Their she lay, at Boaz foot ...
Tobe covered, by the hem,
Of the covenant.
Then on to bring forth the child,
of Naomi, and Boaz.
That the inheritance and covenant,
may continue.
This then the promise was made,
and the promise was kept.
To the bring forth, the Kings.
First David, then Jesus,
To serve them all.
What of the other,
handmaiden.
She who bore,
the Son of God.
Was she like the former.
Ruth bore, the son of Naomi.
The grandfather, of David.
So to the handmaidens,
now we do ...
This then honor,
the Mother Of All.
"Entreat me not to leave thee ...
Thy people shall be my people ...
Thy god is my God."
He who bore the sins of the world.
Born of a handmaiden.
A gift to The Mother,
Eternal, in her home above.
We speak not of her,
this then, must we change.
This then to honor,
them all.
That then all of the handmaidens,
to the Mother, Eternal...
May they share. The fruits of their womb.
Eternal.
Ruth was Naomi's handmaiden.
This fruit of her womb, given as a gift,
and a sign of love.
I have know Naomi,
I have know Ruth.
I choose to luv,
them both.
One for the gift of life,
the other for the gift of her life.
For to cherish the children,
both they do.
Slow down He said.
There is danger ahead,
slow down.
No danger was there
I saw it not.
Thus, I slowed down.
I have learned to heed his council.
That is why I preside now,
over his mission,
and 240 of his children.
That nothing happened.
Did I hear Him wrong?
This I did not!
I know his voice,
as a child knows his father.
Then on I go,
to preside again.
Because I headed his voice,
nothing, was there.
To this, to then.
This Mother's Day,
To then, to this,
Go forth, and now
To Joy go forth,
to share it now.
To rise, to fall
then onward go.
To luv, my Mom,
and then my wife.
To bring the joy,
then, now we share.
Then on, to forth,
to our daughter now.
To Mothers, this day,
Then not my best.
To this, then Mothers,
Then tobe.
She loved me, then,
Now, both they do.
The first, then Mom,
now then, my wife.
To honor, both then
This then, I do.
Then to another,
She then, will be.
Mothers, till then,
They all, then be.
He said not to drink caffeine,
the minister did,
if i wanted to go on a mission
then drink it not,
it is law
Gods law,
the word of wisdom.
I was then faithful.
To the law.
or was I?
I found the poem, today.
the one to daddy,
before he was daddy.
Momma had the prettiest penmanship,
but spell, she could not,
to save her life.
I loved to read, mommas letters.
To me, she wrote one,
when I broke my arm,
as a child.
I found it in the baby book ...
the one she started,
but never completed ...
Their was a shadow, on the book,
left by the trauma, of my surgery,
at birth.
Momma luved Daddy,
the kind of luv that stays,
and works things out.
I want that kind of luv,
for my wife and children.
To stay and work things out.
Maybe someday,
they will find my letters, and poems,
and feel my luv for
my wife, and their grandmother.
It was a Kenny Loggins night,
There by the banks of the old canal,
behind the elementary school,
theme from "Top Gun",
on the WalkMan.
This place, full of memories, bad ...
and good, on the highway,
to the danger zone
She was his first, and still his only ...
Tomorrow, at the Temple,
they will covenant to be one.
Together, they will share,
This ride, into the wind.
But for now, He thinks
Of the dance, to come.
This life, together, and apart.
Why continue, the dance.
Nearly 50 years, separated only by death.
She really wanted the 50, years.
Come together, separate, then together ...
Again.
Their had been other lovers but only one
Real, luv.
Why continue the dance?
She really luved him but life,
With him, was hard.
She never let anyone close, really close
But the dance they shared,
The life they shared.
It ment so much, to them, and the children.
Is love then truly an act and not a feeling.
To endure the heartache and pain.
This then the dance, together and apart.
We both carry the scars,
the ones from our darkest day.
I for the life I lived,
He from the life I lived.
Dark with dispair, was I.
To carry my dispair, did he.
How I long to speak, to him,
of our scars.
He must have luved me,
as I long to luv them now.
This is a dream we share,
the scars that bind us ...
Eternally.
Difficult things, I seek to know.
Yet thus explain, I cannot.
And little understand, do I yet.
I ponder them now,
These many years
Long do to I desire,
to share these thoughts.
Then why do you not,
understand me thus?
To win an argument,
I do not, then seek.
I want to share, a truth.
Maybe the day, will come,
when better prepared to receive, you are
Or more able, to explain, I am.
Till then, shall we dance,
and be friends.
She painted,
In water colors and oil.
Whence she started, I do not know.
Late in life, I do suppose.
In life, I did not appreciate them.
Long gone, she is now.
