(Texas Flag)
Ron Baron
Ron Baron is a native Texan vintage 1934 presently
residing in Brownwood.
He is the Father of five grown children, single,
and retired. This affords him the time he has sought
to devote to his writing. His desire is to share his work for Christ's Glory. Ron's lifetime spans a chaotic period in the degeneration of human and spiritual values, which is reflected in many of his writings. With family and careers behind him, poetry has become his all consuming passion.
His work has appeared in Australia, Canada, Great Britian, New Zealand, many times across the United States, and now on the World Wide Web's Paramount Poetry!
[We in no way wish to rank our poets as such, but this wins the award for "Most Moving Poem On The Site", hands down! In traditional inspiration style, this leads us to a challenge - have YOU written a bigger tear-jerker?...let's have it!]
~~~~"DOG"~~~~
The Dog was bred and trained for fighting;
given to me . . . .in a time of war;
loyal to me . . . .to any degree -
we fought. . . . and traveled. . . .afar:
Through jungles and swamps, over mountains we tromped'
till the fighting was over and done.
I trusted my life. . .in peril and strife;
my love . . .in the end. . . he had won!
When they told me the news. . . that he could be mine,
to keep him - my heart jumped for joy!
My wife was now pregnant - a joy all it's own;
our first . . . . .I hoped. . . . . .was a boy.
My wife had our baby, but it was so sad-
through labor in childbirth she died.
The baby was saved, and all through the night-
Dog . . . . and I . . . . .both cried.
I moved to the mountains - a cabin for three:
just the baby, Dog, and me.
Dog like a guardian quickly became,
The best . . . .I ever. . . . did see-
No matter what happened, in trouble or strain,
Dog . . . . always acted. . . The same.
He guarded the baby - as it were his own;
like a Mother. . . Dog. . . . became.
But one day while hunting, far out in the woods-
I realized. . . . . .the time I'd forgot;
neglected to remember, the baby and Dog-
for hours . . . .food . . . .they had not.
I came home astonished. . . . .the stillness was strange,
the place. . . . was a terrible. . . . .wreck!
Dog on the porch , raised his leg, and I saw!-
blood . . . . .on his paws . . . .and neck.
Searching and Screaming!. . . . . I ran all about
as I looked for the baby, in vain-
Blinded by fear, I could only see Dog
the blood . . . . hot rage. . . and pain!
Then rushing inside quickly - over the mantle
the shotgun. . . .loaded. . . I found;
dashed back to the porch in wild frenzy of thought;
I needed. . . . just one . . . . single round!!!!
Dog with sad doleful eyes, sat so still,
He patiently awaited the un-wavering Kill!
Then as I squeezed. . . . and fired the shot-
his love . . . and loyalty . . .I forgot.
The trigger was pulled and I couldn't have stopped-
far too late was my desperate. . . try;
while hearing the shot, in echo I caught:
A tiny . . . . Baby's . . . .cry---???
I rushed to the bedroom, flung open the door-
most certain the sound came from there!
And found my young son. . . in the dresser drawer;
un-harmed. . . . was every. . . . .hair.
I grabbed up my Son! . . . and bolted back where -
in a pool. . .on the porch. . . . there Dog lay.
Obedient he'd been, to the very end-
in death . . . . to my . . . . . dismay.
The blood left a trail from his neck and paw
t'ward the end of the porch. . . . .then I saw !
The blood had come from wolves, he'd fought!
They wounded . . . his neck . . . and paw.
My heart nearly BURST!. . . . .My tears flowed like rain;
in pain. . . . .I analyzed. . . . . each track;
Dog hid my son, before the battle he fought,
then KILLED . . . the whole . . . .wolf pack!!!!!
My Son's now grown. . . and he does own:
a dog whose breed's the same,
but none Loved more. . . . than saved my son;
Dog' . . . . .was his only. . . . name!
Pansy
Pansy was her name; Garbage was her game,
she made each can in town most every day -
She rode each alley there. She took what e'er she'd care,
then hopped her bike' and quickly rode away.
She sang a funny tune and often acted like a loon;
the boys would taunt and call her awful names.
With sticks she chased and cried, and yelled that they had lied;
with shouting she would hurl back their profanes!
They teased her through the years, and often brought forth tears;
the story told' in sin she slipped and fell.
They told her young heart broke, and caused her mind to stroke,
but never of her lover would they tell.
She'd braved the storms of life alone in poverty and strife;
her mind seemed gone when all was said and done.
Each day she picked the trash - midst teasing verbal rash -
I'm sad to say of them, that I was one!
I chanced one day to find: a photo left behind -
it fell from in her purse - she'd often look.
It was of he and she - her beauty I could see -
but now so strange to view the toll time took!
From that day forth I vowed: her peace to be allowed;
I'd have this taunting, teasing, vigil stopped!
And by this simple act there came an-un-spoken pact -
between us distant friendship soon out-cropped.
We spoke but only twice, of how she'd paid the price:
to live alone this life that seemed so sad.
But memories of him, although sometimes so grim,
were all she had and made her heart feel glad.
I watched as time went by; with what she had she'd try,
to help the poor and sick - the needy old .
he gave as best she could: their simple needs she would
attend with food and clothes, and Heart of Gold.
She brought them laughs and cheer; when sick she'd hover near
and bring them aid if they had friend or kin.
In time I came to know, although it didn't show,
to many she brought Love where none had been!
Now only memories bring. . .the way she used to sing
and heaven's portals she has surely crossed.
The Lord forgave her sin and I pray that in the end -
She too forgave the sin . . . at her we tossed!
Twilight ‘til Death
When daylight fades beyond
the westward heaven’s earthly rim,
and darkness covers man’s endeavors,
all must time in slumber spend.
Creatures hurrying, scurrying homeward,
seeking burrow, nest, and den,
are finding shelter ‘til tomorrow
sunrise lights the sky again.
Darkening shadow’s reeling eastward,
covering hills and vales and dales,
absorb the last of twilight’s colors -
dismal, dull, as grey prevails.
Stellar knives pierce earth’s dark shroud;
the curvature illumined by moonlight -
Those who slumber not, both stalk
and become the prey of midnight !
The Street Preacher
Trumpets, tramps and trollops they
would come out after dark,
So all the men could view their wares
and to their jobs embark.
The men in town would walk the streets
and stare and stand around,
In hopes some strange exotic kind of
pleasure could be found.
Then one night came a gauntly man -
long robe, face stern, jaw set;
A look within his eyes expressed
he felt some deep regret.
The other men all viewed him strange
and from his gaze they balked.
Instead the women seemed to feel
at ease and stopped and talked.
I couldn’t hear the words he spoke
meant only for their ear.
Each time He spoke their eyes lit up
and often shed a tear.
He came most every night that week
to talk with all the girls,
And once he spoke so loud I heard,
"To swine cast not your pearls"!
We never knew from where he came
or why he went away
But slowly girls who walked the streets
were fewer day-by-day
We’ve searched around throughout the town
but found not one of them
And one guy said he heard them say
they’re going home with him
Regeneration
As leaves turn brown in autumn,
hastening forth to winter’s death -
So my soul begins to darken,
questioning . . . will there be a springtime ?
Will I awake and resurrect
as lilies burst from last year’s graves ?
Can my mustard seed of faith
become in springtime . . .
. . . an Eternal Tree ?
Original Poetry by Ron Baron, 408 Milton Brownwood, Texas 76801
Copyright © 2000 Ron Baron
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Email: jonathan@poeticjustice.co.uk