daneymoco

Book signing

2010-10-28T15:41:00.000-05:00

Book Signing Nov 6 at Borders Books, 81st and Yale, 2 to 5 pm. Come by and say Hi.
Book: Tale of Tails with a Thirst for Verse, By James E. Tate
If you like music see The Old Maestro. Inspirational? See Finding Jesus
Humor? See What did Columbus do in 1492?
Mystery? See A Sound in the Night. Animals? See Lion Without a Mane
136 selected pieces from over forty years of writing prose and poetry

Lion Without a Mane

2010-07-13T18:43:00.000-05:00

Lion Without a Mane

Leo, the Lion was so sad
He wanted a mane just like his dad.
But he never grew one about his face,
So he slinked around in dismal disgrace.

He went to the grove and searched the brooks
And saw what was missing from his looks.
All other males from big to least
Sported a mane like the King of Beasts.

He’d run away to a menagerie
Or join some zoo across the sea.
They never knew just where he went
Gone so long they began to lament.

One day a strange lion came along;
Females admired him, so virile and strong.
He roared real loud and showed his claws
All girl lions gave him applause.

They cheered him on with eyes aglow
More of this stranger they wanted to know.
It was Leo the Lion, not timid and plain,
But rather handsome in his store-bought mane.
…

Tangled Webs

2010-07-07T07:37:00.001-05:00

Oh, what tangled webs we weave,
When from our good senses we take leave,
Ignoring the Higher power.

With reckless abandon and lavish expenses,
We drink bitter dregs sin’s cup dispenses,
For sensual pleasures of the hour.

We pay for the pleasures we pursue,
For a measure of mirth, exciting and new.
“Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!”

Why believe a lie from history cast
Depriving us of life with future vast;
Weaving tangled webs, empty and dry?
Christ is the answer. Give Him a try.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
when first we practice to deceive.—Sir Walter Scott

Israel

2010-06-27T16:35:00.000-05:00

I have a new contact, http://www.rebirthofisrael.blogspot.com/ I don't know him, Dave Longeuay, but I like what he is doing, so I recommend it to my readers. Israel needs our nation's support. We've always given it, but now it appears that we are slacking in this much needed support. Drop over to the blog shown and see what you think about it. Interestingly, Marie and I were married on the very day Israel became a nation, May 14, 1948. James

Einstein's Relatives

2010-06-19T08:45:00.000-05:00

Welcome visitors and guests, FCW members, and writers extraordinarie. Walk in and leave your tracks. I love visitors. Here is a nugget from the book, Tale of Tails with a Thirst for verse. Dr. Herb Jelley liked it, perhaps you will as well. Einstein’s Relatives By James E. Tate © Albert Einstein took a shine To time and space mobility And called it Relativity. His gray hair baggy, And his blue eyes bright. His peppered hair was shaggy— The professor looked affright. Soon Einstein gained fame In a clever physics game, E=MC2 bore his name. Admirers praised Relativity, The Brownian Theory of Diffusion, The Photon Theory of Light, The Quantum Theory Laws, And felt he deserved applause. But what about all those calculations Of Relativity you spread? My cousins are my relations, They can figure that in their head!

Magnificent Monarch

2010-02-03T10:28:00.000-06:00

by James E. Tate God created animals, Birds, bugs and bipeds. Ferns and fauna filled forests and colorful Flower beds. Mountains divided plains. Rivers watered trees. Tiger-striped caterpillars Fed on milkweeds bending in the breeze. Furry animals frolicked, and birds sung songs. Something was missing... Something was wrong. God touched the caterpillar, Saying, “Cuddle in cocoons. You’ll emerge as Monarchs Under summer moons!” God was pleased. So am I. ####

New Year’s Slender Provender

2009-12-30T12:28:00.000-06:00

By James E. Tate © 2000 Have heart resolved and hands prepared, And muscles trained for deeds undared, Indeed, the New Year, yet unearned, Awaits with pages to be turned. Let right and honor be our pursuit, And in our diet resolute. If at the fridge some night we’re caught, Lord, feed our minds on food for thought.

