There is nothing that I am not doing now that I cannot not do awhile longer.
- Patrick's Procrastinator Promise
Copyright 2009
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Famous Authors' Limerick
By Patrick Davis (c) 2009
There once was a famed author named Tolkien
Of elves and magic much has been spoken
Who can forget the ring of great worth
Forged in Mount Doom of Middle Earth
By Sam and Frodo its power broken
There once was a famed author named Lewis
Who grandly gave Aslan and Lucy to us
Think about what the world would be
Without the land of Narnia to see
Or Turkish Delight to allure us
There once was a famed author named Dickens
Telling of lads who got many lickins’
We cried for little Oliver Twist
And Ebenezer Scrooge we dissed
‘Til he rid Tiny Tim of his sickens
There once was a famed author named Tolkien
Of elves and magic much has been spoken
Who can forget the ring of great worth
Forged in Mount Doom of Middle Earth
By Sam and Frodo its power broken
There once was a famed author named Lewis
Who grandly gave Aslan and Lucy to us
Think about what the world would be
Without the land of Narnia to see
Or Turkish Delight to allure us
There once was a famed author named Dickens
Telling of lads who got many lickins’
We cried for little Oliver Twist
And Ebenezer Scrooge we dissed
‘Til he rid Tiny Tim of his sickens
Thursday, July 09, 2009
The Mere Mirror Man
By Pat Davis (c) 2009
"In my beginning is my end . . .In my end is my beginning." T.S. Eliot
Is that really the me that others see?
How is it that I do not seem like me?
At six I wondered and looked
and looked again
I saw a boy looking back, not me
At sixty I still wondered and looked
and looked again
I see a grizzled fellow, still not me
What the mere mirror man misses!
In me there is so much more to see
A little sleep, a little slumber
A little folding of the hands to rest
Life flits through the mirror panes
The boy turns man to elder to boy
Eliot’s end is like the beginning
But the mere mirror man misses
In me there is so much more to see
So the question I do often ponder
Where is the mere mirror man that is truly me?
This I know one day like Him I shall be
When at last set free I shall see Him as He
But what I do wonder is will I at last
Find the mere mirror man that is me?
"In my beginning is my end . . .In my end is my beginning." T.S. Eliot
Is that really the me that others see?
How is it that I do not seem like me?
At six I wondered and looked
and looked again
I saw a boy looking back, not me
At sixty I still wondered and looked
and looked again
I see a grizzled fellow, still not me
What the mere mirror man misses!
In me there is so much more to see
A little sleep, a little slumber
A little folding of the hands to rest
Life flits through the mirror panes
The boy turns man to elder to boy
Eliot’s end is like the beginning
But the mere mirror man misses
In me there is so much more to see
So the question I do often ponder
Where is the mere mirror man that is truly me?
This I know one day like Him I shall be
When at last set free I shall see Him as He
But what I do wonder is will I at last
Find the mere mirror man that is me?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Time
Yesterday is forever gone
Today is always here
Tomorrow never comes
Yet with the Coming
Yesterday meets tomorrow
and today becomes all.
Today is always here
Tomorrow never comes
Yet with the Coming
Yesterday meets tomorrow
and today becomes all.
