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Don Bouchard May 1
Tried to make peace with the Devil...
Left me smoking on the floor.
His chuckle left me all disheveled
As he sauntered out the door.

The contract, signed and duplicated
Left me no real peace of mind.
The lawyers say it's complicated;
They'll get back to me sometime.

A fine print clause embedded
Intimates there's something more;
The peace I made is shredded;
I'll hear the flames around me roar.

The politicians have no chance,
Experienced though they be.
The devils celebrate and dance;
The Devil will collect his fee.
Peace at any price.... Where did I hear that?
Don Bouchard Apr 30
Can we live beside Evil,
Can't we just get along?
Can't we turn it a little
Using Music and Song?

Must we face it and name it,
Call it wrong to its face?
Must we risk our own comfort?
Can't we stay in our place?
Mid-night Meditations
Go along to get along?
Don Bouchard Apr 22
Praying again today.
These are the long days,
The ones spent in the quiet pain of waiting,
Of thinking through the things we’ve said,
The things we need still to say.
A friend and mentor is lying in hospice today.
Don Bouchard Apr 17
Never quite content alone,
Never at home in a crowd.
Silence frightens us, and
So does being loud.
Never here nor there, but
Discontent in the present.
Longing for the past,
We crave a different future.
Don Bouchard Apr 12
Few of us are blessed to find a calling
While in our youth, before our prime,
To leave but know the farm's the thing,
The earthly place we'll spend our time.

The Thiessen farm is ordered, neat,
Equipment, houses, corrals and sheds,
A visual treat, each row a street
To show the order in Dwight's head.

The old earth tracks the sun around,
Each spinning lap marks coming years,
Sees loved ones laid to rest in ground,
Brings little ones to stem our tears.

A weary circle - life, and few
Are those who see how they are blessed;
Dwight, Diana found that it would do
To farm, raise kids, thank God for rest.

One day, a doctor said the words
No one desires to hear, but still,
This couple prayed, they didn't swerve
From praying for God's sovereign will.

Back to the farm, the couple drove,
Held close in prayer by friends
Aware that good comes from above
Aware that everything must end

Dwight breathed one final breath, was gone;
He left and didn't say good-bye.
But, oh! what air then filled his lungs,
Celestial breath in heaven high!!!!

--------------------
Dwight's leaving reminds me of an old song by Don Wyrtzen (1971)

"Finally Home"  https://youtu.be/sBZe2nWRSjU?si=bTriiCVgoucus8Eb .

When engulfed by the terror of the tempestuous sea,
Unknown waves before you roll;
At the end of doubt and peril is eternity,
Though fear and conflict seize your soul.

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!

When surrounded by the blackness of the darkest night,
O how lonely death can be;
At the end of this long tunnel is a shining light,
For death is swallowed up in victory!

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!
Funereal poem for my cousin, Dwight Thiessen, who passed this past week. RIP, my friend.
Don Bouchard Apr 5
I hear your wails;
I add my sorrow
To the howling winds.
Don Bouchard Apr 2
I am smiling at your thought that the Apple Picker
has nearly died from standing on that ladder,
From hearing rumbling apples falling into the bins...

I have worked that hard as well, and I didn't die.

When a person works all day, standing on a ladder,
Or holding a paint brush, or swinging a hammer,
Or driving a tractor or truck, or shoveling manure....

You get the picture....

Yes, we grow blisters. Yes, we are exhausted.
Yes, we would rather be lounging on a beach
Almost anywhere else in the world...,

But the truth is this: After a long day's hard work,
Food fills most excellently,
The shower? The shower is the best shower ever,
And the sleep? The sleep is the sleep of the dead,
Dreamless, full of rest....
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