Talk in Desert Willow Ward

 Talk given 9/12/21. Some of it is outlined and some written down.  If we want details I can provide them.  

9/11 memories Tabernacle Choir presentation

KRISTEN CHENOWITH

I believe there are angels among us Alabama song

When life held troubled times and had me down on my knees

There's always been someone to come along and comfort me

A kind word from a stranger to lend a helping hand

A phone call from a friend just to say I understand

But ain't it kind of funny at the dark end of the road

That someone lights the way with just a single ray of hope

[Chorus]

Oh I believe there are angels among us

Sent down to us from somewhere up above

They come to you and me in our darkest hours

To show us how to live to teach us how to give

To guide us with the light of love

[Bridge]

They wear so many faces show up in the strangest places

To grace us with their mercy in our time of need

There have been angels in my life, from a man who pulled me out of a creek when I had gotten stuck, or another who pulled me home when my father’s truck wouldn’t start to a dear friend Ken McNeil, who had a reputation for rescuing, from loaning a car to someone in need, to paying bail for a church member in jail after a car accident; and rescued me and my family when we were stranded at the airport in Philadelphia, because the car rental place did not want to take our debit card.  

And also a dear friend, who is actually my fourth cousin, Vern Wardle.  We did not know him until he moved into our ward in California.  He taught me about service, and about love.  He taught the three squeezes, four squeezes back.  This is three squeezes I love you, and four squeezes back I love you too.

As Jesus dined with his disciples at the Last Supper He said,

John 13:34 A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.

35 By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.

As I have loved you, with sign

Another primary song teaches an important lesson

I’ll Walk with You

If you don’t walk as most people do,

Some people walk away from you,

But I won’t! I won’t!

If you don’t talk as most people do,

Some people talk and laugh at you,

But I won’t! I won’t!

I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you.

That’s how I’ll show my love for you.

Jesus walked away from none.

He gave his love to ev’ryone.

So I will! I will!

Jesus blessed all he could see,

Then turned and said, “Come, follow me.”

And I will! I will!

I will! I will!

I’ll walk with you. I’ll talk with you.

That’s how I’ll show my love for you.

Jesus also taught at the last supper:  John 13: 15 For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you.

Water to wine

10 lepers

adulterous woman

man with palsy

issue of blood

Feeding the 5000 gospel of John 6, 5 loves and 2 fishes boy

Our journey through life is based on People helping people: everyone in their turn, sometimes the giver and sometimes the receiver

Brigham Young The Rescue. Franklin Richards

I will now give you the subject for those who speak today

Reaction

Isaac Wardle Langley Bailey story

Whitwick

Langley rescued swimmer

Langley becomes sick

Blessing in Florence

Trying to get away

Isaac left bloody tracks in the snow

Isaac collapsed and had to be revived

Forced to gather wood

Langley weighed less than 80 lbs upon arrival in slc

Letter: Isaac J. Wardle Esq

My Dear Most Respected Old Friend. How are you.

You and me are in much better condishions than we were at this time 60 years ago, I can remember one morning every tent was blowed down but ours. You did stake our tent down strong and firm. My dear Brother I honor and respect you much more than I Can explain. You and my brother John (he was only a boy 15) hauled me on the handcart for hundreds of miles Can I forget you. Can I ever repay, for your kindness No. No. ...

When Isaac passed away, Langley attended the funeral in Idaho and was heard to say, see my old friend I have outlived you.

Francis Webster story

Francis Webster was paraphrased as saying of the handcart trek,…everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities. “I have pulled my hand cart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said I can go only that far and there I must give up for I cannot pull the load through it. I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the Angels of God were there. “Was I sorry that I chose to come by hand cart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Hand Cart Company.” 

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin Said:

“Kindness is the essence of a celestial life. Kindness is how a Christlike person treats others. Kindness should permeate all of our words and actions at work, at school, at church, and especially in our homes.

As we live a Christ-like life, based on kindness and service; it is natural for us to desire the blessings of the gospel for others.  This is accomplished through the ministering program visiting and loving others.  This is by sharing the gospel with our friends.  We all play a roll, the neighbor befriends and invites, the missionary teaches, and we all fellowship. I also find that family history is a way to share the blessings of the gospel and is the epitome of serving others.  In Malachi we read: ¶ Behold, I will asend you bElijah the prophet cbefore the coming of the dgreat and dreadful eday of the LORD:

6 And he shall aturn the bheart of the cfathers to the dchildren, and the heart of the echildren to their fathers, lest I come and fsmite the gearth with a hcurse.

