And God Made the Rhinos

Could it possible be,
Far out in the universe deep,
In some obscure unknown corner
Of the depths of space unseen;
Could there be a star out there
In some unknown far galaxy,
With a planet going around said star
In an orbital distance mean,
That upon said planet's surface
A Rhino species could be?

And intelligent creatures they,
In their own peculiar way,
With civilization and trade
And cities and towns arrayed.

Bipeds they would be,
Standing upright on two feet,
With horn upon the forehead
Between the eyes with which they see.

What stories they would tell
Of Rhino wars and dangerous deeds,
Of Rhino loves lost and won,
What epic tales they would weave.

Could it be in that deep vastness
Beyond the outer space we see,
In some small corner of the Universe
The Rhinos live and love and dream?

(Copyright © October, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Well May the Heavens Weep

Well may the heavens weep
On such a day as this.
When such a one we loved so well
Is laid in the ground's abyss.

Well may the sky with tears drip down
For the one we so adored.
Oh death will not be so proud
On the resurrection morn.

(Copyright © October, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Christus Apollo (Excerpt)

In some far universal Deep
Did He tred Space
And visit worlds beyond our blood-warm dreaming?
Did He come down on lonely shore by sea
Not unlike Galilee
And are there Mangers on far worlds that know His light?
And Virgins?
Sweet pronouncements?
Annumciations? Visitations from angelic hosts?
nd, shivring vast light among ten billion lights,
Was there some Star much like the star at Bethlehem
That struck the sight with awe and revelation
Upon a cold and most strange morn?

On worlds gone wandering and lost from this
Did Wise Men gather in the dawn
In cloudy steams of Beast
Within a place of straw now quickened to a Shrine
To look upon a stranger Child than ours?

How many stars of Bethlehem burnt bright
Beyond Orion or Centauri's arc?
How many miracles of birth all innocent
Have blessed those worlds?

Excerpt from "Christus Apollo", I Sing The Body Electric by Ray Bradbury (1969)

Babylon

THE CHILD alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all’s poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He’s forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April’s glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.

(Robert Graves (1895–1985). "Fairies and Fusiliers". 1918)

Summer

The apex of its ascent now reached,
The sun begins its slow retreat.
Days slightly shorter start to be.
Summer flowers in riotous color we see.

An uncertain expectancy in the air,
While we enjoy the summer so fair.
Change the seasons must, they say,
But for now we enjoy this summer day.


(Copyright © July 1, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Another Little Boy

To my 3 year old Grandson Jorgen William Eggebroten,

Another little boy
Has come into our lives.
To watch him growing up
Gives us real delight.

A bundle of energy
He brings into our day.
With a torrent flood of words
To accompany his play.

He chases his big brother,
Both roaring with delight,
Tumbling and wrestling,
As they pretend to fight.

A delight it really is
To have another little boy.
May he in years ahead
Always bring us joy.

(J. William Newcomer © May 7, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Grandpa’s Little Boy

To my 1 and a half-year-old Grandson Tyrel Albert Eggebroten.

I finally got my little boy
I’d waited for so long.
With curly hair and happy face,
And in his heart a song.

So much he tries to tell us.
So much he has to do.
So lively and so pert
Is the smile he gives to you.

I finally got my little boy,
And thankful I will be.
My heart is filled with joy
For the boy God gave to me.

(J. William Newcomer © February 11, 2003. All rights reserved.)

Grandpa’s little Girl

To my 3-year-old Granddaughter Shauna Rose Eggebroten.

What are you thinking little girl?
In your little mind,
Behind those green-gray eyes,
Seeing the world so differently then I.

What pictures do you see?
And sounds do you hear?
So flooding your mind…
You put up walls, closing doors
To the deluge from outside …

Do you know we love you?
Can you cipher what we say?
Are there things you want to tell us,
But somehow you can’t explain?

We love you little girl.
In our lives you have a part.
Whatever comes your way,
You’re always in our heart.

