Sunday, April 20, 2014

Happy Easter!

Sleep Sleep old Sun, thou canst not have repast
As yet, the would thou took'st on friday last;
Sleep then, and rest; The world may bear thy stay,
A bett Sun rose before thee to day,
Who, not content to'enlighten all that dwell
On the earth's face, as thou, enlightened hell,
And made the dark fires languish in that vaile,
As, at they presence here, our fires grow pale.
Whose body having walk'd on the earth, and now
Hasting to Heaven, would, that he might allow
Himself unto all stations, and fill all,
For these three days become a mineral;
He was all gold when he lay down, but rose
All tincture, and doth not alone dispose
Leaden and iron wills to good, but is
Of power to make even sinful flesh like his.
Had one of those, whose credulous piety
Thought, that a soul one might discern and see
Go from a body, at this sepulcher been,
And, issuing from the sheet, this body seen,
He would have justly thought this body a soul
If not of any man, yet of the whole.
-John Donne, Resurrection, Imperfect

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Pappy's Poetry IV: Who am I? (April 18 1965)

I recently found some old papers, among them were a few poems written by my great-grandfather, Joseph William Taber Sr. I called him "Pappy," and count it among my greatest blessings that I got to know him. Because paper and ink fade, and because other family members may appreciate them, I've typed and uploaded them here.

Am I a trail blazer with a trail?
a prisoner with a jail.
a clown with a show.
a skier with a snow.
a scout with a hike.
a boy with a bike.
No, I know who I am, truly I do.
Im a carefree lad. Searching for you.

Am I a salty sailor, with a sea?
a hatter with a tea.
a cop with a beat.
a peddler with a street.
a banker with a bank.
a swimmer with a tank.
No, I know who I am, truly I do.
Im a happy young man. Who's found you.

Am I a snappy fly boy with a sky?
Simple Simon with a pie.
a barker with a stand.
a drummer with a band.
a captain with a ship.
a drover with a whip.
No, I know who I am, truly I do.
Im a lover in love with You.

Am I a soldier with a badge of glory?
a reporter with a story.
a peddler with a pack.
a gambler with a stack.
a driver with a car.
a wisher with a star.
No, I know who I am truly I do
I'm a young man, old man, happy man, married to You

your Joe

part 1part 2part 3;

Pappy's Poetry III: Limericks (Pitted Prune & Chicks and Hens)

I recently found some old papers, among them were a few poems written by my great-grandfather, Joseph William Taber Sr. I called him "Pappy," and count it among my greatest blessings that I got to know him. Because paper and ink fade, and because other family members may appreciate them, I've typed and uploaded them here.

Pity please the pitted prune, so sad and wrinkled he.
If you were treated so, sad methinks you too would be
     To have your stones removed,
     ere your manhood be proved,
Is a sad fate for man or prune, to this you must agree.

Women that go swimming with their bellies bared to view
displaying unashamed, all that remains, of the cord she grew.
     proving with Candor unmatched
     she was morn and not hatched,
So I do not know why they are 'chicks' and "Hens"; Do you?

part 1part 2part 4;

Pappy's Poetry II: What Of Hell and Where?

I recently found some old papers, among them were a few poems written by my great-grandfather, Joseph William Taber Sr. I called him "Pappy," and count it among my greatest blessings that I got to know him. Because paper and ink fade, and because other family members may appreciate them, I've typed and uploaded them here.

What of Hell and where?
Must we go or stay?
Is it here or there?
Point him out who can Say.

Where fires fiercly burn
Tormented Souls in a pit
slowly squirm and turn
like chickens in a spit?
Not the Hell I see.
Visions by morbitity inspired.
To suffer most must be
denied lifes most desired.

a garden bright with bloom.
a lake quiet and still
Sky as the weavers loom
changing as the hours will.

Shading trees mossy draped.
Song birds a feathered choir
a natural Cathedral shaped
To fill the Souls desire

part 1part 3part 4;

Pappy's Poetry I: We Live So Short a Time

I recently found some old papers, among them were a few poems written by my great-grandfather, Joseph William Taber Sr. I called him "Pappy," and count it among my greatest blessings that I got to know him. Because paper and ink fade, and because other family members may appreciate them, I've typed and uploaded them here.

We love so short a time
and let it so quickly pass us by,
We can not hold back the sands
no matter how we may try.
Much better we should of each
hour,a marker make along th eway.
That others through our good works
and deeds, remember us in their day.
So have you engraved upon the hearts
of all that have walked beside you.
A potrate of love,comfort,understanding
and courage of brightest hue.
The song bird,on a whispering breeze,
blends in harmony with angels above.
As I humbly lay this small gift
upon the alter of my love.

Love
Joe

part 2part 3part 4;