And when John the Baptist brought the Aaronic priesthood to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery he said:  Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of Levi do offer again an offering unto the Lord in righteousness.

 

This offering refers to the great work taking pace in the temples; Where young people open the door to salvation through baptism for the dead, for none can enter God’s kingdom except they be born of water and the spirit.  Older people help complete the ordinances resulting in the sealing ordinances of children to their parents, and husband and wife to each other.  The sealing ordinances open the door to exaltation. We all can participate in family history work based on our own abilities.  To some it is given to support temple building through tithing, some work in the temple, others do indexing, some take what has been indexed and attach this to the tree.   Others attend the temple and complete the ordinances.  Such was the case a month ago when the youth of our ward visited the temple for baptisms.  That day they competed the baptism and confirmations for over 115 people.  This work literally blesses both the living and the dead.  The living are instructed in the temples as the saving ordinances are completed. They are touched with the spirit in helping with this important work

in the last general conference Elder Gary E Stevensen said: I find abiding peace in knowing that “the Lord is my shepherd” and that each of us is known by Him and under His kind watchful care. When we confront life’s wind and rainstorms, sickness and injuries, the Lord—our Shepherd, our Caregiver—will nourish us with love and kindness. He will heal our hearts and restore our souls.

He took upon Himself our sins, our guilt, our depressions

Our faults, our needs, our indiscretions.

He went below all things

He carried our sorrows.

He suffered for us all, if we would repent;

Which suffering caused that God the greatest of all

Should tremble, and shrink in pain

And suffer both body and spirit,

And bleed from every pore

As it where, great drops of blood

Which fell down to the ground.

As we serve others and have charity towards all men, we will feel the Savior’s love, for Charity is the pure love of God.  As we serve each other, when we face trials, we can turn to Jesus for peace.  He has gone below all things; He has carried our sorrows.  Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ Amen 

My Poetry: Ode to Sheri

Ode to Sheri

I have felt the fire of you inner flame,

Burning me, as I snuggle close to you in bed.

And I have heard the rumbling of you inner core, 

The cavernous echoing of each snore.

I have touched the satin of your skin

It's texture a playground for my fingers.

My hand has brushed your sating hair,

Played with it, curled it, twirled in upon my fingers.

I have looked into your eyes,

And there, seen a spark of heaven.

I am yours.

My Poetry: Living Between the Light and the Shadows (original)

Found this copy of the song lyrics I wrote,  I reused this with different lyrics in "Your Heart Will Burn."  But this is the original, written before I went on my mission.
Living between the light and the shadows

The lines and the curves

The right and the wrong.

Wanting to be somebody good

                To do what I should

                                To know… the way.

But life goes on.

                And I sit and I cry

                While wondering why…

                                                                Why Lord?

Living upon the edge of the morning

                The crest of a mountain

                                The tail of a breeze

Singing the lines of a sweet song

                Which longs to be free

                                But doesn’t rise from my throat.

And life goes on.

                And I sit and I cry,

While wondering why

Why am I here lord…

                                                Oh why?

But somewhere... 

                Inside of me I know

                           That someday Me you will show

                                                Just why I am here.

But till then…

                Life

                   Goes

                      On.

My Poetry: As I Traveled to Her

As I Traveled to Her

 

As I traveled in my ship,

Looking through the window I saw the moon and the stars.

I saw the lights of the city

Their reflection on the glass.

 

As I traveled to see her I felt alive.

I felt every emotion I knew—as to her side I went:

I felt nervous; I felt hate;

I felt love; I felt anger;

I felt home; I felt happy;

I felt envy; I felt sad…

 

As I traveled that errant voyage,

Going to and fro along my way,

I realized I would never arrive to her side;

Her face I would never see again.

I wrote this probably in that period after mission and before I met Sheri.  I don't know why I wrote ship, reminds me of a space ship or something,  

My Poetry: Desert Road

Desert road, strait as an arrow
Lingering on; like an endless narrow
panorama of brush, rocks, happen-stance
Desert nothing, the bore has me entranced.