(J. William Newcomer © February 11, 2003. All rights reserved.)

We Tell the Stories

We tell you the stories
So you will know
How it came to be.

We tell you the stories
So they not be lost
To collective memory.

You want to know why we are the way we are,
Or maybe you do not care.
We tell you the stories anyways;
You need to know we were there.

The things we saw with our own eyes
Have become now's history.
We tell you the stories,
And pray and hope,
Perhaps someday you will see.

(Copyright © April 2010. All rights reserved.)

A Dallas Street *

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Three shots rang out,
Clear and loud,
And the President
Was dead at our feet.

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Our lives were changed
And never the same
After the day
Of that dreadful deed.

Remember, remember,
That day in November
When on a Dallas street,
Our Nation assulted,
All the events that resulted;
The things
Since then we've seen.

(Copyright © April 2010. All rights reserved.)

* This is a take on the traditonal Guy Faulkes poem. Given what Guy Faulkes intended to do, I refuse to give him an apology...

On Traveling to Texas

First Day

The sun has rize.
The sun has set,
But we are not
In Texas yet.

If you wonder
Where we be,
We are in a state
Of Missouri.

Arrival

Through Oklahoma's snow and sleet;
Now we're in Texas, but where's the heat?

Heading back home.

The sun has rize.
The sun has set.
The state of Texas
We have left.

Through Oklahoma
We have gone,
And here in Missouri
Await the dawn.

This doggeral came out of a vacation trip to Texas in March, 2010. It is based on a little ditty I heard years ago, author unknown, that says "The sun is rize. The sun is set. Here we are in Texas yet."

Copyright © March 2010. All rights reserved

To Charlie Brown, B.B.

Why look at me Sir Charlie Brown?
Afraid your next meal may not be found?
With your tail a wagging back and forth,
Like Oliver Twist, “May I have more?”
Soulful brown eyes so sad to see,
Looking up while begging to me.

It was in the pound you were found,
And your health was most unsound.
The Vet we took you then to see,
(No dog from the pound is really for free.)
Doctored and nursed, you soon got well,
Such is the story we now can tell.

Rough life you have holding down the floor,
And chasing squirrels in the great outdoor.
Not one you’ve caught if the tale be told,
While up in the trees it is you they scold,
With your Beagle nose to the ground,
Running like a maniac all around.


A brainless Beagle you always will be.
(Any you have is in your nose you see.)
Why we got you I don’t really know,
But here you are, living in my home.
Man’s best friend you’re suppose to be,
And a friend you have become to me.




Copyright © December 2006. All rights reserved.

The Wood-pile

OUT walking in the frozen swamp one grey day
I paused and said, “I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther—and we shall see.”
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went down. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather—
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled—and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year’s snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year’s cutting,
Or even last year’s or the year’s before.
The wood was grey and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labour of his axe,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

This is one of my favorites from Robert Frost.

Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

(William Wordsworth. 1770–1850)

We had to learn this poem for a high school literature class. For the rest of my life the words of the first stanza have remained etched in my memory. As a postscript, I should mention my mother was the teacher of that literature class. No, I did not get any special favors...

Sheer Joy

We will race through the streets of gold,
Running for the sheer joy and delight.
We will romp and play in the meadows of grass in the garden of God,
Playing tag among the trees of life by the river of the water of life.
We will laugh for joy, being little children once again;
Un-wearied in our play.

Quiet times there will be too.
Just sitting and contemplating the glory of all,
Communing in soul and spirit
With looks of the heart, understanding one another
In perfect peace and communion.

In seeing our delight and joy,
Our peace and happiness,
His smile will be upon us;
We, His children in whom He delights and joys.
We will love Him perfectly with heart and soul,
And the imperfect love we have here for one another
Will be perfected there forever;
A joy unspeakable and full of glory.

( May 13, 2000. Copyright © May 2000 all rights reserved.)

The Story

Creation

In the beginning all was well
With the world new and fresh.
Unspoiled by death’s rot,
Untainted by evil’s breath.