Webworms

2009-12-19T18:21:00.000-06:00

I wonder what the wooly webworm wore When the wild winter wind whipped wide his door?

Charles Keaton's Christmas

2009-12-19T17:38:00.000-06:00

This is a touching Christmas story filled with struggle and emotion. If you like the intrigue of a youth against impossible odds finding a way to win in the end, this is for you. The story begins, "I hate my job," Charles said, as he kicked a snow-covered tin can and heard its muffled thump against the curb. He pulled his tattered collar up against the wind as the factory loomed ahead . . . Charles bent to the task, but his mind was far away. He thought about his father in prison . . . "you mean I have to work the other man's bench on Christmas Eve?" "only if you want to be paid for this week. Otherwise you ain't gettin' nothin'." Read the entire story in the book, Tale of Tails with a Thirst for Verse. It's available on Amazon or from my webpage, Jamestatebook.com

Mystery of Mercy

2009-11-24T12:11:00.000-06:00

Why do we speak of our afflictions a thousand times, and yet, take our Lord for granted when ten-thousand needs are met? Herein lies the mystery and here only is explained, God lovingly extends His mercy when we deserve to be arraigned.

Historic Creature From Jurassic Park

2009-11-01T19:19:00.000-06:00

Historic Creature From Jurassic Park By James E. Tate © After seeing Jurassic Park, I took a walk after dark, And was frozen in fright. There lurking, almost hidden, Formidable and forbidden, Stood a dreadful sight. A creature, historic and scary, His armored shell so hairy, Held me in its hypnotic stare. Its body, heavily plated, Bony and variegated, Appeared forebodingly there. I grew increasingly nervous Of this dinosaur impervious, To my cardiac! But later, on my pillow, I knew it was an armadillo Having a Mac-attack.

The Tongue

2009-11-01T15:08:00.000-06:00

Tongue The Little Red Devil Behind the Pearly Gates by James E. Tate © Bits in the mouth of a horse, change its course, as does the rudder on a ship at sea. Small things affect large things, as little tongues affect you and me. Though small in size, it’s no surprise, the tongue sows seeds of trouble, when it lies, then alibis, And starts to speaking double, Providing lessons far reaching, in sowing and reaping – when will we ever learn? We must take it for granted, the seeds we have planted are those on which we earn. “The tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things, behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth.” James 3:5

An Altar and a Rose

2009-10-29T18:35:00.001-05:00

An Altar and a Rose (Based on prose from, The Cross and Thorns) By James E. Tate The somber members discussed Jesus’ death on the cross. With saddened faces they questioned The diabolical loss. This was their first meeting Since the ill-fated event. Always gathering secretly, With Roman soldiers evident. “Look!” said a humble lady, Pointing straight to the altar. Embarrassed, she sat down quickly; Staring eyes made her falter. This altar, so remarkable For a church of but one room, Was adorned with a long-stemmed rose In full and delightful bloom! A man gently rubbed its surface Touching the glistening wood. “Such smooth and polished grain,” He said, for wood he understood. A girl said, “This lovely rose, In red so deep and pure, With its lingering fragrance, Has such a delightful lure.” The graying pastor smiled, and said, “Yesterday a man came in, And offered us this altar, To put where the other had been. “I felt good about this man, So I looked in his oak-wheeled cart. And there, covered with old robes, He showed me this work of art. “After the Crucifixion, He took the cross to his shop, And cut the rough wood into planks, Smoothing them from bottom to top. “His heart must have burst with love, As he built the altar with care, Polished it to this glossy sheen, With a touch of artistic flair. “Next,” the pastor continued, “An aged woman came in here With a touching story to tell About this delicate rose so dear. “She had watched the Crucifixion, And stayed until all were gone. Weeping at the foot of the cross, She saw thorns fallen from God’s Son. “She would not let the shame of the thorns Be seen—for this she would guard. Quickly taking them to her home, She buried them in her yard. “Three days later, a bright rose sprung up In the exact place she chose. She felt compelled to bring to us Its very first blooming rose!”