But from that lonely road I've seen
A hawk take flight, the beating of eagle wings
Coyote and antelope across the road have raced
Wildlife spots this barren waste.

And on this desert people have lived
But some with no livelihood have fled
Abandoned relics whisper their cry.

But also spotting the barrenness those who've survived
Those who have fought the land, and held.
Held onto their way of life--won't let it die.

This is a Duckwater era poem, when we lived on the desert.  We are one of those families who fled.

My Poetry: Jody

This poem I wrote for Jody Platt.  I think I always liked her more than she liked me.  She decided to go on a mission, I think to Costa Rica.

Jody

As I look back I see
Hazziness regarding you and me,
I know we had some good
Destroyed; by what we should.

Not only by your looks was I attracted
But on spiritual beauty I acted.
Though shy my first attempts
I overcame my initial introvence.

And now the time of parting past
The years we loved went too fast,
The crossing of our paths now gone.

And so the lace a moment entwined;
But the untwining was unkind
Nobody felt to tie the knot.

My Poetry: Ode to the Cow

This was written when we lived in Duckwater, and attended a cattle round-up

Ode to the Cow

Planted they seem like a well rooted tree,
Slowly trudging, if moving at all
I spied the cow on the road in front of me.

A toot of the horn, cow doesn't respond
So I creep around--not knowing
if the cow will jump in front of me, or be gone.

On the road there are always cows.
Slow moving beasts of life
lying in wait, sometimes to dent our cars.

And that same creature, pushed and herded
to the cattleman provides sustenance
and on the road just turded

And the slow beast has it a brain?
Or is it just a factory
for spawning steer calves, preferably lean.

For the cow is the mother of hundreds
of steaks, burgers and stews
And of barbeques more than a few.

And the bawling calf and the bawling cow
Yearly fill the valley's air
The cow mourning, torn in half

She searches, she sniffs the night air
Her precious must be close by,
If she could find him, but where?

My Poetry: Mom's Grand Kids

I wrote this poem for a Valentine's Day card for my mother.  It must have been written 17 years ago, counting the number of grandchildren, 27.  There are 30 now, so this does not include Heather who is 16.  Also Anna and Tony make up the 30.  My best count is 25 great grand kids.

Mom's Grand Kids

Moms grand kids are twenty-seven
If you count Billy Boy in heaven.
Sara has six, Connie three, Weldon four,
Billy seven, Charlie four, Dianna three; any more?

Twenty-seven grand kids will there be another?
We're not announcing; but per chance is a brother?
Or maybe a sister has a baby in the oven,
Or adoption, when he/she gets here we'll love em.

But wait, twenty-seven grand kids quite a posterity.
One is bound to be great, wait and see.
Soccer, baseball, dance, brains, leadership; what talents?
Potential now, but multiplying, developing in balance.

Great grand kids are three.
I wonder how many there will be.

My Poetry: 12/7/1941

12/7/1941

I wrote this poem as I wrote my father's Navy history.

12/7/1941

The world changed that day,

And young men felt the need to respond.

"We'll give ours back, we'll make it right,

We'll stand up, We choose to fight."

From the gridiron field, to the battle field,

From the school play to the battleship,

From the farm, from the literary club,

From the service group, From the study of books.

      They came to the boot camps to learn how to kill,

      And were taught to live in a world--

      Of bombs,

          Of bullets,

              Of torpedoes,

                  Of Knives,

      Of shells,

          Of oceans,

              Of bayonets,

                  Of strife.

They learned radar, and signaling, gunnery and knots,

Radio, mechanics, how to survive gas attack,

To jump from the deck of a ship,

God forbid they ever have to jump from the deck of a ship.

      And they drilled, and drilled, and drilled, drilled, drilled.

          They learned how to drill.

And they hoped when the time came,

When they passed through fire, that they might survive,

And return to the farms, the clubs and the fields,

And love their mothers and their children and their wives.

My Poetry: From my Window at Work

From My Window at Work.  These poems were written a few years ago.  My window looked out upon Barbara Arons Pavilion, the county's psychiatric hospital.  There was also a court yard outside my window.

“Birds"

Birds are never oblivious to the world;
What with cats, and people and
So many scary things
They are always ready to fly.

I on the other hand
Am oblivious to many things
And at times, I wonder if
I’ll notice the big fly swatter above my head
Before it squishes me flat.

