I cannot say I ran alone

Do I have an end of the year re-cap? Not quite, my time has come to be measured in semesters so I have an, “end of semester recap.” But, if you want to know what I did earlier this year, see my NCFCA Nationals and Germany posts.  Those were good times. The present is good as well. I have met some wonderful people, and I look forward to running next semester with them.  My time runs thin, so I conclude.

Looking at the late semester,
I can not help but remember,
The company with whom I spent it.

The race is not even half way run,
Though this lap is mostly done,
I can not say I ran alone.

I missed the old and loved the new,
Each challenge posed was blasted through,
Now one more mountain stands conquered.

But I can not say I ran alone

Looking at the late semester,
I can not help but remember,
The company with whom I spent it.

Thank You…

An Ode to Facial Hair

Facial Hair + Caramel Apples = No

I found that out the hard way during a Fall Fest party with my college buddies. Despite its incompatibility with caramel apples, this facial hair thing has been an interesting experience. I have learned many things…

Shel Silverstein wrote a poem on the subject…

My beard grows down to my toes,
I never wears no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.

Most educational…

But more importantly, I rebelled against this busy college finals schedule and I wrote you a poem to recount my epic experiences.

An Ode to Facial Hair

(Warning: The following limerick has masculine themes.)

Back in the golden days of yore,
When I was in my tweens or more,
I thought I might just look fair,
If I had some facial hair.

I declared that when I’d grown,
And my own shaving kit I did own,
I should grow a mighty mane,
One to wear without shame.

Little did I know that it would eat my face,
But this part is out of place,
So I continue.

Then came college’s first semester,
My cousin I was sure to pester,
To see if he would join the best,
In my epic hairy quest.

‘Twas September when I strategized,
To beat all fellows to the prize,
The greatest beard to be remembered,
With a lead on No-Shave-November.

Little did I know that it would eat my face,
But this part is out of place,
So I continue.

The trimmer did I learn to wield,
In time my stubble came to yield,
To the Scissors and the blade,
My face took up a different shade.

It spread to boundaries held by me,
As far as length it was quite free,
It grew out to a hue of red,
More vibrant than my well-kept head.

And then it ate my face,
This part is now in place,
So I conclude.

If you ever should desire,
Some extra flair with your attire,
Facial hair should not be done,
Lest you can grow a decent one.

Now in these college days of yore,
My facial hair, it is no more,
But now I think it would be best,
To grow a manly hairy chest!

© Nathan Exley

I have always wondered what a beard was like and… now I know. I am only slightly disappointed. Some day, when I am old and my hair migrates down (like my parents say it will) I will grow a beard that will be feared. But for now, I have had my fill.

A Child’s Poetry

In the beginning,
I scribbled entries in a notebook,

Misspelled words, broken grammar, a child’s poetry

A month or so ago I moved to college,
I pulled that notebook out from a pile of its fellows,
And I read it…

Misspelled words, broken grammar, a child’s poetry

In our beginnings we long to mature,
Faster than our short legs will carry us,
Looking back, I am humbled by how far God has taken me from the…

 Misspelled words, broken grammar, a child’s poetry

I don’t know what to think,
This notebook records my beginnings,
Secrets, mine only to hold.

Misspelled words, broken grammar, a child’s poetry

In the beginning,
I scribbled entries in a notebook; my past stored on leaf.
Eleven years later my mature mind cannot remember,
That blessed simplicity behind…

 Misspelled words, broken grammar

a child’s poetry

ID3nt!ty

Kudos to 4US2BE

Fish bole,
Ocean,
I lost my aquarium,
Now I’m in this big place,
And I can’t find the glass!

Well…
This is new,
I lost what was so familiar,
Now I am building a new familiar,
And I can’t find my ID3nt!ty!

Once Again

Retract the words not spoken,
Back to meditating thought,
Once again.

Shouldn’t I extend the pen?
And grasp the chance worth taking?
And persist?

I well may be denied still,
Why challenge the first answer?
Why tarry?

Because the widow who sought justice,
Came back and cried again…

Because the searcher stopped his wandering,
Just to buy a piece of land…

Because the merchant stopped his trading,
And sold off all he had…

And in the end,
The widow got her justice,
The searcher unburied treasure,
And the Merchant got the pearl of greatest price…
For his own.

Maybe I should try another,
Walking the path more taken,
To move on…

Abraham and Sarah,
Took the path more taken,
And Sarah bore a son,

Who was not the promised one.

Retract the words not spoken,
Back to meditating thought,
Once again.

Should I persist,
Though once denied?

What if twice?

If the widow who cried again…
Got her justice.

If the merchant and the searcher,
Sold all they had,
To hold as their own,
A single treasure…

Then so will I.

Parting Thoughts

Walking,
I still haven’t caught up with myself,
Or where I am.

Stopped,
I am almost confused,
This is so different.

Enchanted,
Finally it soaks in as I stand alone,
Now I have to catch up again.

Boston,
History intertwined with the architecture,
Architecture rampant with romance and wonder.

What a place,
I would like to visit it again sometime,
But home beats Boston any day.