Columbus

2009-10-12T19:14:00.000-05:00

Columbus by James E. Tate What Did Columbus Do In Fourteen Ninety-two? Poor Christopher Columbus’ life was fraught with troubles. He fought long and hard to get financing for his westward voyage to what he thought was a short-cut to India. His crew planned to throw him overboard, but he dispelled their fears by landing at San Salvador, off the coast of Florida October 12, 1492—history 101. And here, some 500 years later, a would-be poet is poking fun at him. It took 8 years to get someone to believe that outfitting vessels for the venture was worthwhile. When Columbus solicited the king of Portugal for aid, King John II secretly took Columbus’ charts and dispatched his own ships, but failed. Help from England and France was not available. Queen Isabella of Spain showed interest, but the struggle with the Moors took all of Spain’s attention. After Grenada capitulated she agreed to finance Columbus and gave him the titles of Admiral and Viceroy. One tenth of the treasures obtained in the newly discovered lands were to be his, however, King Ferdinand reneged on this at pay-off time. Three small vessels—Santa Maria, Pinta and Nina, with a crew of 90, plus 30 officers and others, set sail toward the west. Twenty-one days later, his sailors thought the voyage was doomed. They sabotaged the rudder on the Pinta to get them to return. With a firm resolve, Columbus stopped at the Canaries for repairs. On their way again, the crew was unnerved at sighting an active volcano along the route. The sea-weeds of Sargasso appeared to them as a bad omen, and when calm winds were followed by a strong breeze, the spineless crew wept like babies. Columbus showed fewer miles covered so the crew wouldn’t feel upset. He kept a secret log for the actual miles. Admiral Columbus promised to reward the first one to sight land. Finally he heard, “Land ho!” He overcame the perils of storms and mutiny sailing the high seas, and now, even worse, we ruffle his sails with verse: What Did Columbus Do In Fourteen-Ninety-Two?© By James E. Tate He waved with respect from the helm of his deck, Good-bye to Isabella and Ferdinand. The Sovereigns of Spain stood riches to gain By discovering a foreign land. But did Columbus betray what historians say, That America is where he went? Let a candid review of his sailing crew Shed light on this noted event. His vessel was leaking as land he was seeking, As cross the seas he sailed. And Columbus’ crew more mutinous grew As rising waters they bailed. Was he just faking history in making Before America was in his sights? For the boat where he stood had holes in the wood, His sailors were all Termites! a

Columbus history

2009-10-12T19:01:00.000-05:00

Christopher Columbus Also found in: Dictionary/thesaurus, Encyclopedia, Hutchinson 0.01 sec. Christopher Columbus (1451 – May 20, 1506) was a navigator, colonizer and one of the first Europeans to explore the Americas after the Vikings. Though not the first to reach the Americas from Europe, Columbus' voyages led to general European awareness of the hemisphere and the successful establishment of European cultures in the New World. It is generally believed that he was born in Genoa, although other theories exist. The name Christopher Columbus is the Anglicization of the Latin Christophorus Columbus. Also well known are his name's rendering in modern Italian as Cristoforo Colombo and in Spanish as Cristóbal Colón. Columbus' voyages across the Atlantic Ocean began a European effort at exploration and colonization of the Western Hemisphere. While history places great significance on his first voyage of 1492, he did not actually reach the South American mainland until his third voyage in 1498. Instead, he discovered San Salvador Island accidentally while trying to find an alternative route to India, hence the Native Americans being called "Indians". Likewise, he was not the earliest European explorer to reach the Americas, and there are accounts of European transatlantic contact prior to 1492. Nevertheless, Columbus's voyage came at a critical time of growing national imperialism and economic competition between developing nation states seeking wealth from the establishment of trade routes and colonies. The term Pre-Columbian is sometimes used to refer to the peoples and cultures of the Americas before the arrival of Columbus and further European influence. The anniversary of the 1492 voyage (vd. Columbus Day) is observed throughout the Americas and in Spain.

What Dreams Hide Here?

