ODE TO A PROTRUDING GAP FILLER
A Multi-Themed Poetry Collection
By
Donald Ray
Copyright 2014 Donald Ray
Cover Design by Laura Shinn Designs
License Notes
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Dedication
To my daughters, Haley and Emily
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FIRST THEME: ROMANTIC
SEEKERS OF A DUET
>>One sings his song to the world…
SECOND THEME: MISCELLANEOUS
MY NAME IS STORY
>>My name is Story. I have a tale to tell..
IN THE EDDY
>>A branch dips in a rushing river Forming an eddy..
WHAT’S MY LINE?
>>They come to me prone..
THIRD THEME: CHRISTIAN
THERE
>>I came to My Lord in my despair..
THE WARFARE OF WORSHIP
>>I am the Walking Wounded..
FOURTH THEME: CHRISTMAS
YOU CAN’T TAKE AWAY CHRISTMAS
>>You can’t take away Christmas. No matter..
WHEN WILL YOU SEE THE BABE?
>>My sister asked, “When can you see the baby?”..
A WINTER’S EVE
>>(An acrostic haiku)
FIFTH THEME: SPACE AND SCIENCE FICTION
ODE TO A PROTRUDING GAP FILLER
>>If, on the most complicated machine ever built by Man, The Shuttle..
ABOUT DONALD RAY
OTHER BOOKS BY DONALD RAY
CONNECT WITH DONALD RAY
A SAMPLE FROM MY NEXT BOOK
FIRST LETTER BOLD & BRAVE
(Alphabetical Acrostic Poems On Emotions)
ANGER
ROMANTIC
SEEKERS OF A DUET
One sings his song to the world.
The other One sings her song to all she meets.
They are Seekers of a Duet.
The Search is one of starts and stops.
He finds a high, sweet tune full of promise
But soon dissonant notes intrude into the Harmony
Like mistuned piano keys marring a sonata.
She discovers a bass voice
Like a steadily thrummed cello
Which resonates in her with undertones of strength
Soon, sadly, it seeks to overwhelm her song.
“There are so many songs!” they Both Cry,
“All with hidden disharmonies!”
Against all hope,
As in a miracle,
He and She meet.
Like an orchestra warming up
They sing their songs to the other.
Each song filling the gaps in the other
But his song remaining as individual as her song
A new pure harmony
That crescendos
In the cathedral of expectant people
As the Duet begins
On their wedding day!
MISCELLANEOUS
MY NAME IS STORY
My name is Story.
I have a tale to tell
To One Special Person
Or many Special Persons, as well.
I am Story.
My chapters are the years of my life
Filled with Happiness sublime
And Hurts that cut like a knife.
I, Story, grew
Day by day, year by year
Not knowing, when I was young
When I was a child,
Still growing,
I would tell imagined tales
My true story not yet knowing
These tales I would spin with ease
Like a loom well lubricated with grease.
My soul when I would compose
Was peaceful, like one in repose.
Adult responsibilities came.
My story was lost,
Buried by career and marriage.
I did not know the cost.
I asked Jesus into my life
And then,
Through divorce, I lost my wife.
One door closes, one door opens wide
My true story I could let shine from inside.
My tale flowed from my pen
With words that I knew came from Him.
To find your true story
It is never too late.
Discover your purpose
To make your life great.
My name is Story.
I have my own true tale to tell.
Won’t you all please listen
And find yours as well.
IN THE EDDY
A branch dips in a rushing river
Forming an eddy.
The eddy is made of water of the river
But never, moment to moment,
The same water.
During a storm,
The river brings to the branch a floating log
That smashes into the branch
Tearing from it cherished bark and leaves
Before the log is carried down the river.
After the storm,
The branch, though changed,
Remains.
The eddy remains.
The river remains.
The branch can not be in that part of the river where the log is
But… the branch can anticipate what the river will bring –
Sunny days,
Water fragrant with flowers,
New leaves abbudding.
WHAT’S MY LINE?
They come to me prone.
I control their fate, I and I alone.
I stand over each one.
By the end of my long day, my feet are aching stone.