Monday, August 13, 2007
No Answer
You picked up a phone to dial
To give my number a trial
An answer you did not find
Perhaps it came while we dined
You might try in awhile
Or leave a memo in my file
By the way, if you are in sales
I am one of those males
On the nasty and brutish list
Calling me gets you dissed
And selling me always fails
But if you are my friend
You can be sure I will bend,
Hearing what you have to say
And return as soon as I may
A reply to answer and send
If you are one of our daughters
Mom’s not here though you sought her
But she will soon reply
She always hears your cry
Just as you both have taught her
So you know the dang drill
With the tone give your spill
With your tongue speak clearly
We want to hear you dearly
So make it a good mo-dill
To give my number a trial
An answer you did not find
Perhaps it came while we dined
You might try in awhile
Or leave a memo in my file
By the way, if you are in sales
I am one of those males
On the nasty and brutish list
Calling me gets you dissed
And selling me always fails
But if you are my friend
You can be sure I will bend,
Hearing what you have to say
And return as soon as I may
A reply to answer and send
If you are one of our daughters
Mom’s not here though you sought her
But she will soon reply
She always hears your cry
Just as you both have taught her
So you know the dang drill
With the tone give your spill
With your tongue speak clearly
We want to hear you dearly
So make it a good mo-dill
Sunday, August 12, 2007
The Limerick Form
Limerick line number one
Rings with two when it's done
Then three and four for more
But the last line tests its core
And measures if the pun is won
The limerick is like a good wine
Writing one takes spunk and spine
Making a rhyme is the catchy key
Modeling what most want to see
Winning that last whining line
Rings with two when it's done
Then three and four for more
But the last line tests its core
And measures if the pun is won
The limerick is like a good wine
Writing one takes spunk and spine
Making a rhyme is the catchy key
Modeling what most want to see
Winning that last whining line
The Odd Teacher
There once was an odd teacher
With quite a silly facial feature
T'was a wart on the end of her nose
That reached right to her toes
Casting quite the dark creature
With quite a silly facial feature
T'was a wart on the end of her nose
That reached right to her toes
Casting quite the dark creature
The Fiery Fool
There once was a fiery young fool
Who found himself late to school
Spat the student to his tutor
While still on his scooter
“I find class crass and cruel.”
Who found himself late to school
Spat the student to his tutor
While still on his scooter
“I find class crass and cruel.”
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The Present
The chains of the past encircle our plans for an uncertain future, but it is only in the present, flitting and fluttering by each instant, that we have the power to forge links to either the future or the past.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Learning the EZ Way
My fourth grade class learns this each year:
Inch by inch learning is a cinch
And step by step will add lots of pep
Minutes of study is your best buddy
And book by book is all it ever took
But
Yard by yard learning's much too hard
And block by block you won't ever rock
Studying all night is your worst fright
And mile by mile wipes away your smile.
by Pat Davis
Inch by inch learning is a cinch
And step by step will add lots of pep
Minutes of study is your best buddy
And book by book is all it ever took
But
Yard by yard learning's much too hard
And block by block you won't ever rock
Studying all night is your worst fright
And mile by mile wipes away your smile.
by Pat Davis
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
I Never Took Time
By Pat Davis
I had so much time in my life
My youth seemed to spread before me eternally
I saw challenges, mountains to be climbed
Quests that in my youth I thought I would make
But life had so many demands
My boss never stopped to understand me
Sometimes congratulating me
Sometimes denigrating me
But never stopping to understand me
I had many goals to accomplish
Miles to stride through
And the dark truth is....
That I accomplished most of them
Why is it at the end of my life. . .
That I only remember what I didn’t do
And seldom that which I did do
I never took the time to watch the roses grow
My wife with her eyes so loving and surrendering
Waiting and watching so patiently for me
My daughters in their blonde curls
Waiting and watching for their busy father
Who always seemed busy accomplishing
Now I reach the end of my life
Now do I ask
Where did all my time go?
I never took the time to watch the roses grow.
I had so much time in my life
My youth seemed to spread before me eternally
I saw challenges, mountains to be climbed
Quests that in my youth I thought I would make
But life had so many demands
My boss never stopped to understand me
Sometimes congratulating me
Sometimes denigrating me
But never stopping to understand me
I had many goals to accomplish
Miles to stride through
And the dark truth is....
That I accomplished most of them
Why is it at the end of my life. . .
That I only remember what I didn’t do
And seldom that which I did do
I never took the time to watch the roses grow
My wife with her eyes so loving and surrendering
Waiting and watching so patiently for me
My daughters in their blonde curls
Waiting and watching for their busy father
Who always seemed busy accomplishing
Now I reach the end of my life
Now do I ask
Where did all my time go?