2009-08-18T18:44:00.000-05:00

What Dreams Hide Here? Note: This poem is in my book, Tale of Tails with a Thirst for Verse. See ordering information below this poem. In my mind’s eye I saw her. An old woman rocking on the porch, Her life mostly gone. Pining away her evenings, Recalling a younger life. I looked long at the old house. The sleepy old house slumping beside a dusty road. Neglected. Its screenless eyes, stark and staring cast a moot message of better days. Long vanished life is evidenced by its weed-filled garden. A broken windmill silhouettes the overcast sky. A once green shutter dangled crazily from one hinge While the battered door banged at the will of the wind. What dreams were realized or diminished Inside these unpainted and weathered walls? Dreams of a house, a home, a garden, a haven of security. Of children running. Pets chasing. Of laughter and happiness. What love flourished or died here? What joys or sorrows And dreams of bright tomorrows? Are the owners still alive? Where are the children that swung in a tire hung in an oak out back, Now weathered and checked? Does anyone come calling—remembering? What endearing tales are told Of great summers, Swimming in the swimming hole, Of splitting watermelons at the garden gate and tearing out big red chunks, Its juice running to the elbows, And spitting seeds to perhaps grow again? And what tales of cold winters, Whistling winds, drifting snow, Cozy fires reddening a pot-bellied stove. Of a home full of memories, of love? I breathed a short prayer, “Lord, be with this family, where ever they are.” I glanced once again at the rocking chair. The old woman was gone. Written while vacationing on our 55 wedding anniv. Carlsbad, Santa Fe, Taos, Angel Fire & Red River, Guymon. 5-16 to 5-26-03 See book at Jamestatebook.com

Ordering info for Tale of Tails with a Thirst for Verse

2009-06-13T13:57:00.000-05:00

If you want to buy my new book you may obtain it directly from me at a savings. Rather than paying shipping and handling from the Internet purchase. You may buy from me for only $14. including shipping. Send me an email at jetate@sbcgobal.net and show your name, address, and email. Or mail me your payment and show where you want it sent. My address is: James Tate, 2643 S. 89th East Ave., Tulsa OK 74129. You may view the web site by clicking on the picture at the left. Thank you, and happy reading.

What others are saying

2009-06-13T13:28:00.000-05:00

"TALE OF TAILS WITH A THIRST FOR VERSE" Anyone who enjoys poetry, meditation, abstract thought, or uplifting prose should peruse this attractive new book. For those people living a busy life, this book lends itself to reading one verse or one page at a time, then laying the book down until free time presents itself. I remember when people would spend pleasant hours reading aloud to one another, and this was the type of book that was ideal for that purpose. Good work, James! Dorothy Donaldson

Diagnosis Blubber!

2009-05-16T18:48:00.000-05:00

Diagnosis Blubber! By James E. Tate © The doctor of reputation agreed to consultation and a physical exam. He began by saying while I was weighing, “I see you like your ham!” He checked my reflexes and my solar plexus, everything from bottom to top. While pulling my ears, and all my running gears; I thought he’d never stop. He probed for hemorrhoids and body fluid voids while I was busy looking south. While attending these essentials, I questioned his credentials, when next he checked my mouth! Looking for a flaw, he said, “Say Ah!” when my mouth stood twisted and agape. Then, with his big thumbs, he gouged at my gums. I had no escape. A fearful moment caught us when my epiglottis gave a waving flip. As he stopped to linger, I bit down on his finger, till he lost his grip. Regaining his composure, he felt it time for closure, as my mouth snapped shut. Then he explained, telling me straight and plain, while gazing at my gut, “Son, your longevity is threatened by obesity, so, we’d better have a chat.” I said with chagrin, “It’s a good thing I came in. I thought I was just too fat.”