A steady “beep, beep” punctuates the air.
The lack of “beeps” would be a scare.
My hands must move with accuracy and speed.
A mistake is absolutely not what we need.
When I’m done, each is given a big bill
Guaranteed to really make them feel ill.
You may guess, “You’re a surgeon. That’s clear.”
But things are not as they appear.
I’m describing “A Day in My Life” as a Wal-Mart cashier!
CHRISTIAN
THERE
I came to my Lord in my despair
Said, “I hurt.”
And He asked, “Where?”
“My heart… There.”
On the cross. Spear-pierced heart.
Jesus said, “I’ve been there.”
Said to my Lord, “I’ve been misunderstood.”
“Told I was evil when I was trying to do good.”
Blasphemer, You were judged
By the people You loved.
Jesus said, “I’ve been there.”
“My Jesus!” I cried, “All that I’ve lost,”
Things, home, people above all cost!”
Jesus, before Pilate, stripped of everything.
His disciples, in the night, fleeing.
Jesus said, “I’ve been there.”
“Lord”, I said, “The loneliness I cannot stand.”
Jesus hung on a rude tree.
“My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”
Jesus said, “I’ve been there.”
“My Lord!” I cried, “I long for love and peace.”
“And that this daily hurt would cease.”
“To be wrapped in the loving arms of the Father.”
Jesus, Risen Lord, said, “I’ve been there.”
And smiling, He carried me ……There.
THE WARFARE OF WORSHIP
I am the Walking Wounded.
I have been maimed by the strife.
Who is there to restore me?
To return me my life?
I am the Shell-Shocked.
By life’s trials I have been rocked
So that I stare into space.
How can my peace be replaced?
I recall I fight an inhuman foe.
Satan knows exactly where in me to go.
My most vulnerable weaknesses hid inside
To greatest pain, on them the Evil One has pried.
A timorous soldier to war I go.
By my little faith, this I know
In Christ, weapons of divine power I can wield
To make my Adversary at every point yield.
Satan’s attacks are flaming arrows shot into my chest.
A slicing cut then smolders to burn the rest.
I lift my Shield of Faith
His arrows disappear like wraiths.
A sword I have, speckled with rust
I fail to unsheathe it as often as I must.
Oh Spirit, This sword is His Word, you see.
A divider between truth and Satan’s lies it can be.
A week’s war waged, I weary come to Sunday worship.
Around me in the ranks unseen inside tears drip.
We come to triage with the Great Physician.
His presence heals our battered conditions.
I now am renewed, though I still have scars
Marching again, in Christ’s strength, to wage wars.
CHRISTMAS
YOU CAN’T TAKE AWAY CHRISTMAS
You can’t take away Christmas.
No matter how hard you try.
Its spirit just won’t die.
Santa Claus is gone from Coke cans
Replaced by polar bears.
Who cares?
I do!
St. Nick is the venerable symbol of the giving season
But he is a pale sketch
Of He that is both giver and gift.
The Reason for this season.
“Happy Holidays” is the latest “P.C.” thing.
“O, Little Town of Bethlehem” – school kids can no longer sing.
All in the name of “inclusiveness” and “Can’t offend.”
But why do I suspect
That the “Christ” in Christmas
Is what fills its opponents with disgust?
To try to set aside
The centuries-bound traditions of the Yuletide
Is to deride
When God sundered the tide
Of human history and forever changed it.
His birth in Bethlehem and His death on a tree
Sent ripples throughout human history.
Cathedrals, art, books, philosophies:
These are the heritage of all who live today.
No, Christmas cannot be forgotten
Despite the efforts of the misbegotten.
And they ought to be fought
By those who know by Whose blood they’ve been bought.
So, say “Merry Christmas!” instead of “Happy Holidays”
Simply, “Be Christmas” in all your ways.
THUS, the spirit of “Christ – mas” will never die.
It will live forever in you and I.
WHEN WILL YOU SEE THE BABE?
My sister asked,” When can you see the baby?”–
The new-born son of my favorite niece.
During the holidays, it’s hard to find a moment’s peace.
