Reflections Of A Poetic Judge

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Reflections of a Poetic Judge

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Chapter One

Time Passages

Time together living, time together giving. The time passes away. Children grow needing, children grow believing. The time passes for play living together knowing two become one. Eternity together forever.

The One Who is Love

One who is love one who cares the most what a gift I have. One who rarely complains, one who bears with life and never stops giving of self. This is their secret of success, one who knows how to give happiness. The gift of God for me, Alice who is love to me.

On My Love

The year is many plus you and me. The friendship is all the time, companions are we. The memories grow for sure, God favors us before. The children have grown fast, and finding friends to last. What joy they bring each day, to you and me. Life with you is more than just many plus. With Him in our hearts, it lasts for all eternity. Reflections in our children and grandchildren, bond our love together. Through good times and sad; through feast, famine, and through all weather. The love is many plus and more.

Reflections on Years With You

Like the bouquet of Bordeaux wine, the aroma of woods of pine, I want you with me all the time.

Like the setting sun on a mountain lake, the vacation you love to take, the smells of your favorite foods you bake.

Like our children mobile in the field, the golden corn of life's yield, the smells of oranges freshly peeled.

It is the aging of love, that's new, each day a deeper love for you the tender touch, so true.

The lasting marriage time-tested, a long true love never bested like a comfortable bed, well rested.

With thanks for being you, and caring for me when I'm blue, and for the fun, warm times too.

Our children the Lord's gift, each moment a life changing lift while through life's treasures we sift.

Chapter Two

The Children's Yard

He came into my yard and said, "You ought to plant trees here, and put a fence near the shed."

He had no children, and failed to see games here with children running bases through.

He failed to hear the shouts, as self-styled umpires yell their opponent's batters out!

He failed to see the sleds run across the rolling hill right there, carrying red-faced children down!

Trees love their place, flowers too. Even well-manicured lawns, but this is a children's yard always, it's true.

Hand Marked Soap

Hand marks on the soap in that soap dish by the sink, tell the little boy story why the soap is dirty, I think. It was a son of mine out to play just a few hours in a rainy day. In he came, all soaking wet into the bathroom, soap to get dirt on his hands and stains from playing on the ground. I gladly wipe the soap dish clean, and cherish these days, clearly seen. For the boy will grow too soon, you see. and I will have lost a part of me. This is why I love hand marked soap. You'll love a boy like this, someday, I hope.

To My Children I Give

What I tried to give you was the sky painted blue or the sunlight of New Mexico painted on desert hue or the white snow reflected off Colorado Hill with the brush strokes on snow laden wherever it will.

What I tried to leave you was the love of this earthly life with all its pleasures, toils and strife.

What I tried to instill in you was the idea that work is fun, even under the stress of a noonday sun,

I wanted to show you the love of God's creation, seen in the rivers across the nation.

You see it in the cities, through its lights. You see it from the hillside pasture on the long, warm starlit summer nights.

What I tried to give you was my love, sometimes inadequately shown, but there, deeply imbedded in my bone.

What I tried to leave you was my time. Time of being with you as a father and time of being there as a friend.

And now as the hands of time bend, I see you grow into a lady, and a man. What can I give you, more than my love?

Our Children Growing-Up

In the stillness of the empty nest, my mind wonders to past times best, when our loving children filled our nest.

Their clothes hung across bedroom door, their soccer shoes across the bathroom floor, their playing toys on coffee table, the yard and more.

Their music sheets at parade rest on piano facing with pages pressed, echoes of little fingers playing songs at their best.

The echoes of their voices across the hall crying, "Mama, where's my one and all?" and when it's found, "Where's your crystal ball?"

So many questions: tell me, Mom and Dad, what is life? What will I do when I grow tall, and, please help me face life's stress and all.

The questions you answer challenge mind, when the parenting tires body and soul. Who would forgo children growing-up,

when children laughed, and filled your cup.

