March 16th, 2007 at 11:22 pm
(Occasions)
ere’s a little St.Patrick’s Day treat.
My sister sent me an article about a prayer composed bt St.Patrick in 433 AD. As usual, this inspired me to venture into my imagination and come back out trailing the following verses behind me.
Happy St.Patrick’s Day (and thanks, Sis. This was fun;-)
Leprechaun’s Visit
~ by Dave Franzwa
As I walked through the woods in the back of my mind
I spied a wee man `cross a glen
I’d met him before, and knew I was in store
for a tale, “Shamus, where have you been?”
He said, “David, me lad, it’s adventures I’ve had
I’ve a story to you, for to tell
won’t ye settle yer rump on this old walnut stump
and make ready to listen ye well?
You see, this was McGee, t’was a Leprechaun he
who’d been given the first name of Shamus
He had stature, this man, of the little folk clan
and by our mortal standards was famous.
Though large for his kind, I’m quite sure that you’ll find
and imagine with me you’ll agree
to look into his eyes, a short squat would be wise
because Shamus was just 2 foot 3
He related a story of old Irish glory
and of magically vanquishing foes
I could barely sit still for his words gave a thrill
and his voice with intensity rose.
T’was the tale of St.Patrick that wee Shamus told
to speak mercies of God and good will
to the king of the land, led his band, oh so bold
as the Druids lay ambush to kill.
Though they’d set up a snare, it would harm not a hair
as their deaths weren’t written that day
for dear Patrick aware, that the ambush was there
with his men knelt and started to pray
When they were done, they had victory won
as they knew that the Druids were pawns
with the shield of the Son, Druids saw nought but one
tiny doe and her family of fawns.
I bid Shamus good day, then turned back just to say
that I doubted if ere I could tell
the story of old and St.Patrick so bold
not like Shamus could, nary so well.
But Shamus McGee was nowhere to be found
so I went to the place I’d begun
what he’d told me about, left my mind with no doubt
even Leprechauns worship the Son.
Comments
March 14th, 2007 at 11:15 pm
(The Gift of The Poet)
ll my life I’ve had the gift
of setting verse to rhyme
And giving folks a needed lift
When ever I’ve had time.
Time’s surely one commodity
too precious just to waste
which happens when we fail to see
it vanish in our haste.
For years I’d pull my treasure chest
of talent gently out
and polish up the very best
I’d hide the rest for doubt.
Until one day, The Spirit said
relax and let it go
I’ll teach you not to use your head
to fathom what you know.
You may not know just what I mean
when I choose through you to write
for I target other hearts unseen
just waiting for the light.
Your spirit’s where creation starts
it’s there the dye is cast
go sow your seeds on others hearts
the harvest will be vast.
Since then I’ve not a single doubt
I believe whatever flows
was meant to speak to hearts about
what the spirit only knows.
Take time to smell the roses, friend
take time to spread some cheer
take time to write a card to send
take time to lend and ear.
These are the gifts that matter most
these are the ties that bind
by way of the spirit I bring this toast
seek good and the good you’ll find.
Comments
March 13th, 2007 at 10:09 am
(Meanderings)
s The Swashbuckler, there’s a fine line of distinction separating the 7-year-old in me from the, uum, from the somewhat older person that I am. (I watched “I Love Lucy” when it was prime-time 
At times, that line gets blurred to the point that you may not know who’s doing the writing…
The kid that I was/am, or me time-traveling as The Swashbuckler. Truth be told, it gets blurry for me sometimes.
There will be clues along the way, though. If I happen to mention something about saving a damsel in distress, and in the next breath say something about getting “cooties” from her, you can pretty much figure I was writing from a standpoint a little closer to the 7-year old.
As a lad, one of my favorite swashbucklers was…
Peter Pan!
He had some pretty nifty tricks he could perform that I was always just a little envious of. Flying, for instance. Although I didn’t think much of the idea that I’d have to wear skin-tight leotards in order to be a swashbuckler, I guess that even at the tender age of seven, I knew that sacrifices must be made.
Later on I would develop a more mature view of who I wanted to be like…
Superman!!
Crud. More skin-tight leotards. (Hmm?)
Anyway, Peter Pan was a favorite early on, until I found out that he was a she, at least in the Broadway version of the story.
It was a traumatic experience, finding out that one of my heroes, who was supposed to be a guy, was really a girl.
Now ladies, please don’t get me wrong, here. A few of my favorites back then (and now), were and are swashbucklerettes.
At least Annie Oakley wasn’t pretending to be a guy! And.. She could get away with saying she had to go save somebody in dis dress;-)
I got over my disappointment later on when I discovered that Mary Martin (aka Peter Pan) was also Larry Hagman’s mother.
You remember Larry, right? Capitain Tony Nelson of “I Dream of Jeannie” fame, aka J.R. Ewing of “Dallas?”
It was still traumatic, but I’m getting over it.
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