Harmony in all creation
Dwelling in peace and joy
Existing in praise and song
And holy adoration.


Fall

Pride the first sin
Of the fallen arch-angel,
With hate and malice he brings
Into this perfect creation.

Fatal choice our parents make,
Those created in His image.
Now death shadows the earth.
Death infects their lineage.


Redemption

Early promise made;
A proto-evangel.
A bitten heel;
A crushed head;
A promise of redemption.

A perfect Lamb of God;
A sacrifice for sinners..
A cross, an empty tomb,
Resurrection and ascension.


Consummation

Seven seals
Seven trumpets,
Seven vials of wrath.
Vengeance is Mine says the Lord.
Judgment comes at last.

A New Heavens;
A New Earth;
A New creation singing.
Tears are wiped away;
Joy is everlasting.

(September, 2008. Copyright © 2008, All rights reserved.)

Theology Constrained

How can we fully know You?
Though what we know is truth,
Being glimpses You let us see of You.
Beyond our finite measure,
Unbound by feeble mind of man,
Reasoning and logic fail
The whole of You to unveil.

In eternal glory
When freed from curse and sin,
We finite still will be
In light of Your infinity,
As we bow in humility
With reverent awe and love.

Now dimly through a glass we see,
One day we’ll see more perfectly,
Yet in all of eternity
We’ll never fathom all of Thee
For You alone are God.

(Copyright © March 10, 2003. All rights reserved.)

The Bridges

To where do the bridges go?
The ones in my dreams
That arc high into the sky
To a far off place I can see
Only indistinctly,
But a place that beckons to me.

When I go on those bridges,
Up those high arcs
That defy design.
Only so far can I go.
Vision fades. I awake.
What is over there
I do not know,
But in those dreams
To that place I must go.
To where do the bridges go?


(Copyright © Oct. 2008. All rights reserved.)

This Field

This field I trod upon.
This field I plowed.
This field I dragged and disked.
This field I cultivated and harvested.

I sunk my bare feet into it’s soil.
I watched
....It’s corn grow,
....It’s wheat turn golden,
....It’s soybeans ripen in the pod.
I mowed it’s hay.
I sweated under it’s sun.

Watched the rain soaked up by it’s cracked ground;
Watched the evening mists rise upon it;
Watched the snow driven by the wind over it’s stubble.

Seeing it’s fence line silhouetted against the moon;
With the stars glittering as diamonds
And pearls against the velvet night.

This field holding early years of my life;
This field where I worked, thought, prayed, laughed, wept.
This field, a part of my life not forgotten.
This field, a part of my heart and being.


(September 8, 1998, Copyright © 1998. All rights reserved.)

The Call of The Lake

I hear the Lake, it's calling
"Come North, Come North to me."
Wild, mysterious, it is calling;
Awesome, majestic, and free.

I've seen Erie and Ontario,
Michigan, Huron, and more;
But none match Lake Superior
Or its wild, wind swept shore.

I hear the Lake, it's calling,
In my heart I hear it's plea.
Mysteriously it's calling
"Come North, Come North to me."


(September 4, 1998. © 1998 All rights reserved.)

as though a goddess

It was as though you were a goddess,
Though I know you mortal be,
And both time and age
Will take their toll on thee.

A moment of beauty and youth,
As if a glimpse of eternity;
What may have been had not
Our parents eaten from the tree.

Time takes its toll on us all
In this broken world you see;
But in a brief moment of youthful beauty
Was a hint of earth redeemed.

(Copyright © 2009 All rights reserved.

(In this poem I am using the word "goddess" in the way I believe C.S. Lewis would have used it.)

Fragments

Fragments of each other’s life.
Some brief encounters here,
Brief conversations there.
Fragments and parts,
Hints of who we really are.
Impossible it is
To encompass the whole
Of each other’s life.
Like an incomplete puzzle
Gaping holes and pieces missing.
Our imagination left to fill in the gaps;
Often incorrect and incomplete.
We are left with only
The fragments of each other’s life we hold.
Fragments taken in prayer
To the One who knows the whole.
Prayer for one another
Springing from the fragments
Of each other’s life we hold.