Marriage Made in Heaven

2009-05-16T18:37:00.001-05:00

Marriage Made In Heaven (Mark 10:8,9) By James E. Tate Our hearts are blending; our souls fused, depending On God’s love descending to our door. Our marriage so blissful, soars like a missile, Like Mark’s epistle, one flesh evermore. With our faces glowing, and our souls knowing That we’re growing to each love and adore, Our beating hearts declaring, love not sparing Thoughts so daring, no secrets to implore. True devotion allows for mood, emotion, Not just taking a notion to adore. When baking bread of devotion is needed, It’s often kneaded when it’s a chore. Painful adjusting keeps marriage from rusting, Before it declines to forgotten lore. If a spouse becomes unruly, and treats the mate unduly, Be quick to love them truly, as before. Frontiers of learning sets our souls to burning, And our hearts yearning for affection to restore. Soon we discover we must be ardent lovers, Not “Golden-glovers” to even up the score. To love, and live together, come fin or feather, Proves so beautiful to explore! And we become more blissful, soaring like a missile, Just like Mark’s epistle, one flesh evermore! And they twain shall be one flesh so then they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. Mark 10:8,9

2009-05-16T18:35:00.001-05:00

Code Talkiing Girl Encounters a Stranger

2009-04-12T15:08:00.000-05:00

Once in awhile I write children's stories and here is one I wrote in 1982. FILE Prose/Solomon/1172 words Code Talking Girl Encounters a Stranger By James E. Tate, 1982 “Sally, what are you reading?” Mrs. Taylor asked. The Seventh Grade teacher looked stern as she turned from her chalkboard. Sally’s friend, Megan, had passed her the note. Meet me at Evan’s after school for a Coke. LYLAS SYL. Mrs. Taylor kept Sally after class for questioning. “Who gave you this note? Who is LYLAS SYL? We have no one by those initials.” “I don’t know anyone by those initials either,” Sally replied. “Who wrote you the note?” “It was on my desk, and no one was there when I found it.” Sally, you can go, but I don’t permit note writing in my class.” Rushing from the school grounds, she considered making up some lost time by a short cut through the park. The dreaded park she hated . . . hated because she heard that bad things could happen there. She didn’t want to delay Megan. Besides, she reasoned, other kids had gone through the park safely. It should be okay in the daytime. Perhaps Megan was still at Evan’s Sundry wondering what had happened. Not far into the park she saw a man sitting on a bench. Slowing her pace, she strained her large brown eyes for a better view, then walked cautiously keeping to the far side of the shrub-lined walkway. Is he trouble? “Sally,” her mom had told her repeatedly, “when you’re alone, never talk to strangers.” She thought about this now, and pretended not to see the old man. “Good afternoon,” he said, dropping his whittle stick on the walk. A quick step with her blue Reeboks and Sally stepped over the stick. Scooping it up, she felt its knife-shaved texture, and handed it to him without thinking. “Thank you for picking up my whittle stick, young lady,” he said, touching the brim of his sweat-stained hat—a typical gesture for a man of his age and background. His blue overalls with white-threaded seams were baggy on his skinny legs as he crossed them and continued. “You came by just as I was working on something very important.” Cutting her eyes toward him, she sized him up. He no longer seemed to be a threat, so she thought she would wait just a minute before hurrying on. A squirrel chattered on a limb nearby, as she answered, “Oh, like what, Sir?” Looking up, he said, “You won’t believe this, but I’m trying to finish Solomon’s work.” Sally noticed his pointed Adam’s apple bobbing in his wrinkled neck as he spoke. “Do you mean the Solomon in the Bible?” “Exactly.” With a gnarled finger he flicked a chip off his knee. Curious, she stayed longer. Dimples deepened in her red cheeks as she sat down on the far end of the bench. “Oh, come on now. He was the smartest man in the world.” His face reminded her of a shriveled-apple as he leaned against the seat back. “Yes, it’s a known fact that Solomon was wise, but there were many mysteries that he hadn’t never solved.” “Hadn’t ever,” she corrected, keeping her distance on the bench. “That’s what I said. Solomon figured out many things such as, ‘A soft answer turns away wrath,’ and ‘If you don’t work, you don’t eat.’ He knew that you couldn’t have your bread and loaf too. Get it girl?” Placing his whittle stick in his bib pocket, he proceeded. “He had those things right, but then there’s a whole parcel of things he missed too.” Forgetting for a moment she was in a hurry, Sally wrinkled her cute nose as she asked, “For instance?” A peevish smile creased his leathery skin. “Well, he didn’t know how to reason with women.” “Be careful now,” she said, tugging at her oversized purple pullover. “And,” he continued, “there are other things he didn’t seem to know at all. You take the moon for instance. There’s no doubt he’d seen the moon shine, but I bet he never once tasted none made in Arkansas.” With her long-black lashes flashing, she responded, “Come on now.” “And he never dreamed of Neil Armstrong taking a giant step on it for mankind. Old Solomon may have impressed the Queen of Sheba, but there’s lots of things he didn’t never think of.” “Didn’t ever,” she said, crossing her arms. “Exactly! For instance, Solomon didn’t have an inkling of what the katydid did. Nor any idea where a snake doctor carries his medicine bag . . . see what I mean, girl?” Sally chuckled. “Go on.” “He didn’t know diddly why the cricket by the fire grated on his lyre. And do you think he ever once saw a house mouse run up a clock to see the tick? And he never knew how far could a seahorse see!” “Now, wait a minute. Don’t try to kid me.” “Would I try to kid a purty little thing like you? Not on your life, sweety. You see, Old Solomon missed a golden opportunity for gettin’ the answers to all these questions, and more.” “How, and like what?” she asked, forgetting about time wasting. With bushy brows and squinting eyes, he checked the time by the angle of the sun, and replied, “By simply asking any one of his seven hundred wives or three hundred concubines, that’s how!” Dropping his knife into his bulky overalls he shot another volley, “Concerning women, isn’t it true, that generally speaking, women generally are?” Peeved, she stood and shook her shoulder-length blond hair, whipping strands across her face, anger growing. “Will you come off it! I should have listened to mother about not talking to strangers. And you are about as strange as anyone I’ve met. I believe you know very little about Solomon and even less about women.” Frowning, she continued, “Your foolishness has caused me to miss my friend. I will remind you, Sir, of one of Solomon’s own statements. No doubt it was made especially for men like you!” “Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope for a fool than of him.” “I ain’t been trying to hurt nobody’s feelings,” he replied. Ignoring the double negative, she said, “Then quit putting women down. Good day, Sir.” Straight and tall, she hurried down the walkway, where she saw Megan coming toward her from Evan’s. “I thought you might cut through the park. What happened?” Megan asked. “Mrs. Taylor kept me after school to ask about the note. That took awhile and I talked to a silly old man in the park for a couple of minutes.” “I waited at Evan’s and decided that you weren’t coming. What did Mrs. Taylor do?” “She tried to get me to tell her who wrote the note. And Kid, you know what? LYLAS through her off.” “I do Love You Like A Sis,” Megan said. “I know, and I do you too. “Did you tell her I wrote it?” “No. She couldn’t break your code.” “I bet she’s still working on that one. Gotta go. SYL.” “See You Later too. LYLAS!”