It seems today the dangers don’t lie
In some physical threat over your head;
But in a missed kind deed, a word unsaid;
Or a feeling choked deep inside
Which later may raise its ugly head.

“Motorbike”

Motorbike parked, leaning on its kick stand
Strands of grass hanging from its under carriage,
Blowing carelessly in the wind—
Reminders of past conquests and glories.

Motorbike mounted, engine ignited
Power under my legs to take me—
     To a mountain brook, where I can
     Put my feet in the water and
     Accept of the liquid’s refreshing
     Salve as it cleans
     The worries from my life.

That is where the motorbike could take me….

“Bench by a Tree”

Bench by a tree,
You don’t look very inviting,
With warn wood that looks to
Be splintering.  How could I
Trust you as a place for my body?
And you are not only splintered
But your surface seems hard.
True it is that you are shaded by
A tree—but still to me, you do not
Seem to be very comfortable.

But now I see someone else,
     Lying upon you—snoozing away,
     Using his back pack as a pillow.

I am jealous, longing
For a cool shady place to lie down,
And you are not available.

“Bird Chasing Bird”

Bird chasing bird,
Its wings fluttering breathlessly.
Squirrel chasing squirrel,
Squeaking as the scamper up a tree.

And as I watch these creatures
Through my window, I assume,
He is chasing her—but
Never quite able to catch up.

“Window Grill”

Window grill, shaped like a giant cattle brand--
Circle-cross, circle-cross, circle-cross--
Covering every window, protecting against man
Or woman entering, or leaving.

You’re no good; these people are putting you down,
They’re talking about you,
See the way she smile at that other person—
They’re laughing about you; they’re making fun…

Decorative in their own way, useful in another
The circles on the windows, with the cross inside,
Extending to the full size of the window,
Dividing the circle into four pie shaped triangles,
And leaving four moon shaped slivers of window outside the circle.

Why am I being treated this way?
Don’t these people realize who I am?
I have the key to their happiness.  I have the key!
Why don’t they just listen to me?  I am rich—
If only I could get to my money….

In their own way the window grills
Appear to be a band around the building,
Like a giant belt holding the walls up
And keeping us protected from those inside—
And those inside protected from themselves.

It is so hard to think—everything is so bad;
I feel heavy—I weigh a ton—
No, I weigh two tons—no three. 
My legs are heavy—they won’t move,
My head feels like a pumpkin,
A pumpkin on a stick, swaying in the wind.

But in their decorative nature they provide utility
Bars to keep those deemed mentally incompetent inside.
But unlike the bars of a jail--cold and imposing—
These bars protect a place of health,
    Inviting (in their way) others to
    Achieve mental wellness.

My Poetry: Caramel Marshmallow Shakes

Caramel Marshmallow Shakes

There was a time when I loved Caramel Marshmallow Shakes—
The vanilla ice cream, with caramel sauce twirled in together
And a hint of marshmallow
Was enough to send my taste buds into fits of ecstasy.

Now I don’t know if anyone even makes them anymore—
And anyway all that sugar would probably be enough
To make my blood turn solid.

I will have to make my own:
With sugar free ice cream,
And sugar free caramel sauce,
And sugar free marshmallow sauce.

Are there such things?  DO THEY TASTE GOOD?

Over 2500 people on the American Continent Saw and Touched the Resurrected Lord

We saw a man, descending out of heaven.

He was clothed in a white robe.

He came down, and stood in the midst of us.

He stretched forth his hands,

And declared He is the Christ.

We came forth to Him.

We thrust our hands in His side

And we felt the prints of the nails

In His hands and feet.

And we worshipped Him.

Blessed be the name of God.

We worshipped Him.

Blessed be the name of God.

Hosanna!

Hosanna!

The Apostles Testify of the Resurrection

We were gathered together
 to break bread like he said,
Then He stood among us,
And pronounced peace upon us.

And we felt His hands,
And we felt His side.
He fell down at His feet,
and we worshipped Him.
We worshipped Him.

Joseph Smiith and Sidney Rigdon Testify of Jesus Christ's Resurrection

We Testify!

After the many testimonies of Him

This testimony last of all we give;

That He lives!