I never took the time to watch the roses grow.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Mighty Subject
The Mighty Subject
By Patrick Davis ©2006
Some say the mighty science project
Is the single greatest subject
With experiments and display board
Children can strike the right chord
Others say the occasional math test
Brings out the especially best
Nothing more challenging to do
Can we find in all the entire school
Some are quite weird teachers
Who like odd and silly features
They want the wonderful essay
With which to have the children play
But others say no, it’s not writing
In front of the class have them reciting
Memory is by far the greatest thing
It will make their voices ring
Others say it is in the melody
If you can find the right key
Singing they say is the best to learn
Ringing sweet chimes is naught to spurn
Still others say it is the art
Crafts galore make a great start
Grab the crayons, markers, and paper,
Dab with the paste, glue, and glitter
Other teachers say novels to read
Is by far the best deed
Collecting favorite author’s books
Selecting monsters, heroes, and crooks
But all the children do say
We know a much better way
Telling one more fine thing
Selling what we want to sing
Something forgotten by you
One thing we really like to do
One subject with us does ring true
It never leaves us being blue
No teacher is all that smart
On this subject with them we part
Must it finally be confessed
Trust us- recess is the very best
By Patrick Davis ©2006
Some say the mighty science project
Is the single greatest subject
With experiments and display board
Children can strike the right chord
Others say the occasional math test
Brings out the especially best
Nothing more challenging to do
Can we find in all the entire school
Some are quite weird teachers
Who like odd and silly features
They want the wonderful essay
With which to have the children play
But others say no, it’s not writing
In front of the class have them reciting
Memory is by far the greatest thing
It will make their voices ring
Others say it is in the melody
If you can find the right key
Singing they say is the best to learn
Ringing sweet chimes is naught to spurn
Still others say it is the art
Crafts galore make a great start
Grab the crayons, markers, and paper,
Dab with the paste, glue, and glitter
Other teachers say novels to read
Is by far the best deed
Collecting favorite author’s books
Selecting monsters, heroes, and crooks
But all the children do say
We know a much better way
Telling one more fine thing
Selling what we want to sing
Something forgotten by you
One thing we really like to do
One subject with us does ring true
It never leaves us being blue
No teacher is all that smart
On this subject with them we part
Must it finally be confessed
Trust us- recess is the very best
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Selling Your Soul
I wrote the following in 2003 after watching two poorly done movies about selling your soul to the devil. I am also too old and think this has not been well done since 1958 in Damn Yankees. In any case, these movies are based on a false theological premise, which is the point of my feeble verse.
Selling your Soul
By P.Davis © 2005
Much ado is made about it
More acclaim is given to it
The desire in us does shimmer
Allure out there does glimmer
How much more we wish we could be
For that one thing which we fancy
We could have what we seek
No longer being mild and meek
We could be what we desire
Power and greatness would be ours
What wonders we might sire
If for our soul we could find a single buyer
One single word of caution if I might
One short motto I may recite
We have been already sold to sedition
Slaves bound for darkest perdition
In chains we are bound already
In service right and steady
It is only faith in Christ
In keeping his precious tryst
It is in him, his person alone
That we find freedom grown
It is only binding to the One
That life abundant is in the Son
Selling your soul?
Certain of your price?
It is sold already, say I
And the worst of it is
You went out with nary a fizz
The cheapest bargain it ‘twas
The price which you paid
The fine which you made
Blame the path which you took
When all, for sin, you forsook
To seek your own more deeply
But you sold yourself too cheaply
Cheaply do you ask? Are you devaluing me?
Not so, I sigh, merely that I see
T’was God’s only Son
Who alone got the job done
The one for you willing to die
That price is why still I do sigh
While you hope yourself to sell
What is already paid for in hell
Since you are already bought
A slave who’s been redeemed
No matter how you schemed
The only question left to be sought
Is by whom are you bought?
Selling your Soul
By P.Davis © 2005
Much ado is made about it
More acclaim is given to it
The desire in us does shimmer
Allure out there does glimmer
How much more we wish we could be
For that one thing which we fancy
We could have what we seek
No longer being mild and meek
We could be what we desire
Power and greatness would be ours
What wonders we might sire
If for our soul we could find a single buyer
One single word of caution if I might
One short motto I may recite
We have been already sold to sedition
Slaves bound for darkest perdition
In chains we are bound already
In service right and steady
It is only faith in Christ
In keeping his precious tryst
It is in him, his person alone
That we find freedom grown
It is only binding to the One
That life abundant is in the Son
Selling your soul?
Certain of your price?
It is sold already, say I
And the worst of it is
You went out with nary a fizz
The cheapest bargain it ‘twas
The price which you paid
The fine which you made
Blame the path which you took
When all, for sin, you forsook
To seek your own more deeply
But you sold yourself too cheaply
Cheaply do you ask? Are you devaluing me?