There’s so much to do before I can fix
A time to fly out to where they live – Phoenix.
The time ‘til Christmas keeps getting shorter
While the lines in the stores get longer
And the tempers of the shoppers get shorter, too.
“Could you come to see the baby?” my sister asks, “Can you?”
I have to put up my Christmas tree
And there’s a string of lights that won’t light, you see.
I’m too busy right now to see
The baby.
I have to find the perfect gift.
I’m out of wrapping paper – Where’s my list?
I’m too busy right now to see
The baby boy
Who is the perfect gift of joy
To a new mother.
Two-thousand years ago, a baby boy
Was born to a new mother.
God’s perfect gift of joy
The joy of salvation to every man.
How did I, at this Christmas, fail to understand
The way to see the Babe?
It’s simply follow God’s command –
“Be still and know”
And seek and see Him
Away in a Manger
On a Silent Night.
A WINTER’S EVE
(An acrostic haiku)
Aswarm the darkness
White sparkling stars vault the sky
Each viewer made small.
SPACE AND
SCIENCE FICTION
ODE to A PROTRUDING GAP FILLER
(In July 2005, in the Space Shuttle mission designated as STS-114, the Shuttle, Discovery, was launched to the International Space Station. This was the first Shuttle mission since Columbia broke apart on re-entry on February 1, 2003, killing all aboard. It was discovered by cameras on the Station that there were two felt “gap fillers” protruding out between the protective tiles on the underside of Discovery. It was feared that these protruding gap fillers could potentially affect the aerodynamic flow around Discovery during re-entry causing extreme heating and possibly a “burn-through” the protective tiles leading to the destruction of Discovery. In a historic spacewalk, Discovery astronaut, Steve Robinson, on the Station’s robotic arm, quickly removed the “protruding gap fillers”.)
If, on the most complicated machine ever built by Man,
The Shuttle, a simple strip of felt can
Send craft and crew fire-balling to the ground
THEN where on earth can security be found?
It is advised, “Don’t sweat things that are small!”
BUT it seems the small can exact a deadly toll.
-- A half pound fall of foam
Sent Columbia’s heroes to the tomb.
Are we to fear every tiny thing here?
NO!
It is the cracks we are to attack
A MAN, brave on a robotic arm,
Dares to fix, even when feared it would cause more harm.
Fatal flaws in machines, dumb brutes,
Only mirror flaws in man’s thinking
- And what is the use
Of solving one without the other fixing?
The fatal flaw of governments is small –
The small horizon of the fiscal year is all
They see
- While limitless horizons beckon those on Challenger, Columbia, and Discovery.
The Shuttle is a fine machine
But not as excellent as it should have been.
Waste and War cut its budget lean.
Now brave crews ride technology 30 years old
Because space progress has been sold
By small minds whose “vision” is –“They can go to the Moon
Why can’t they cure my cold?”
When from the Moon, America retreated
The gra
ndest adventure of the human spirit was defeated
By the small.
I mourn for what could have been done by Man
If money had funded the subsequent plan –
“Space Odyssey’s” twin-wheeled Station actually in 2001
And colonists living in Moon Base One.
Move “out of the Cradle” we must
Human Life is too precious to entrust
To one fragile planet.
On Earth, there has been many an extinction
There humanity has no distinction
Mankind can perish by a city-block rock hitting the ground
Or the smallest lethal virus making its rounds.
Only “Off Earth” can security be truly found.
ABOUT DONALD RAY
Hi, I’m Donald Desch. “Donald Ray” is my pen name because “Desch” is so difficult to spell correctly in a search. First and foremost, I am a Christian. Having Jesus Christ in my heart as my Savior and Lord informs all of my work. Saying that doesn’t mean that I’m stodgy – I like to have fun and laugh. I think God the creator has a sense of humor – just look in the mirror and the people all around you!
I am a divorced dad with two daughters, Haley who was recently married to Anthony Nickerson, and her younger sister, Emily who is still in high school. I liken myself as “The Poet-Laureate of Wal-Mart” where I have worked as a cashier for a good long time (please see “What’s My Line?” in this collection).