For we saw Him, even on the right hand of God

And heard the voice

Testify,

He is the only begotten of God,

And the worlds through Him were made

And through him we become children of God.

(See D&C 76:22-24)

Mary Magdelene Witnesses Jesus Christ's Ressurection

Early in the morning I came to the tomb,
And found the stone was rolled away,
The body of my Lord
Had been removed from where it lay.

When I saw the Master of the garden
Later in the day, I asked him
Where have you placed
The body of my Lord?

And when he spoke to me
I recognized his voice.
My Lord could it be!
My Lord could it be!

My Music: He Will Heal You

He Will Heal You

He will heal you, He will heal you.
Bring to him your need, and He'll give you peace.
Peace, peace, peace. Peace be unto you.
Because of your faith, Peace be unto you.

Come unto Me, all ye who are heavy laden,
And I will give you rest.
Take of my fruit
And you will be blessed.

Come take of the fruit.
Come take of the fruit,
for it is the love of God,
And He will bring you peace.
He will bring you peace.

My Music: He Took Upon Himself our Sins

 This is from the cantata The Condescension of God based on First Nephi chapter 11

He took upon Himself our sins, our guilt, our depressions
Our faults, our needs, our indiscretions.
He went below all things
He carried our sorrows.

He suffered for us all, if we would repent;
Which suffering caused that God the greatest of all
Should shrink, and tremble in pain
And suffer both body and spirit,
And bleed from every pore
As it where, great drops of blood
Which fell down to the ground.

My Poetry: For Billy Boy

I wrote this poem after Billy Boy was stillborn.  He was actually Sheri's second pregnancy, the first ending in miscarriage.

For Billy Boy

The baby's gone,
But gone to where?
The baby's gone
He is not here.

And so I grope
As a bungling fool
There is no hope,
Night time is the rule.

We sleep too soundly
For we have no cares,
Our lives too roundly
For no one's there.

The cradle board is empty
Our genes no alive.
The baby doesn't see,
Cry, eat, slobber or thrive.

They say the baby rests
In the ground where laid,
But the words don't arrest;
My longings just don't fade.

And damn I say
Inside my heart,
Didn't I pay?
Then why this part?

Why must I play the role
Of a grieving father, almost?
Being a father was my goal
And for now it's turned to rust.

And so we say,
"We'll try again."
But how much must we pay?
Eleven months of pregnancy...
And so much pain.
There she sweat, labor intense
The pain, Oh God, the pain.
The baby's cry, a sweet incense
I can't hear, though I crave.

And still the tears,
Still the lump in my heart
That day full of anxiety and fears
In my life, just won't depart.

And still I grope
Like a bungling fool
Where is there hope?
It seems night time is the rule.

A picture of Billy Boy's Body
http://whilhelmsthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/02/billy-boy-wardle.html

My Poetry: A Weekful of Risings

Monday:

It’s time to get up, in those covers don’t hide,
If you do these finger might have to tickle your side.
And look here, a right hand of fingers for your left side,
And a left hand of fingers for your right
You better get up or these fingers will give you a tickly fright.

Pull off those cover from around your head
It’s morning now, TIME TO GET UP, the clock has said.
Seven Oh three, no seven oh four,
You should be on your way out the door.
Into the bathroom, water on for your shower
Not lollygagging here like a lazy flower.

It’s time to get up.  You better not hide.
Cause my tickly fingers will find your side.
DAD

Tuesday:

Time to get up and you better hurry,
I put my tickle fingers away; you better worry
The tickle fingers are hiding, but the squishy belly wants to play
Better get up or squishy belly will squish you away.

Don’t give me that moan!  Don’t give me that groan!
Squishy belly doesn’t care if you groan or moan.
It will start at your feet and squish your insides up to your head.
And before your head pops; you better be out of bed.

I’m up daddy I’m up!  Don’t you see me running to the shower?
It’s only you left in bed, like a wilting pansy flower.

Wednesday:

Time to get up child.  No not today Dad.  Can’t you see I’m sick.
It hurts to open my eyes, my head throbs and my throat feels yick.
Bad throat huh, we’ll have to see. 
Open your mouth wide and I’ll look inside.
Here open up, while I hold your tongue down with my stick.
It won’t gag you too much, you
Haven’t had breakfast, you’ll only throw-up a bit.