Not so, I sigh, merely that I see
T’was God’s only Son
Who alone got the job done
The one for you willing to die
That price is why still I do sigh
While you hope yourself to sell
What is already paid for in hell
Since you are already bought
A slave who’s been redeemed
No matter how you schemed
The only question left to be sought
Is by whom are you bought?
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
One Voice Two Sounds
One Voice Two Sounds
By P. Davis ©2003
Boy: The important thing
Girl: The important thing
Boy: in being a boy
Girl: in being a girl
Boy: is having a bedroom
Girl: is having a sister
Boy: a place to be alone
Girl: a person to share secrets
Girl: The important thing
Boy: The important thing
Girl: in being a girl
Boy: in being a boy
Girl: is having a diary
Boy: is having a dog
Girl: to write my thoughts
Boy: to lick my face
Boy: But,
Girl: But,
Both: the really important thing
Boy: About being a boy
Girl: About being a girl
Boy: is girls
Girl: is boys
Good Stories
As a lifelong book lover I was inspired to write this as a tribute to books for what they have brought to my life.
Good Stories
By P. Davis ©2004
They work from the inside
Stories bend us
They rend
They scar
They maim
Make us ashamed of not being better
But,
They also mold the outside
Stories make us stand
They build
They console
They encourage
Make us wonder if we really could
So,
They work magic both in and out
Stories change us
They knight us
They challenge
They inspire
Crown us kings and queens
If only for a page.
Good Stories
By P. Davis ©2004
They work from the inside
Stories bend us
They rend
They scar
They maim
Make us ashamed of not being better
But,
They also mold the outside
Stories make us stand
They build
They console
They encourage
Make us wonder if we really could
So,
They work magic both in and out
Stories change us
They knight us
They challenge
They inspire
Crown us kings and queens
If only for a page.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
The Raid of the Ring
I wrote this after watching the great debacle of Jackson, mistakenly referred to as The Lord of the Rings. Can you tell how I felt?
The Raid of the Rings
by P. Davis
Three movies not so fine for all under the sky
Summoning the movie sods to their mall of stone
Fine for Mortal Men doomed to sigh
One mess for Jackson upon his throne
In the land of Hollywood, where the great books die.
One mess to ruin it all, one mess for those who do not read
One mess to savage and rend a fine deed
And in the dark movie halls blind them
In the land of Hollywood, where the great books die.
The Long Light
The Long Light
Once I waited for a signal light that seemed a mite long.
It was so long that-
I built long term relationships with passengers
From other cars
Across the intersection
We married
And divorced
And then the light changed.
Once I waited for a signal light that seemed a mite long.
It was so long that-
I built long term relationships with passengers
From other cars
Across the intersection
We married
And divorced
And then the light changed.
The Flower Buds
The Flower Buds
By P. Davis ©2003
Tick, tick, tick
The sprout appears overnight
All eyes are anxious to see
That youngest bud of new life
Promising and suggesting
Dazzling brightness meant to be
Tick, tick, tick
Petals unfold their wonder
All eyes are anxious to see
The novice flower swelling
He is opening and growing
Promising blossom more fair
Tick, tick, tick
The flower at his utmost
All eyes are anxious to see
Birds and butterflies flit by
They are honoring and bowing
Paying homage to that bloom
Tick, tick, tick
The flower loses a petal
His dignity is yet preserved
He is stable and maintaining
Loving eyes anxiously watching
As his petals begin to brown
Tick, tick, tick
Day by day they lose their luster
All eyes anxiously look away
Father Time turns yellow to brown
He is maturing and aging
A mere shell of his former self
Tick, tick, tick
The bees no longer come around
Eyes anxiously watching for his fall
The butterflies have all moved on
He’s declining and tottering
Remembering his former days
Tick, tick, tock
He becomes unseen, unsung
Our eyes have anxiously watched
When the long dreaded Frost comes
Shivering and timbering
The flower at last topples
Tick, tick, tick
The young sprout appears again
All eyes are anxious to see
The youngest bud of new life
Promising and suggesting
Dazzling brightness meant to be
By P. Davis ©2003
Tick, tick, tick
The sprout appears overnight
All eyes are anxious to see
That youngest bud of new life
Promising and suggesting
Dazzling brightness meant to be
Tick, tick, tick
Petals unfold their wonder
All eyes are anxious to see
The novice flower swelling
He is opening and growing
Promising blossom more fair
Tick, tick, tick
The flower at his utmost
All eyes are anxious to see
Birds and butterflies flit by
They are honoring and bowing
Paying homage to that bloom
Tick, tick, tick
The flower loses a petal
His dignity is yet preserved