Easter

2009-04-10T15:50:00.000-05:00

Brr! It's cold today, and Easter is on the way. This poem was selected as the Poem of the Day in 2006 by E-Word Today. Easter, O Happy Easter By James E. Tate © Eleven disciples, heartbroken, disillusioned With saddened souls, pondered the crucifixion. “How could this have happened? Was He not the Son of God?” Behind locked doors, shutters tight, they wept. “We know He’s the Son of God! Look at all His miracles— Raising the dead. Calming the seas. Walking on water. Healing disease. “He had power over nature, the spirit world, And even death! He gave us power to cast out demons, To heal and to preach. O how we loved Him! “Did He not preach to 5,000? Then, with five loaves and two fish, feed them? “He told us that he’d die on the cross, And RISE in three days. What did He mean? “We saw Him hanging there on Golgotha. . .” A knock at the door broke their dark discussion. “That may be soldiers—don’t say a word.” Soon a woman shouted outside, “Peter! He’s gone. The tomb is empty!” “Go away, woman. You speak lies.” “No. Three of us went to anoint His body. But we found the tomb empty—He is risen!” ~~~~ Now, we know that our Lord became man extraordinaire, And left heaven, so we could go there. He redeems the lost, answering our need. O happy Easter indeed!

Dorothy Donadson

2009-04-08T08:16:00.000-05:00

FOR JAMES, ON THE OCCASION OF HIS BLOG.... Just when I need a poem for your blog My Shakespeare fades from memory in a fog; And Keats and Poe and Shelley fade away-- I could recite them all back in the day. We'll watch your blog for new impressive words, 'Cause what I write is strictly for the birds. ~~~Dorothy Donaldson

Dog Tail

2009-04-07T10:55:00.000-05:00

If you find a tail with a dog attached, say "Hi," and pat its head. But if to the tail a Rottweiler's latched, Better nothing's said.

If

2009-04-06T18:22:00.000-05:00

This poem is in its fourth iteration, having been first begun a number of years ago. JT If Webster Had Only Known Antidisestablishmentarianism, Webster handled with ease. Words like these he thought were a breeze. A renowned lexicographer, there is no doubt, But, the world’s biggest word, Webster left out. In only two letters of unused space He crowded the big word, “IF” in disgrace!

If

2009-04-06T18:19:00.000-05:00

If Webster Had Only Known Antidisestablishmentarianism, Webster handled with ease. Words like these he thought were a breeze. A renowned lexicographer, there is no doubt, But, the world’s biggest word, Webster left out. In only two letters of unused space He crowded the big word, “IF” in disgrace!

Call for poets

2009-04-05T14:53:00.000-05:00

April is poetry month. If you wish to leave a poem here, be my guest. If you are proud of it sign your name, and if you say Frost or Poe or Shakespeare I will know you are hiding.

Canyon Canopy

2009-04-05T14:43:00.000-05:00

Several years ago I walked down Grand Canyon and it left me in a poetic mood. Canyon Canopy James E. Tate ©2001 The canyon’s craggy walls Stretch high overhead While placid streams meander On the canyon floor. Gleaming amber branches Feed rivers of churning rapids Lined by mossy boulder banks, With pines punctuating the sky. Rusty ledges and hidden hideaways Reverberate shrill, piercing calls, As stately eagles Build nesting places for their young. White-throated swifts Secreted in the canyon turrets Whip unerringly toward crevices In incredible sunset processions. These unfathomable, wind-swept views Speak of God’s handiwork Under a backdrop of jagged monoliths Guarding canyon corridors.

Exaggggeration

2009-03-25T10:29:00.000-05:00

There’s no debate, I tell it straight. I never modify nor overstate. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I never exaggerate. —James E. Tate 1991

How to Enjoy being a Tight-fisted Tightwad

2009-03-23T08:02:00.000-05:00

Has your boss stopped overtime, cut your hours, or worse, laid you off? In this tough economy, some firms are reducing the wages three to five percent. Some companies such as auto factories and banks are facing hard times, even with possible bankruptcies or padlocking their doors. What’s next? you ask. Good question. Wallet squeezing. Belt tightening. Sacrificing. Here’s how: First, consider some ways my parents did it in the 1930s during the Great Depression. “Son, you’ve gotta make do with what you have. Money is scarce. Stop waste. Fix it or do without. Cut back. Work hard and you’ll get by. Be frugal. Make things last. ” Good advice, this. But now we live in a throw-away generation. If it breaks, toss it and buy a new one. Planned obsolescence. True, some plastic devices, electronics and others are not conveniently fixable. But if it means fix it or do without, you have an incentive to look for a way. Glue it. Renew it. Not long ago our recliner started listing to one side. I turned it upside down and saw it had lost a screw. After I put in another screw it was as good as new—almost. So learn to stop waste. Pare back a little or a lot. Go back to essentials. Restructure your lifestyle until you get through this problem. Here are some hints. If you dine out several times a week cut back to once or twice. Restaurants often serve huge meals. Share. Order one meal with two plates, and maybe an extra side dish. Ask for a carry out container and eat leftovers. Cut back on utilities. Watch that thermostat. In hot weather use ceiling fans and floor fans to move the air around. When it’s cold wear a sweater inside. Autos. That car can empty your pockets quickly. Change driving habits. Stop jack rabbit starts and hard braking. Drive under 60 when you don’t have to hurry. Wind resistance builds up fast over 60, costing you out the gills. Gain speed slowly. Heavy footed drivers pay more per mile. Learn to increase your gas mileage and enjoy the scenery for a change. Stay closer to home. Limit your pleasure drives. Explore your home state. Bet you don’t know half of what’s in it. Let the car sit for a spell while you revive home entertainment. Invite friends and relatives to play Scrabble or something. Serve coffee and Kool-Aid. Maintain your vehicle prudently. Dealers often sell up. Some times they suggest more than the manual requires. If your manual calls for 5,000 miles oil and lubes and your major maintenance calls for every 30,000 miles, consider your driving and the conditions. If you are exposing the car to heavy dusty areas or if you are a heavy-footed aggressive driver then you had better do the service when it is called for. But on the other hand if you drive like an old codger like me you might be able to stretch the intervals some. Use caution and get advice from a trusted source before stretching them though. There are many other ways to stretch a buck. Look for them. In all this frugality, don’t shortchange God. Keep tithing. Ask him for wisdom. You may not get Solomon’s portion, but every linked synapse helps. Remember, having gray hair doesn’t matter, but having gray matter matters. Enjoy your new role of being a prudent tightwad. --By James E. Tate, 2009