Bad throat day, now say aaaaah while I
Look down your throat.
No it’s not red, are you playing me
For a Billy goat?

You better get up its almost time for school
You better get up and not play ME for a fool.
“Do I hafta?”  You hafta.

Thursday:

Time to get up….No response.
Time to get up….No response.
I say time to get up….No response.

Well I guess I’ll just have to get the dipper from the bathroom
Fill it with cold water, and no it’s not so I can prune or groom.
But I have a special use for this water I’m holding over your head.
If you don’t get up you’ll soon have a wet bed.

Water will be dripping off your hair and eye brows,
You better get up this dipper of water is heavy in my paws.
You wouldn’t really—you shouldn’t, couldn’t.
Well maybe I wouldn’t,
But you’re up now, and that is prudent.

Friday:

Time to get up dear, it’s almost seven
Really Dad, as I dreamed, it felt like heaven
And the covers are so nice and soft and warm
Like when I snuggle mommy, I know nothing will bring me harm.

I know dear, but today is Friday, one last day of school this week.

Friday?  T.G.I.F.?  T.G.I.F.!  I can’t speak,
Yes, that’s hay carramba, macanudo, magnifique.
Thank goodness it’s Friday; Trei magnifique!
Tremendous Stupendous and outrageous, terrifically advantageous,
Super dooper, great big scooper, extraordinarily great day.

I can get up, don’t you see me.
I can get up with energy and zest.
Fridays are the best!  FRIDAYS!  ARE!  THE!  BEST!

Saturday: 

Time to get up Dad.   …oooooh. 
Time to get up Dad.   …oooooh.
Dear, don’t you see the clock.  It’s only five.
Don’t you see the clock.  It’s only five, sakes alive.
Five o’clock, let me sleep, let me snore.
Five o’clock, I can sleep and hour or two, maybe more.

Ooooh, I’m tired; ooooh let me sleep
Ooooh it’s only five.  Don’t make a peep.
Dad, it’s fine.  The sun’s up, and so am I.
If you don’t get up you’ll miss the rabbit fly.
Dad, let’s play dolls, let’s play house.
Do you want to play a game, maybe “Catch the Mouse.”

No school today Daddy, it’s all for fun.
Don’t waste the sun Daddy, let’s go, run!
Let’s go to the park Daddy.  I like to swing.
I’ll fix a picnic, you make a cake, what should Mommy bring?
It’s time to get up Daddy, the sun is peeking over the hills.
Today is a day for fun and thrills.

Sunday:

It’s time to get up Dear,
I’m already up Daddy.
I woke with a smile.  Me too.
Sunday is a good day, a day to dress with some style.
Go to church and worship God for a while.
A day to remember the Son, Jesus Christ,
His suffering for us at Gethsemane and on the cross.

A day to pledge to always do our best,
To follow Jesus with energy and zest.
A day to serve, a day to rest, to leave worldly cares behind.
A day to love each other, a day to love our families,
                                  A day to find….
Peace, and love, and happiness,
A day to search the scriptures, a day of prayer.
I love you Daddy.  I love you too little one…
And I would never really squish you or dump water on you….
I know.

My Poetry: The Woman with the Knive

While Sheri and I lived in Duckwater, Nevada we attended a roundup to help.  A roundup is where the ranchers brought the cattle in from the range, to brand the new calves.  This was something knew to us as we were not native. 

The Lady with the Knife

Dust stung the air

the wind kept it there,

brushed up by horses and cows

in the isolated place; inhabited now.

They had come to mark the calves.

She had come to steal their laughs.

Her shiny knife glowed in the morning light

the calves, held down, could not fight.

And so that day, with a grin on her face

That overweight lady, made them grope.

The bawling calves, open to her knife, unprotected.

A calf's life, controlled, manipulated;

by blades and knives they lost their hope

and so not bulls, but steers corrected.

And on that day the bucket collected

the testicles, which had lost their potential.

How the losers were selected, I do not know

but from those calves was taken their bull;

They live only for their muscles

which will be nurtured, and then used

harvested, at the meat plant the are destined

there into packages for store and delicatessen.

But that day on the Nevada desert

Dead, dead were their nuts,

tossed like oysters into a bucket

and so their right to sire spent.

And on the face of the lady with the knife

A grin, as she harvested, and collected

Made you wonder what in her life

about men needed corrected.