a new and different way.
On July 1, 2007 I will become the Chaplain of the Pleasant Valley Police Department. Can you believe it? It was offered. I prayed about it. I've said "yes." Pleasant Valley has not had a chaplain before, so I will be setting up a program that I will pass to someone else someday. This is a part time job with a group of men and women who are dedicated to protecting our community. I hope to be able to be a listening ear for them when they need such an ear. In fact, I will even use both ears.
Here's where you come in. I will have the next couple of months to prepare myself for this task. One of the most important parts of the preparation is prayer. I ask you to join me in praying that God will help me be prepared for this important ministry.
Thank you.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Inappropriate Response
Inappropriate Response
By Larry Linville
Telephone rang – I said, “Hello.”
A woman spoke – she wasn’t human
I was listening to a machine.
She could save me some money.
Who doesn’t want to save?
Only 6% interest on my credit card.
Red flags were flying.
Is she phishing?
Does she want my identity?
My defenses stood up like quills on a porcupine.
“If you want to hear more, punch number nine”
Will they rip me off?
“If you want removed, punch eight.”
I learn – even if it’s slowly
So I punched that number eight.
“That was an inappropriate response” she said.
Selections were repeated.
One again I chose number eight.
One again – “an inappropriate response.”
As I ended this call I wondered
Is this like the messages of the church?
Do they choose the right words and right answers?
If they make the wrong choice do they lose?
How many people don’t say what we want
And we tell them they are inappropriate?
Is it the things that they say?
Or the way that they look?
Do they just not fit in?
Jesus always gave people a choice --
Even when they were wrong
He said, “you are not far from the kingdom..”
If his kingdom is to come as he said in that prayer
It won’t be done by controlling their thoughts.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work
By Larry Linville
Telephone rang – I said, “Hello.”
A woman spoke – she wasn’t human
I was listening to a machine.
She could save me some money.
Who doesn’t want to save?
Only 6% interest on my credit card.
Red flags were flying.
Is she phishing?
Does she want my identity?
My defenses stood up like quills on a porcupine.
“If you want to hear more, punch number nine”
Will they rip me off?
“If you want removed, punch eight.”
I learn – even if it’s slowly
So I punched that number eight.
“That was an inappropriate response” she said.
Selections were repeated.
One again I chose number eight.
One again – “an inappropriate response.”
As I ended this call I wondered
Is this like the messages of the church?
Do they choose the right words and right answers?
If they make the wrong choice do they lose?
How many people don’t say what we want
And we tell them they are inappropriate?
Is it the things that they say?
Or the way that they look?
Do they just not fit in?
Jesus always gave people a choice --
Even when they were wrong
He said, “you are not far from the kingdom..”
If his kingdom is to come as he said in that prayer
It won’t be done by controlling their thoughts.
© Copyright 2007 Larry Linville (UN: larrylinville at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved. Larry Linville has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work
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