He is stable and maintaining
Loving eyes anxiously watching
As his petals begin to brown
Tick, tick, tick
Day by day they lose their luster
All eyes anxiously look away
Father Time turns yellow to brown
He is maturing and aging
A mere shell of his former self
Tick, tick, tick
The bees no longer come around
Eyes anxiously watching for his fall
The butterflies have all moved on
He’s declining and tottering
Remembering his former days
Tick, tick, tock
He becomes unseen, unsung
Our eyes have anxiously watched
When the long dreaded Frost comes
Shivering and timbering
The flower at last topples
Tick, tick, tick
The young sprout appears again
All eyes are anxious to see
The youngest bud of new life
Promising and suggesting
Dazzling brightness meant to be
Study the ones youve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
To be sung to the tune of “Love the One You’re With”- written originally by Stephen Stills (rewritten for fourth graders by Mr. D, with full apologies, 2004)
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
If you’re down
And you’re confused
And you don’t remember how to do it
Your concentration has swept away
Consider it all just a delay
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Don’t be angry
And don’t be sad
Just keep smiling
And thinking about the ones you got right
‘Cause there’s much in the way you do
And there’s a fix that is so true
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know that it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
To be sung to the tune of “Love the One You’re With”- written originally by Stephen Stills (rewritten for fourth graders by Mr. D, with full apologies, 2004)
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
If you’re down
And you’re confused
And you don’t remember how to do it
Your concentration has swept away
Consider it all just a delay
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Don’t be angry
And don’t be sad
Just keep smiling
And thinking about the ones you got right
‘Cause there’s much in the way you do
And there’s a fix that is so true
There’s a way
To get a good grade
And you know that it’s true
Rids you of the blues
So if you want a B or an A
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Study the ones you’ve missed
Santa
Mr. Santa, A Simple Request
By P. Davis ©2004
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
A Humble request
From a humble servant
My list is not long
No need to check it twice
I’ve not been naughty
It would be so nice
But it is just a small thing
Merely a trifle
Certainly you could find a way
Somewhere in your sleigh
Tucked in that magic red bag
Amidst other toys for boys and girls
It would not cause clatter
for your reindeer to pull such a small matter
Small in size,
Surely Rudolph would not mind
One more little thing
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
Not a complex machine
full of rusty cogs and toothy wheels
nor a tekky tech wonder
full of dusty discs and computer chips
But it is just a small thing
Merely a trifle
Certainly I could ask for more
A machine of wonders
Clean my house and cook my dinner
Mow my yard and make my beds
Do my job and fill my needs
Please my spouse and make me proud
But I am really a simple fellow
Modest, and of such I have no need
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
A little thing
Just something small
It need only work once
Twice there would be no need
A machine that does it once indeed
Prints numbers I see
Just a few
Six to be precise
And one more little thing
Hardly to be considered
Make them the six
If you please, Mr. Santa
For next week’s lotto
By P. Davis ©2004
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
A Humble request
From a humble servant
My list is not long
No need to check it twice
I’ve not been naughty
It would be so nice
But it is just a small thing
Merely a trifle
Certainly you could find a way
Somewhere in your sleigh
Tucked in that magic red bag
Amidst other toys for boys and girls
It would not cause clatter
for your reindeer to pull such a small matter
Small in size,
Surely Rudolph would not mind
One more little thing
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
Not a complex machine
full of rusty cogs and toothy wheels
nor a tekky tech wonder
full of dusty discs and computer chips
But it is just a small thing
Merely a trifle
Certainly I could ask for more
A machine of wonders
Clean my house and cook my dinner
Mow my yard and make my beds
Do my job and fill my needs
Please my spouse and make me proud
But I am really a simple fellow
Modest, and of such I have no need
Just a simple machine
From Mr. Santa will do
A little thing
Just something small
It need only work once
Twice there would be no need
A machine that does it once indeed
Prints numbers I see
Just a few
Six to be precise
And one more little thing
Hardly to be considered
Make them the six
If you please, Mr. Santa
For next week’s lotto
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