Home,
Where you can grow…
Your own paradise.

Boston,
A paradise,
Slowly dying.

The Otter, fly swatter, and fly

This is a bit of lyric from my younger days, and it’s a more lighthearted piece than the previous entry. I think you will enjoy it. I was thinking of making it a children’s book, but my art skills are too rusty and my imagination took a hike >:(.

There once was an Otter,
Who owned a fly swatter,
And he lived by the water in a tree.

Well…

There once was a fly,
Who, one day flew by,
And saw the Otter as I have described him to thee.

Thus…

The fly saw the Otter,
The Otter saw him,
And the Otter gave the fly a devilish grin.

“I shall catch you and splat you with my fancy fly swatter.”
So, off they ran with a buzz and a patter.

The fly fled to a good friend of his the flea,
Who lived in the fur of the dog,
Who slept under the tree.

“Why do you flee o’ my good friend the fly?”
said the flee to the fly as he was passing by.
“I flee from the otter with his deadly fly swatter! He threatens to catch me and splat me with it!”
“Well come here with me, it is safer you see and we’ll hide in the fur of the dog who sleeps under the tree.”

So the fly with the flee,
Went into the fur of the dog,
Who slept under the tree,
Which was home to the Otter,
Which was close to the water.

Now…

Along came the otter,
With his deadly fly swatter,
Looking in vain for the fly who had fled.

He was about to ask the dog… when he spotted,
A wing,
Of the fly with the flee,
In the fur of the dog who slept under his tree.

The Otter raised up his deadly fly swatter and with that same devilish grin he uttered these words…
“I have caught you and now I shall splat you, say you last prayers fly ‘cause now… I’ll have at you!”
And with that he brought down his deadly fly swatter!
On the flee,
And the fly,
In the fur of the dog,
Who no longer slept under the tree,
Which was home to the Otter,
Which was close to the water.

Because of that swatter,
The dog chased the Otter,
All the way home to his tree by the water.

And ever since then the dog and the Otter,
Have never been friends,
On account of that swatter.

And, swatter or not, the dog still chases the Otter.

Now…

The moral of the story is that,
If you are an Otter,
Who lives by the water,
And you own a deadly fly swatter.

DON’T…

Swat the rump of the dog,
On account of the flee…
Or the fly,
Because as you know,
It is better,
To Let Sleeping Dogs Lie.

© 2011 Nathan Exley
All rights reserved

Cold Rain

A warm hand,
Promising to get hot and dry,
Spring runs its fingers through the grass and earth.

It carries a breeze,
Scented with the wildflowers,
I can smell their color as the wind caresses my face and rushes on.

Cold rain,
Memories pour down,
These puddles aren’t as deep as I remembered them to be.

In comfort,
My window is cold,
But through it I can watch and remember.

I remember,
I do not long for,
But I remember the past given to me.

Crisp cool air,
The hand is back,
All that it lacks is the warmth, but that is soon to come.

Looking back,
Memories are hard to hold,
I wish to join them in their past reality.

Not to be,
My heart sheds an ache,
These times have come and gone.

Cold rain,
Hold these memories,
And be alone the one who weeps for them.

It is time,
I will walk on,
With the breeze, the hand, and things to come.

But you may,
You will return again,
And I will rejoin you in remembering times past.

I will remember,
I will watch them fall again,
I will hold them close to my heart.

But you alone shall weep.

© 2011 Nathan Exley
All rights reserved

'Twas The Night Before Jesus Came

Author is unknown, I received this from the Patric Henry Round Table Talk which I am subscribed to. A worthy adaption to an already famous poem.

‘Twas the night before Jesus came and all through the house
Not a creature was praying, not one in the house.
Their Bibles were lain on the shelf without care
In hopes that Jesus would not come there.

The children were dressing to crawl into bed.
Not once ever kneeling or bowing a head.
And Mom in her rocker with baby on her lap
Was watching the Late Show while I took a nap.

When out of the East there arose such a clatter.
I sprang to my feet to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash!

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But angels proclaiming that Jesus was here.
With a light like the sun sending forth a bright ray
I knew in a moment this must be THE DAY!

The light of His face made me cover my head
It was Jesus! returning just like He had said.
And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw Him in spite of myself.

In the Book of Life which He held in His hand
Was written the name of every saved man.
He spoke not a word as He searched for my name;
When He said “it’s not here” my head hung in shame.

The people whose names had been written with love
He gathered to take to His Father above.
With those who were ready He rose without a sound.
While all the rest were left standing around.

I fell to my knees, but it was too late;
I had waited too long and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried as they rose out of sight;
Oh, if only I had been ready tonight.

In the words of this poem the meaning is clear;
The coming of Jesus is drawing near.
There’s only one life and when comes the last call
We’ll find that the Bible was true after all!

One word

It’s Soothing,
It’s uncomfortable,
It brings my scrambling mind to a stop,
It can heal an aching hurt,
It can burn a sensitive spot,
It helps me recuperate,
It drags me down,
It gives me time to think,
It’s Golden,
I love it,
It’s,

Silence.