(July 20, 1998, copyright © 1998, All right reserved.)

Lives Touching Briefly

Lives touching briefly,
Touching one another for a moment of time.
Passing on after that brief moment
To their separate ways;
Not always knowing
What has been left in each other’s heart.
Nor how deep such things can go,
Down into the very depths of soul.
Each living with choices each has made.
Each living the time Providence has gave.
Each to that duty to which God has called.
Very rare it is indeed
Such paths to cross again in life.
What is left is memory,
And that place deep down in the heart.
That longing for Eternity,
When all of His a heart ever loved
Are again together, to never part.

(May 30, 1998, copyright © 1998, All right reserved.)

Ghosts

They haunt the edges of memory;
Images floating through the mind,
Far back from long ago.
Some no longer breath.
If others do,
I do not know.

They lived and breathed
In my life at one time;
Passing acquaintances,
For a brief or longer moment
Our lives were once in-twined.

Then our separate ways we went,
By death or living providence;
Only memory to remain;
The ghosts of my life
Floating through my mind.


(Copyright © July 2009. All rights reserved.)

Seperate Paths

Many years ago it was,
The paths of our lives
Went along side by side,
Along the way God gave each to trod.
Part of each other’s life it seemed,
Sharing hopes and dreams
And other things that we believed.

I can remember though,
When in my mind I could see,
Our paths were to part to their separate ways.
Yours up the side of a mountain steep,
But I along a lower place
My path would take my feet.

And as I saw it in my mind,
It actually came to pass.
Our paths did part.
No more seen or heard.
Paths parting with hardly a word.

I often wondered over the years
How your path has been.
What joys, what tears,
What dreams and fears,
Your path to you did send.

I still have some confidence
One day before His glorious throne
Our paths will come together again.
As each of the paths He gave us to trod,
Will bring us to His Home.

(August 1, 1998, copyright © 1998, All right reserved.)

The Gloaming

How I love the gloaming,
The twilight of the day;
When the colors of the sky are faded,
Yet linger a while to stay.

The light in the west, it lingers,
Holding the darkness at bay.
And in it there is a promise,
Of a dawn of another day.

How I love the gloaming,
When the sun has finally set.
Yet it’s faint rays still glimmer
Far off out in the West.

It is a magic time of day,
Between the light and dark;
Just before the first star’s glimmer
The night begins to mark.

How I love the gloaming,
At the twilight of the day.
Mysterious and magical,
A precious time to pray.

(August 18, 1998. Copyright © 1998, All right reserved.)

Winter Earth

The earth lies silently
'Neath its blanket asleep.
The wind cuts raw and cold
Into the marrow deep.

Over open meadow;
Over woodland place;
Under its white blanket,
Quiet sleep upon its face.

Days begin to linger;
Sun's rays slanting steep,
Calling to the earth
Under its blanket fast asleep.

Promise of resurrection
In its bosom keeps,
As it lays beneath its blanket,
Dormant, dead, asleep.

(Copyright © February 2, AD 2001. All rights reserved.)

(I was looking through an old journal of sorts and found this poem I had written, but had never published. I thought it appropriate for this time of year.)

Days Gone By

I remember way back when,
A long, long time ago.
Young we were and off we went
Into the world to go.
Our paths went here.
Our paths went there,
Life did so quickly fly.
And now a lifetime latter,
We remember days gone by.

(Copyright © February 26, 2010. All rights reserved.)

Another Blog?

When Geocities died, I moved my poetry and stories to another venue. I'm not satisified that venue is giving my writing the wider visability I'd like it to have. I don't pretend this is great writing, but I want to share it with a potentialy wider audience. So here I am.

I'll be posting my own poetry as well as other poetry I enjoy.