Compliments of a Father

Some have asked, "Why do you brag about your children?" I reach back into the far Recesses of my brain, To a quiet place, sensitive to pain. Years ago at age nine, my dad's compliments did end. That dark September day they buried him in the darkness under the broken ground.

No more the strong hand to guide, to encourage, correct and love, no more bragging rights around. Those young years when we need the father-friend to hug and love us more, as we grow around that living bend. Oh you see, my friend, when it came to me, a father to be to children, I had a crying need to say, "Well done."

I remember vividly the childhood days at ten, when in baseball, I tripled down the line in that little league field of mine. On reaching the base called third, I longed for just a word from Dad to say, "Great hit!"

Looking to the home field bleachers where the big man used to sit, I saw only a fading memory smile. So when as a father I sit beside the field, or in the audience at a school play, please permit my bragging rights to yield. I miss him, that man in the crowd, Who cheered me onto third and home, I must be there for them. Sometimes overzealous, bragging, Meaning well, all the same, I'll tell you, my friend, appreciate your kids, encourage them, be there for them among the crowd, never miss a game.

The Little Boy So Fair

There he is, standing there, a son of mine, the oldest, fair. At his side, a girl with golden hair, his chosen mate to share. Not too many days ago, a little boy, at my side, holding a toy so small, you bend down to him to play, and upon his question say the name of things he asks about, and then he turns to run and shout, even words I hoped would not come out, but wash with soap.

Now the sands of time wash by, and parents see the days fly. And when we turn around one fall, there he is, a son so tall. We know he's gone from a child to a young man of twenty and three, the little boy so fair, once I bounced upon my knee. This son I learned to love and know, a companion and friend now. And as I rocked him on my knee, I knew God graciously loaned him to me.

Looking back, remembering I told him once or twice, how with the other children playing to be nice. Now the finest young woman he met, has come to be friend, love and mate, with him to walk the road of life, soon to be man and wife. God gave him a beautiful bride, she is Julie, her husband's pride. how lovely she is, standing there, hugging my little boy with care. She is the finest woman a young man could find, now they walk with one mind.

Today, his Mom and I let him go, when recently he was in the crib, just so. We tucked him in to cover-up, that baby hair, and skin of buttercup, and lying in that crib, just so, not too many nights moons ago When our son takes his bride, he makes our hearts fill with pride.

I hope one evening time soon, a grandchild I can tuck by light of moon.

Seasons of a Boy

Remember, now, the boy of spring As he ran around the yard and fence Playing flashlight tag with all the rest, As they ran here and there, anew, Like preteen boys without any sense.

Remember, now, the boy of summer As he throws a curve, a hummer! Past the freckled lad of straw Whose name I think was Barry Shaw Like teenage boys in high school's wonder.

Remember, now, the boy of fall As he stands in city's building hall Working past the flashlight time As the business he runs so fine Like young man in post-college prime.

Remember now, the boy of winter As he sits in rocking chair Fast asleep at flashlight time As his business days are done Like an old man, his battles won!

When all the season's time is done He shall not have far to run.

A Family

A family starts from God above, who gives a man and woman love. Then the two become one, and God blesses them with a son.

Soon other children follow, sister, brother, and this family grows to love one another. What makes the family right for living is learning from God the gift of giving. Because loving one another is sharing, and loving each other begins by caring.

My First Grandson

One of life's great experiences and full joy is to behold and hold your son's boy. You lift him up and touch his face, behold this treasure of God's grace.

His skin so fair, and hair so soft, you feel grandfather-proud holding aloft this flesh of your flesh, this little boy, what wonder, what happiness, peace and joy.

He sits on your lap, you read him a book, brightly, tenderly, upon this face look. You hold him there within your grasp, wishing these tender moments would last,

The years go by and he grows so fast wishing renewal of the moment's past, savoring each word his mouth repeats you hear first words you watch him leap.

You dream for him a life so sweet, he calls "Grandpa" and you feel his heart beat.

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Excerpted from Reflections of a Poetic Judge by James J. Brown Copyright © 2010 by Hon. James J. Brown. Excerpted by permission.
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