Charlene her daughter in law
She was living with, when grandma died.
She sent them to my sister.
We have them now.
I long for her presence,
the paintings will do..
for Now.
Maybe my children will have my poetry,
when gone, I am, too.
Will they long for me, as I do, for her ...
Now
Why choose,
to end a life.
Mistakes he had made,
and been forgiven.
Then came, new life,
a wife, and 2 children.
Still the demons haunted him.
The seizures, waking,
have returned again.
He tried, so hard,
To begin life, anew.
I have had dark hours too.
I know the despair felt, that day.
Luckily no access to guns, did I have,
on my day.
Others live with our choices, too.
Now two babies have no father.
The world has one more widow.
And I am a loss,
to explain, the choice.
She had told him,
The young life, had been wasted?
Or did she.
He ask momma,
Why his daughter died.
His daughter being less then 6 months.
Crib death they called, it.
No explanation, no answer.
He ask Momma,
Why.
To help you be a man.
He said I am not a man, I have not changed.
He heard, "Your daughters life's was wasted"
He then became a man, and changed.
This is the story, I heard,
as I studied,
at his table.
Two lives improved, by her short life.
Now I tell you the story.
This is the power of myth, as it becomes midrash.
To this then the poems.
Come forth unannounced
Unaware.
I call them forth, naught.
From whence do the come?
Come forth thence do, they.
To bless, and to share.
Thus,
therapy, could be they?
Share them, do I,
Then.
In hopes to bring forth,
The light.
For all to share.
It was oil, olive,
Then was it, naught.
Together, they nelt,
Together, they prayed.
How does one seek forgiveness,
of the self.
To then hallow, the vulgar, choice.
To remove,
this, then, the pain.
Thus, to bless the oil,
and then the act.
To make this, then, sacred, the choice.
To the moment they shared.
That peace may come,
and the pain,
be no more.
For to remove, is to restore,
and safeguard life.
This then, the choice, he made.
Nephi had done it.
Many prophets did it
Defied the culture
To save a life.
Now we plant the pot.
It is a risk.
The risk we bare.
He who plants, 24 years.
We who grow, our home, and freedom.
We risk it all.
For the one we luv
Now to bare fruit.
The cure it came.
To share another day.
With the one we luv.
The blanket,
it was spread forth,
on the roof top.
All the unclean food.
"Take eat this is my body"
Three times the command was repeated.
Then the meal was removed.
Three times he had denied Christ, before.
He had been ever faithfull,
Ever since.
But this seamed a bridge, too far.
He pondered thus.
Can anything be impure,
What God has made pure.
When the men came,
from Cornelius,
he journied, thus.
Have I denied,
the pure,
unpure.
The pot was planted,
the pure,
unpure.
The prisoner, in his jail cell.
The unloved.
The unwashed.
To have not left,
The cave.
To leave behind the burden,
the expectation of his culture.
To be with, and strengthen,
the impure.
Those with heavy burdens.
This was his task,
and desire.
Success and family was what, then he saught, always.
Long lived they in the cave.
The images that surrounded, them.
Were they real, or naught.
The others, outside, had such expectations.
He wanted to be with them too.
To be with them, this he could naught.
So he lived two lives, between the real and the cave.
Someday he would be naught.
Maybe his God would judge him naught.
But leave them, in the cave, he could naught.
Until they freed themselves.
Was it not the cave, Plato's cave.
Escape it once he did, almost.
But return then he must.
They could not see the real for the image.
For to leave them he could bare, naught.
So this then, was his task.
To be with them, and strengthen them, until they freed their own chains.
Then together they would leave the cave...
Tobe their naught.
What of the Celtic Bishop's.
Born so long ago.
How long did they preserve, the church?
... after the fall of the empire.
This long time, they served humanity, and transmitted culture, and learning.
St. Patrick's grandfather was one.
How they loved and cherished their wives.
To nourish the church in the wilderness,
was it not, their lives vocation.
Till in her beauty, she came forth, in all her strength, and magistry.
I am a Vulgar man.
Less common with the coming years.
I learned to swear, like Brother Brigham.
Life does that to you.
This life happens, as you are making other plans.
Promised a large righteous posterity, by one who knew I was sterile.
Never to create new life in this world.
How does one become less common, more vulgar.
Feeling less mormon, and more christlike each day.
I planted the pot.
I adopted two children from one who could create new life, special gift, from one who loves our family.
A gift, I hope to repay someway.
I helped to prosecute a young man who misused his reproductive powers.
Then purchased a van to visit him for several years.
To let him know he was not his crime.
This commoness
This Vulgarness
Trade, with the coming years.
Till I become less like me,
and more like him.
