Poems by Rick W. Cotton

My dear wife studies Calculus.
She says it's fun; I think she's nuts.
She's solving x and y and z.
I struggle with just 1, 2, 3.
She's got these weird and strange equations,
Mathematical madness machinations,
Exponents and integers.
Not many brains are wired like hers.
She can do it, get solutions.
For me, page one is mass confusion.
Words are my thing, heaven knows,
And I can fling some witty prose.
I rhyme without the slightest reason.
Poems penned for every season,
But give me numbers? Oh, I'm lost!
My brain becomes a salad tossed!
So I'll just stick to poetry
And not advance past 1, 2, 3.
While Sweetie does her sums and graphs
And antiderivatives...just for laughs.

I'm getting older, nature deems.
I'm coming apart at the seams.
The things that never hurt before
Now multiply, make more and more.

My hair is thinning, or could it be
Just relocating here on me?
Down my back and out my ears
'Tis true! Oh horrid, horrid years!

My teeth were once all mine, oh, yes!
And stayed in place, in permanence!
And now, like stars, they're out at night
(And why do my pants fit oh so tight?)

My hawk-like vision has relented.
Glasses this has circumvented.
I can still see, more or less,
But down at the DMV.....I guess!

There are advantages, I'm told
To all us geezers getting old.
Like discount coffee, oh that's great!
(If we can get out of bed by eight.)

But still we soldier bravely on
And moan and groan with each new dawn.
For it's a good thing that we see
The grass from the side that still is green!

They gave us all a calendar
At work this afternoon.
Suddenly it dawns on me,
The year is ending soon!

Comes January, cold and gray.
The new year's just beginning.
And February, short and bright
With Valentine hearts winning.

Comes March, the windy roaring one
And warm the sun of spring.
Then April, bright of shining sky
And flowers blossoming.

Comes May, and school comes to a close
With children's happy laughter.
Then June, with open city pools
And picnics soon thereafter.

July comes booming with a bang
Of red-glared rockets blasting.
Then August lingers with its heat
That seems so...everlasting.

September, gold September comes.
The year is growing older.
October with sweet Halloween.
The nights grow dark and colder.

November smells of harvest,
Of turkey and Thanksgiving.
December comes with joy and light
To fill hearts of the living.

Each page I flip and see these things
Of days yet to come.
My calendar is a door to me,
An adventure just begun!

The deep blue says it is autumn.
The sky is never this color
Except for days of cool, clear breeze
And leaves falling one on another.

The gold leaves say the year is ending
In its wild-hued conflagration.
The gentle season of harvest time
And happy fall celebration.

The orange says Halloween's nearing
And Thanksgiving's not far behind.
The heat of the summer is waning fast,
And a peace fills my heart and mind.

The colors of fall are all calling,
And my heart hears their song so clear.
Gray wintertime waits, but let's all celebrate
The brilliance of this time of year!

You were there in ’41 when the bombs came raining down
And there in 1945 when victory came to town.
With ticker tape and bands and speeches, loud and raucous cheers,
We all gave thanks to You that day, some through stinging tears.

You were there in 1950 in a far-off frozen land.
At Inchon, at Pusan, wherever we made a stand.
And ’53, when peace came, the young men came back home,
You were there among them; they never fought alone.

In 1963, on a bloodstained Dallas street,
Flags everywhere at half-mast, a nation stunned in grief.
A tiny boy’s salute that brought us all to tears,
A solemn march to an eternal flame, yet You are still right here.

In ’68, in Memphis, on a hotel balcony,
You were in the heart of one who died to set his people free,
And Your voice was in the echo of a thundering broadcast.
Though one shall pay the price...all are “free at last.”

Through Vietnam, through Watergate, foundations of our land
Were shaken badly to the core, but You alone still stand.
Our innocence was lost it seems; why did You go away?
You never really left us; it was we who went astray.

In Munich, 1973, when evil raised its head,
Black-hooded assassins, eleven athletes dead.
Where is justice? Where is God? Why did they have to die?
Yet, Your voice, calm and quiet…"Be still…you’ll get by.”

September of 2001, need I even say.
The burning pain inside us upon that blackest day.
Satan laughing with delight at all the evil done,
But we, who were divided…rose again as one.

Why is it that we only think of You in time of need?
Are we so deaf and blind? Why can we not see?
And you, Osama, you great fool, if you really want changes done
Why can’t you follow Gandhi, and King….and Jesus….THEY all WON.

You were aboard Titanic, Lord, when she sailed out on the blue,
You were aboard Challenger, and on board Columbia too,
In a plane over Lockerbie, Scotland….in a London subway train.
Though evil swells from the depths of hell...in the end, You still reign.

I heard a verse long ago about footprints in the sand.
When the years are good, two sets of prints, we walk, Lord, hand in hand.
But darkness comes; we look behind, one set of prints we see.
These footprints are our history….the prints belong to Thee.