Philosophy

2009-03-23T07:49:00.000-05:00

I’m not a philosopher, per se, but I have a philosophy. Our thoughts and character are affected by people, places and things. God is supreme in these influences. Fellowman runs a close second. Tangible and abstract things a distant third. First, we have a conscience which our free will allows us to follow or reject. Our moral and ethical responsibilities keep popping up. Do we listen or turn a deaf ear? Do we contribute worthwhile things to fellow man? Or do we sponge from other’s gifts? Are we a half empty sort of person, or half full? Do we make a difference? Do we develop our skills and talents? We don’t have total control over certain things. True. But we have our input. Are we team players? Some results are affected by others, such as chess, tennis, and basketball. But when we step up to the free-throw line we control whether we make a basket or not. Playing solo on a guitar or piano is under our control as well. But the sound of a symphony is influenced by all the musicians and the conductor working as a group. Teamwork. How much of our disposition is influenced by praise and ridicule? Can we consider both as imposters, and do what is right? My philosophy is simply this: Having gray hair doesn’t matter, but having gray-matter matters. It is priceless. Let’s use it! [Excerpts from Road of Life] There is deeper meaning to life. More than winning a wife, playing a fife, or fighting strife, More than leaving childhood and growing to maturity, More than vocation and fortune— there’s Future. Our life’s role is to prepare for the Soul’s destiny. May God give us direction! —James E. Tate, 2009

Daneymoco

2009-03-18T08:21:00.000-05:00

This is my first blog so I won't try to do anything special. I will try to get the feel of blogging here. Be patient with me for I am an octogenarian. James

Poetry Tips

2009-03-16T10:07:00.000-05:00

Poem types Traditional poets use rhymes and count syllables. Free verse poets don't (or seldom) use rhymes, and have more freedom for composition. Most of my poetry is traditional, in a variety of subjects and styles. In the examples below, the first (my original) uses tradional end rhymes. It is one quatrain (four lines) with rhyme scheme aabb.

Never Applaud a Fraud

"No accolades for the man so sly

As to avoid some blame by telling a lie.

But he earns respect if he takes reproof

and the risk of shame by telling the truth."

This quintet poem (five lines) uses internal rhymes (IR), by J. E. Tate:

Obedience brings God's blessings

but disobedience defeat

as in the fall of Saul. [IR]

He opted for immediate gratification

But ultimate dismay when he chose to disobey. [IR]

A sextet (six lines) with rhyme scheme aabccb

Telephone Fatigue

When the caller won't quit

and you're having a fit

to get off the phone,

and you know it's no use

to make excuse,

just ask for a loan.

[Works every time!]

I will be adding poetry and short articles from time to time. All will be my originals unless otherwise noted. Watch for Tips.